A Man Named Bill

The other day a bearded deep-voiced man—who evidently lives in my house—told me that he was leaving for California on July 13. He starts his new job at a theatre production company on July 15. He wants to sleep on a friend’s couch, get settled into a work routine and sign up for classes well before he starts college in late August.

I turned around to look this voice in the eye, and saw someone I'd never seen before.

A man.

Not a "Young Man."

A man.

Hmmm. What should I call this man?

The Man?

Boring.

The-Man-Formerly-Known-As-The-Teenager?

Doesn’t exactly have a ring to it.

Technically, at 18 years of age, my son is still a "teenager." But he can no longer be "The-Teenager-Formerly-Known-as-Pumpkin." I can't even bring myself to call him "The Teenager."

He's too…too…big.

In size, yes. But big in personality, too. Huge, in fact.

Maybe it's the chiseled cheekbones and the creases when he smiles, the ones that replaced the baby-face cheeks of his teenage years.

When did that happen?

Maybe it's the confident swagger. The one that appeared after he was technical director for A Little Shop of Horrors. With this production, he accomplished a goal he set when he was just 14—to bring community theatre quality to his high school stage. A goal he turned right around and topped with his second play of the year, Curious Savages.

Or could it be the worldly snicker? That all-knowing "hmph" he makes whenever a politician he doesn't like (which is most of them) speaks on the evening news? When on earth did that happen? Maybe it was always there, and I just woke up and noticed.

But here's the truly telling part: He's not funny anymore.

He's Focused. Thoughtful. Stalwart. Earnest.

Oh sure, he's funny at times—like a comedian is funny. But he used to be funny all the time. Funny just because he woke up every morning wearing this awkward teenage skin. Now he's only funny when he cracks clever jokes about adult matters, like dating and presidential elections.

I spent no small part of this past year worrying about how it would feel when my son—this happy-go-lucky little guy who made me laugh through thick and thin for 18 straight years—left home for college in California.

But he’s already gone. And someone new has taken his place.

A man.

A man who grew up with a nickname for every stage of his life. First, "Godzilla." Then, “Pumpkin.” Then, “Little Guy" and then “Short Stuff.” Finally, “The Teenager.”

So…now what?

Maybe “Bill.” After all, his stage name is Bill.

When I tell theater people that, they grimace and say “Huh?”

Long story. The important thing is that everyone—everyone that is except for me, his dad and his dentist—calls him “Bill.”

When I visit his theater productions, people ask me whose mom I am. When I say "Justin," they look puzzled, not knowing who on earth I could be talking about. Then I say, “Bill,” and they grin wide and say things like, “Oh Bill!!! Bill’s great! We LOVE Bill!”

Even the announcer at his high school graduation presented him to the world as Justin “Bill” Snyder.

The cutsey nicknames just don’t work anymore. Not for this bearded deep-voiced man with the huge personality.

So, allow me to introduce to you a man. An awesome young man named Justin Keith Patrick Krecker Snyder.

Or, simply “Bill.”


parenting teenagers daily life humor writing diary