Or – maybe it was more me, as my name growing up was Dee. Maybe – alas – I am just now figuring this thing out. Maybe, my parents made Whoodee up. Who did that? Who Dee?

As for naming things – again – lack of creativity abounds. Nothing is named. Actually that would take up more grey matter than I care to use in trying to remember what name goes to what item.

Now – where is my flibbity-gibbit and where am I?

…an imaginary family-member.

Growing up, my family had an imaginary member (named “Fred”) that was blamed for anything wrong in the house (or nation – or world). Many times the collective answer we gave for why – we needed more towells, or we were late to church, or needed to return a purchase, or the restaurant was closed – was: “Fred did it.” All six of us knew without question that this meant: “The real answer is too long and painful (and insignificant to the desired outcome) to be given – it is far better for all of us to just blame it on Fred.”

(Oddly enough, my grandfather was named Fred – there were some close calls when he was around and believed we were blaming him for all kinds of trouble. I don’t know why that was the name we picked – it really didn’t have anything to do with him.)

But giving a name to this concept made life far simpler. I think the reason so few families have stuck together is that they don’t have a Fred to stick with all their issues. I blame Fred for that.