My brother calls me Wayne. As in Dane, son of Wayne. I don't quite understand the inner workings of his mind. He used to call me other brother Fridge, as some kind of morph from Nick.
And my name is NOT Dane. That part of the moniker came from the consistent mispronounciation of my name (which actually has a harder e sound on the end. Like there is an invisible i in my name.).
Since I was 7, receiving my first award on a school assembly. The identity of the teacher has been smeared away. The faceless woman called Dane Levy to the stage. I didn't know it was me, so the nudges of my classmates and that huge pause just magnified the humiliation.
Yesterday - 22 years later - I got an award on assembly. I pretty bloody chuffed about it, really. I don't quite know who made the decision to deign me as demonstrating "outstanding dedication to the teaching and learning of students" but I am pretty damn delighted that he did (taking a chance on it being a he, since The Boy Factory (pretty unsurprisingly) is a bit of a sausage fest).
Anyway, the award was presented by Swainy - the vice captain. A lovely string bean of a kid - full back in the 1sts, and a lolloping enthusiasm in English that almost makes up for his near complete lack of attendance. So he is at the mic, calling the names of the teachers, and I was worried he was going to call me Mrs. The notion of being married to your father is pretty nauseating, and so that was my greatest concern. I KNOW that I have had the "What's your first name, Miss?" conversation with my Year 12 kids. I definitely have. I guess Swainy was away that day...
But he comes from a long tradition of mispronouncing my name on assemblies, so really, the boy can't fight fate. I just know that all day I am going to be answering to the name of Dane.
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