We all have a few things we keep tucked away from our kids: old love letters, questionable fashion choices, maybe a childhood nickname we hoped would never see the light of day again. For me, it was “Button”—a name my college friends gave me after a disastrous attempt at sewing a costume for a campus play. I thought I’d left “Button” behind, somewhere between graduation and my first real job. Until the day my daughter’s teacher called and, somehow, knew it.
It started like any ordinary Thursday. My phone rang in the middle of lunch, the screen lighting up with the elementary school’s number. I braced myself for a discussion about homework or an upcoming field trip, but when I picked up, the voice on the other end made me freeze.
“Hi, is this Button?” she asked, a warm laugh in her voice. “I mean—sorry, old habits. Is this Olivia’s mom?”
I paused, unsure if I’d heard her right. “Um, yes. This is Olivia’s mom… and, well, Button—at least I used to be.” The teacher chuckled. “This is Ms. Carter. You probably remember me as Emily Taylor from your theater days at Westfield.”
It all came rushing back: Emily, always the star of every college production, and me—backstage, usually sewing a button back onto someone’s costume. I hadn’t seen or heard from Emily in over a decade, and now she was my daughter’s second-grade teacher.
The Past, Unexpectedly Present
We chatted, swapping a few old memories before Emily explained the real reason for her call—a minor incident with Olivia in class. But before we hung up, she added, “Olivia is wonderful. She’s definitely got your dramatic streak—and don’t worry, I haven’t told anyone about ‘Button.’ Yet!”
When I hung up, I felt a mix of nostalgia and embarrassment. Had I really told my daughter nothing about that chapter of my life? Would “Button” be the next story Olivia shared at the dinner table, or—worse—on a class project about family history?
Later that day, Olivia came home with a huge smile. “Ms. Carter says you were a star backstage. Did you really sew all those costumes, Mom?”
A Conversation—and a Connection
That night, over macaroni and cheese, I told Olivia the story. How I was nervous on stage, but loved being part of the team. How sometimes the best memories come from unexpected places—or names. She giggled at the nickname, instantly delighted. “Can I call you Button, too?” she asked.
I shrugged, smiling. “Maybe just at home.”
I realized then that our histories—nicknames and all—always have a way of coming back around, sometimes when we least expect it. And sometimes, they give our kids a chance to see us as real people with stories of our own.
What I Learned
Our pasts have a funny way of weaving into our present, and sometimes, the parts we’re most embarrassed by are the ones that bring us closer to our kids. I learned that sharing those stories doesn’t make me less of a grownup—it makes me more relatable, more honest, and more connected to the people I love most.
Emily and I reconnected, too—coffee dates, laughter, and a promise to keep some of the more embarrassing college stories between us.
Final Thought
If your secret nickname—or any hidden piece of your past—suddenly pops up in your child’s life, embrace it. Let it be a bridge, not a burden. The real stories, the real names, are what make families—and friendships—stronger.
