"They call me Katherine that do talk of me"...or Some Name Like That

By Jody Worsham, aka Jo, aka Worsham, aka Mrs., aka Mable, aka MayBelle

All rights reserved and with apologies to Willie Shakespeare and Southern Moms everywhere

For over 65 years I have been known as Jody, the nickname I was given in the first grade, the name on my book “Kin We’re Not Related To”, the name on this blog, and the name I am known by to all of my friends and professional colleagues.

Name problems seem to have started when I married.  My husband had six brothers and sisters which, over the years,  netted four “Mrs. Worshams”.  During holidays when all the daughter-in-laws were home, you could not call their home and ask for “Mrs. Worsham”.  If you did, four different women might come to the phone or no one, each thinking the call was for the other one. Mostly “Mrs.” referred to the elder mother/mother-in-law.  It did not get much better with the Raymonds either.  There was Raymond the father-in-law, Raymond the son-in-law, Raymond the nephew, and Raymond my husband. Hence you always had to call a Raymond by both his first name and his middle name in order to get the correct Raymond’s attention, well except for Raymond the father-in-law.  I don’t think he had a middle name but since he was the first Raymond and the only one without a middle name, everyone knew the Raymond you were referring to if you just asked for Raymond.

Then for almost 40 years, I was Worsham to my students. They used Worsham in the same way athletes used "coach." It was faster for my students to get a response with “Worsham, fire” or “Worsham, light falling” or “Worsham, principal coming!” (I was a very creative and unconventional theatre arts teacher who made principals very nervous) then to call me “Mrs.” Worsham and wait for me to process that “Mrs.” was referring to me. But then my husband was also a teacher and his students referred to him as “Worsham” as well.  His brother, too, was a teacher and his students called him “Worsham”.  Over the years, any educational convention would find students and former students having to qualify which “Worsham” they were referencing.

Jody and Worsham served me for 50 years except for the choir teacher, who called me by my official name, Jo, and my mother, who insists on calling me by both my first name and the middle name she put on my birth certificate.  When I needed a passport, official birth name only was required.  Doctors began using computers and social security numbers for identification and part of my prescriptions are under Jody and part are under Jo.  I am afraid to buy Sudafed at the pharmacy for fear it will look like two people trying to buy the decongestant at the same time using the same social security number and a driver’s license that that did not have Jody on it

The name problems have followed me into decade number 7.  My nine-year-old and my thirteen-year-old go to a small rural school where all the students say “yes, mam” and “no, mam”.   Those that don't are probably transfers.  As a substitute teacher it is refreshing to hear "yes, mam" and "no, mam".   I did notice that when I would work in the concession stand for Little Dribblers, I was always referred to as “Mrs. Worsham” even though all the other mothers and dads with nine-year-olds had first names.  In Parent Teacher Organization meetings again everyone had a first name except me.  Finally I said to the other parents in the PTO (by way of Facebook of course):

 “Ok, why is it that everybody has a first name like Susan or Kathryn, or Holly, and mine is “Mrs.?”  I move that I be called Jody or Jo or Worsham.  Or I’ll even take a new first name like Betty or Tammy.  I’ll take a double name Mable Rae or Ethel Mae.  I may be twice your age…ok three times your age but with a nine-year-old, I forget how old I am.  You have my permission to forget it to.”

Of course one of the parents is a former student of mine.  She had trouble calling me Worsham even as a teenager but she promised to try “Jo .”  I could tell at the slight hesitation before “Jo” that she expected her Mama to pop her on the head any minute for being disrespectful to a teacher and the elderly.

I guess I will just have to answer to anything.  At my age people will just say “SORRY, MRS. WORSHAM.  I WAS HOLLERING FOR MINNIE LOU.”

...And a Half!

By Jody Worsham

All rights reserved for candles and a fire extinguisher

Remember when you were a kid and you were asked how old you were?  If you were very young you might hold up two fingers or three.  Later you would proudly say that you were five and a half.  As you got older you would announce to the entire world that you were twelve going on thirteen.  Your sixteenth birthday may have found you driving, legally.  And at eighteen you were old enough to quit school, marry and/or move out on your own if you were dumb enough to do so.  

