A new name

The other day when I was in my son's music class one of the mothers told her daughter to pass the ball to "Hendrick's Mom'' as we waited for class to begin. Then she sighed and looked up. At what point, she pondered out loud, did we lose our names?

What an excellent question, I thought to myself.

I couldn't think of anything else while we sang "Little Red Caboose'' and other silly selections for the next 45 minutes. I guess I found it amusing at first when strangers in stores referred to me as ""mom.'' They had no reason to know my name. But it did start getting a little weird when doctors and teachers and other professionals used that moniker. I'm still me, aren't I?

I guess I should be used to it. Growing up I was "Lucille's daughter'' and "Joey's girlfriend,'' then I became "John's wife'' and now "Hendrick's mom.''

Maybe that's one of the reasons I liked being a reporter and seeing my name -- without the qualifiers -- on the front page of the newspaper. At work, I'm just me. Nina Rizzo. Nobody's nothing.

I'm sure people don't mean to dismiss our individuality, our sense of self. But perhaps we should take a moment to learn someone else's name.

Perhaps I should take my own advice.

I never did ask Marissa's mother what her name is.