Who are you?

Conor looked at me in the kitchen the other day. Who are you? he asked. Who are you? He looked directly at me, expecting an answer.

I was startled by such a direct question from a five-year-old. I was speechless. I had an existential moment. Who am I? I wondered. Really? Who am I? How do I explain myself to this five-year-old?

After a few days of reflection, I finally realized that he’d asked me who I was in relation to him. I couldn’t answer him then, but I probably could now.

I am Jennifer I’d say. I am your mom’s friend. You guys needed a place to stay last November and I needed people to stay in my house. So–now you’re here. And I’m here.

But, his question still perplexes me. I’m still thinking about it. Who are you?

Maybe the question should be: Who do you want to be?

I guess I’d better get on that.