The roll call

I always thought that being a head of state was a tough gig. After all, these people have to remember the names of scores of strangers, all those anonymous handshakes extended, going from one official function to the next. You can’t very well ask people to wear nametags to an APEC summit. (Or can you? Maybe people actually do wear nametags…)

Anyway, I thought that job was tough, but it’s nothing next to the roll call of names my four-year-old daughter Isobel keeps inside her head at all times — and expects you to carry around as well.

If a daughter brings up an obscure reference from an animated movie that you’re pretty sure you dozed off while watching, you, as the dad, are expected to summon up the name, rank, circumstances of birth and eventual fate of the mentioned personage at the mere drop of a hat. Daughters, in particular, seem to live in an imaginary world that encompasses thousands of names, characters with intricate back-stories and story arcs. It’s their psychic support system. Whatever happened to just a handful of cute, imaginary friends?

Of course, there are the obligatory Disney "Princesses" — Aurora, Ariel, Belle, Snow White, Cinderalla, Jasmine, sometimes Pochahontas and Mulan. These chicks could keep any dad busy with all the fashion accessories and grooming products out there. You may think their stories are interchangeable. They’re not. Not to a four-year-old girl.

Then there are the Disney sidekicks. Their ranks are endless. God help you if you forget Meeko, Flit, Abu, Lumiere, Sebastian, Flounder, Dora or Thumper…

I, meanwhile, have a hard time telling TV newscasters and US Cabinet members apart, never mind names. And young Hollywood actors’ names? Fuhgeddaboutit.

But young minds are like healthy sponges, picking up every reference in sight and filing it away for later use in their breathless expositions on book and DVD characters. It doesn’t stop with Disney, either. You’ve got your Old Testament crowd, too, logged down in illustrated children’s Bible stories told at bedtime: Joshua, Deborah, Gideon, Samson, Ruth, David, Solomon, Elijah, Ester… It doesn’t help that many of Isobel’s classmates and friends sport similar Biblical monikers, which makes name recall even more confusing.

Meanwhile, I have a hard time remembering the first names of adult Filipinos whose parents graced them with sing-song titles of the Bong, Bing, Ding, Dong, Baby, Cherrie, Apple Pie, Sweetie and Tweetie variety. Honestly: How do Filipinos keep track of all the nicknames?

Isobel — bless her large, receptive mind — has no trouble categorizing Star Wars characters, and will grill unsuspecting adults, like her Ninang Jasmin, on certain personalities: "What was the name of that character in the robe in Star Wars?" (Yes, she’s a Star Wars fan at age four; it’s some genetic mutation, I believe.) "Uh… you mean Obi-Wan Kenobi…?" "No." "The Jawas?" "No! Not the Jawas…" "Er, you mean Chewbacca…?" "He doesn’t wear a robe!" (If she were capable at four, she might well insert "Duh!" here.) "Well, there’s, uh… the Jedis…?" "No." "Yoda…?" "No." "How about the Ewoks?" "They were in Revenge of the Jedi, Ninang!" And so on.

This kind of quizmastering would make Alex Trebek proud, but it’s a little hard for addle-brained adults to keep up.

Her TV pals are another breed, all saddled with names appended with "the" and an unmemorable title: Thomas the Tank Engine, Dora the Explorer, Sonic the Hedgehog, Bob the Builder, etc… (And that one cartoon that is confusingly preceded by an adverb: Totally Spies.)

We thought we had it tough, trying to remember the names of Disney’s crop of dwarves (Bashful,Dopey, Sneezy, Sleepy, Grumpy, Doc, Happy...). We thought we had it bad with Casper the Friendly Ghost and Winnie the Pooh. Today’s kids eat up those characters’ names like Sugar Pops, then go gunning for more. The roll call never stops:

Swiper, Diego, Lilo, Stitch, Babar, Paddington, Madeline, Pippi Longstocking…

You start to think that literature is the answer, but you’re the one who ends up doing the cramming, digging out the old C.S. Lewis books just so you can conduct an intelligent, or at least coherent, discussion with your four-year-old about Lucy, Aslan, Edward, Peter, Susan, Mr. Tumnus, Prince Caspian, Duffle, Roonwit, Reepicheep…

You think you’ve got a good hold on the Disney characters, and then they start throwing all those African names at you, ending in vowels and drawn in increasingly indistinguishable styles…

Mufasa, Simba, Nala, Rafiki, Pumbaa, Sarabi, Zazu…

Meanwhile, I have a hard time navigating the rounds of a cocktail party or a press event, let alone plowing through a Faulkner or Tolkien novel, without a scorecard. Isobel, in contrast, has such perfect recall, it’s like she took the Toddler’s Course on Mnemonic Name Recall. Face it: there’s nothing worse than greeting someone at a party with "Hi, nice to meet you!" — before quickly noticing from their facial expression that you’ve actually met before, forcing you to toss in a completely unconvincing "Again!"

Maybe I should just bring Isobel along to the cocktail parties.