Plano Profile August 2010 : Page 95
my drift Identity theft ‘‘A ren’t you marjorie’s mom?” asked a young man from across the buffet table at a recent party. Marjorie is my husband’s broth-er’s youngest daughter. it was yet another reminder that, for most people, my family is just a big mass of people they can’t keep straight. never having spent any adult years living in the same community as members of my family until now, this is requir-ing some adjustment on my part. When someone says, “Hi, William,” to my husband in the church parking lot, Don simply replies with a friendly, “How are you today?” and doesn’t give it another thought. i have a harder time with it. if they think he’s his brother, do they think i’m rita, his brother’s wife? i’m half a foot taller than she is, for Pete’s sake. and, come to think of it, he and his brother don’t really look alike. How can these people be so confused? as one of three brothers who all live in the same rela-tively small town, Don is so used to it he doesn’t even notice. a school teacher i met at a reception one afternoon lit up when she saw my name tag. “i know your husband,” she exclaimed. “He works with our students in the Junior achievement program.” That, i explained, is my husband’s brother William, who is active in numerous community organizations. “Then your husband is the one who does George Washington,” she said. i told her that would be Josh, another brother; he’s a fine actor and shares his talent bringing history alive through his portrayal of the father of our country. a look of panic came across her face as she asked, “How many are there?” and i’m sure it seems like there are too many to count if you don’t know us very well. i have three siblings, but we were spaced far enough apart that nobody ever seemed to mix us up. While my youngest sister and i have been accused of being twins, the fact that she lives in Sugar land and we don’t know any of the same people keeps befuddlement to a minimum. We did confuse a few folks the summer we both worked at a large San antonio department store. ann in the Human resources department scheduled the “con-tingent” staff and called our house often. even our own mother couldn’t distinguish amy’s voice from mine over the telephone; poor ann didn’t stand a chance. it was okay until the people in linens started asking for me and the people in lingerie got to requesting my sister. amy was writing down hours one day when she realized ann thought she was talking to me. flustered, she said, “oh… this is my sister.” That summer was my first taste of coming behind a sib-ling; my older two were so far ahead of me that we never went to any of the same schools. amy, though, entered high school the year after i graduated. The words “oh, you’re Patsy’s sister” were not music to her ears. Her reply was usually, “no, she’s my sister.” She was in high school and had been working at the department store for months when i arrived home from college and started my employment there. everyone i met said, “oh, you’re amy’s sister.” With repetition, those words somehow became irritating, and i finally understood what she had faced all through high school. i s my husband annoyed by being confused with or com-pared to either of his brothers? The expression about water and ducks’ backs comes to mind. following his lead, i’m beginning to be comfortable with the fact that, to some, i’m just one of a whole mess of Morrisses. at this stage of the game, i’m feeling pretty good about the fact that i still know which one i am. ■ August 2010 Plano Profile 95 patsy morriss
My Drift
Patsy moRRiss
‘‘Aren’t you marjorie’s mom?” asked a young man from across the buffet table at a recent party.
Marjorie is my husband’s brother’s youngest daughter. It was yet another reminder that, for most people, my family is just a big mass of people they can’t keep straight.
Never having spent any adult years living in the same community as members of my family until now, this is requiring some adjustment on my part. When someone says, “Hi, William,” to my husband in the church parking lot, Don simply replies with a friendly, “How are you today?” and doesn’t give it another thought.
I have a harder time with it. If they think he’s his brother, do they think i’m rita, his brother’s wife? I’m half a foot taller than she is, for Pete’s sake. And, come to think of it, he and his brother don’t really look alike. How can these people be so confused?
As one of three brothers who all live in the same relatively small town, Don is so used to it he doesn’t even notice.
A school teacher i met at a reception one afternoon lit up when she saw my name tag. “i know your husband,” she exclaimed. “He works with our students in the Junior achievement program.” That, i explained, is my husband’s brother William, who is active in numerous community organizations.
“Then your husband is the one who does George Washington,” she said.
I told her that would be Josh, another brother; he’s a fine actor and shares his talent bringing history alive through his portrayal of the father of our country.
A look of panic came across her face as she asked, “How many are there?” and i’m sure it seems like there are too many to count if you don’t know us very well.
I have three siblings, but we were spaced far enough apart that nobody ever seemed to mix us up. While my youngest sister and i have been accused of being twins, the fact that she lives in Sugar land and we don’t know any of the same people keeps befuddlement to a minimum.
We did confuse a few folks the summer we both worked at a large San antonio department store. Ann in the Human resources department scheduled the “contingent” staff and called our house often. Even our own mother couldn’t distinguish amy’s voice from mine over the telephone; poor ann didn’t stand a chance. It was okay until the people in linens started asking for me and the people in lingerie got to requesting my sister. Amy was writing down hours one day when she realized ann thought she was talking to me. Flustered, she said, “oh… this is my sister.” That summer was my first taste of coming behind a sibling; my older two were so far ahead of me that we never went to any of the same schools. Amy, though, entered high school the year after i graduated. The words “oh, you’re Patsy’s sister” were not music to her ears. Her reply was usually, “no, she’s my sister.” She was in high school and had been working at the department store for months when i arrived home from college and started my employment there. Everyone i met said, “oh, you’re amy’s sister.” With repetition, those words somehow became irritating, and i finally understood what she had faced all through high school.Is my husband annoyed by being confused with or compared to either of his brothers? The expression about water and ducks’ backs comes to mind. Following his lead, i’m beginning to be comfortable with the fact that, to some, i’m just one of a whole mess of Morrisses.
At this stage of the game, i’m feeling pretty good about the fact that i still know which one i am.
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