All Things Porterhouse

The other day was an insanely crappy day in the office.  Nothing going right, problems multiplying, and staff just shy of mutiny.  I am sure many of you have those days.  While banging my head on the desk, I got a phone call.  Expecting some fairly standard husband wife coordination, I answered the call as much to escape the day as to help determine what was for dinner that evening.

I was surprised when my 4 year old was on the other end, “Hi Daddy” and then a torrent of excited words followed as he unloaded what sounded like the details of two distinct stories twisted together, seasoned with a little free association.  If you have kids that are between 3 and 5 you have witnessed this.  Its as if their mouths can’t keep up with their minds, and half the mind wants to tell you something while the other half wants to run around in circles chasing a ball.  You kind of have to aim for the nouns and build your own story as you listen.  As long as you are not in a hurry, or the story doesn’t involve a big brother impaled by the toy, its cute and entertaining to watch and listen….for me it was a great cure for the day.

My 4 year old is named Porter.  The name was one of two on the list we had, and upon meeting him we new he was a Porter.  In my family the only people that get called their real name are outsiders. Everyone has a nickname even my mother, who a long time ago went from mom to “M.”  Porter lends itself to a few choice nicknames, we tend to call him Port, and Porterhouse.

This was the root source of the phone call.  While helping shop for groceries Porter discovered that Shoprite sells a meat called “Porterhouse.”  For you and I this is a steak of beef, for Porter it was a whole new meat.  A meat that shared his name.

At home that evening I asked him about the meat. “Do you think you will like it?” “I don’t know Daddy I have never tried it yet” fair enough I thought.  “Porter, what kind of meat is it?” “Daddy its Porterhouse meat.” I asked what porterhouse meat comes from, and stumped him.  So then I asked if he thought that it was made from other boys named Porterhouse.  Porter was certain the meat did not come from other boys named Porter, because he is the only Porter he knows.  At this point the big brother stepped in and told Porter the meat was beef, from a cow.  But I had one more question, “Porter do you think we named you after the meat or is the meat named after you.” Here porter surprised me and said he thought we named him after the meat, and he was proud of that. 

I’m sure that at some point in the future he will remind me of that, “Well, you named me after a slab of beef, what did you expect!” but for the short term it was a great way to end the day.   A year ago I could have told him the meat was made from other kids named Porter and he would have believed, it is nice to see them grow, even if it does take a little of the fun out of teasing them.