The Besh Moments In Life

Last Friday, Sara, Besh and I went to the main post office in Austin to get Besh a passport.  It’s looking highly likely like I’ll have an extended business trip in the near future to London, one long enough to make sense to bring Besh and Sara so they can explore the UK while I’m working.

Sara had multiple conversations with Besh about how he had to be serious at the passport office, act like a big boy, etc.  So when we went in he was on his very best behavior.  He sat down at a chair at the desk with the postal employee/passport guy next to Sara, I was on the other side.

Besh (to passport guy): “Nice to meet you.”

Passport Guy: “Nice to meet you too.”

Besh stuck his hand out, Passport Guy shook it.

Besh: “You don’t have any hair.”

Sara: “Besh!”

“What?  He doesn’t have any hair.”

Now, this was true.  But we hadn’t really dealt with this kind of open and honest toddler observation before.  Fortunately, Passport Guy was nice about it.

Passport Guy: “That’s true–I shaved it all off for summer.”  (Not sure if that was true, but we’ll let him go with that)

Besh: “Oh.  You probably don’t need any shampoo.”

That covered, we went through the forms, stapled all the proper documentation, answered all the questions.  Then came the time to swear to the truth of everything we’d said.  Sara and I raised our right hands, so Besh did the same.  Passport Guy administered the Passport Oath, which I think says that as Americans we must act obnoxiously in all European countries and to always remember that everyone in the world speaks English but sometimes you have to speak it really loudly and slowly for them to understand it.

After Sara and I agreed with the oath, Besh looked at us a bit confused.

Sara: “Mommy and Daddy just told him that we were telling the truth.”  {Besh still stands with his right hand up.}  ”Do you swear to tell the truth, Besh?”

Besh: “Yes!  That man has no hair!”

As I’ve mentioned in the Besh Origins page, Besh is not really Besh’s name.  Well, it is in some regards, but it’s not listed on his birth certificate.  His real first name is Evan, although almost nobody has ever called him that after the first few months of his life when we thought it’d be easy to have a non-family name and a family name.  Bah, too complicated, he’s Besh/Besher/Beshaboo/Beshie/some-other-variation.

This hasn’t been much of an issue until now.  Every once in a while Besh remembers that his “real name” (whatever that means to a three year old) is Evan, but then he quickly forgets.  Nonni got him a big yellow plastic cup with Evan on it (shockingly, they did not make one that said Besh or Besher…stupid company that wants to make money) but he just thinks of it as the Evan Cup, not something with his name on it.

Last night we had dinner together–a first since his recent kidnapping adventures in San Antonio–and we talked about our upcoming trip to London (highly probable extended business trip that makes sense for Besh and Sara to join me on).

Mommy: “So Besher, tomorrow afternoon we’re going to go to the Post Office to get your passport!”

Besh: “I get a passport?”

“Well, we have to fill out the paperwork and {long explanation cut} then your passport comes in the mail!”

“Yay!”

“But you want to hear something funny?  The passport isn’t going to say Besher.”

“I don’t get a passport?”

“No, it’s your passport.  But it’s going to have your real name on it.  Do you remember your real name?”

{Besher scrunches up his face and shrugs, shaking his head}

“Do you remember the yellow cup Nonni got you?”

“The Evan Cup?”

“Yes, exactly.  That’s your real name.”

“Oh yes, Evan Garcia.”

“And that’s what your passport will say: Evan Garcia.”

“No, I don’t like that name.  I give that name away and stay Besher.  I give Daddy and Mommy that name.”  {He takes a bite of macaroni and then waves at me and then Sara}  ”Hi, Evan!”

We’ll see if he still feels that way when he’s a teenager.