Twenty was a bit awkward for most people.  You were no longer a teenager and not old enough to vote but you were old enough to marry so I did.  Approaching the “Don’t trust anyone over thirty” birthday was no big deal because most of us didn’t trust anyone anyway.    My fortieth and fiftieth birthdays were barely acknowledged amidst the birthdays and graduations of six children.

My sixtieth birthday found me retiring from the school where I had taught for 37 years and going to a new school because of (shock of all shocks) Social Security.  It seemed I needed the benefits of my husband’s social security so I had to retire to be rehired. When did the need for social security sneak up on me? Then, just as I was getting semi-comfortable with the concept of Senior Citizen, I was surprised with “Congratulations! You are now the mother of a one day old and a three year old.  Children say hello to your Medicare Mom.” 

Is it no wonder that during this decade of my life only those with a death wish would ask my age and only those who survived to tell their friends would have any inkling of what I said.

The days of telling my age on the fingers of one hand have long gone.  Heck telling my age on my fingers and toes plus the fingers and toes of all my children have been gone a long time.  However, I have adopted the mental age reference of a five year old.

 I am now something-something and a half.  In a few months I will be something-something and three-quarters.  By fall I will be something-something and five-sixths.  By late fall I will be something-something and eleven twelfths. 

By January of next year I will have reached the age of “Shut your mouth before I max out the credit cards, bankrupt social security, apply for a reverse mortgage on the double wide, and move in with you…in Arkansas.”

Like Maxine, I have survived the Stone Age, the Ice Age, the Bronze Age, the Tween-Age, the Teen Age, the New Age, the Hot Flash Age, and the Age of Accountability.

And by all accounts I have now reached Old Age.

 Better have the fire extinguisher ready for my next birthday cake.  It’s going to get HOT!

My Mama Didn't Raise No Fool

As told to Jody Worsham by Cousin Betty Sue

All rights reserved for padlock for  ID

Cousin Betty Sue ( that's Aunt Earletta's great niece by her first marriage) sent me this letter last week.

"Dear Cousin, 

I received an e-mail the other day announcing that my e-mail ID had won the Microsoft Lottery.  All I had to do was supply them with all my personal information and a small processing fee and my check for $1,000,000 would be in the mail.  I was not about to fall for that scam so I wrote them a firm letter.  Here’s what I said.

Dear Abbabaabb Ramikin, President of the Mercantile Bank and Mis-Trust of  Umbasi,

Thank you for letting me know I won the Micresoft Lottery but I think I should tell you that you misspelled Microsoft.  It is MicrOsoft , not MicrEsoft.  I don’t think the Macintosh boys would appreciate that. 

Now just let me tell you up front that my Mama, Cora Lee Robertson Smith, didn’t raise no fool in Pudluck, Arkansas when I was born there on January 30, 1979 at the Saints Preserve Us Methodist Hospital.  She warned me about scams like this.  That is why when I e-mailed you my social security number, I changed the last number. 

As far as the $150 you need to ship my money, I’m not giving you my credit card number either because I don’t have one even though every credit card in America has approved me for one.  Anybody at the Farmers Bank or Bust will tell you that I always pay by check or cash.  My checks are numbered and they know that the last one I wrote was number 2053.  They put a security number at the bottom…007-2013...so nobody would know which bank I use.  You will either accept my cash or nothing at all.

And I’m not falling for that old “check’s in the mail” ploy either.  You can just deliver my money right to my door at 1838 Knutt Avenue, Pudluck, Arkansas 000859 if you are really for real.  
Call me at 009-343-2211 and let me know it is on the way. If I am not home, I am probably at the blood bank donating my AB negative type blood like I do every six months, but my husband Robert Earl or any of our three children, Flora, Dora, or Cora can sign for it.

Until I hear from you, you are not getting any of my personal ID information.

Sincerely,

Betty Sue Smith Mobley

Now you be careful if you get any e-mails from some e-male telling you you done won a lottery.

I guess I showed that scam artist that Mama didn’t raise no fool.  And what Mama didn’t do, Daddy did! 

Love,
Cousin Betty Sue"