Family Matters: The Robot-Naming Party

After a long day of working and shuttling the kids to their after school activities, the last thing I wanted to do was go to a robot-naming party.

But we entered the robot-naming contest at Dimitri's Diner many months ago and, excited about the prospect of winning, my kids stood over my shoulder and almost forced me to write the party on the calendar in black Sharpie. Wednesday, Jan. 13: "Robot party @ Dimitri's."

There was no way to avoid witnessing the historical robot-naming event.

So, still wearing my work clothes, my daughter in her gymnastics leotard and my son covered in crumbs from whatever was festering in the cup holder of his seat, we trekked into town on another freezing and dark evening to the diner—or, as my son calls it, "My favorite restaurant ever."

When we arrived, my husband was waiting for us, stating that under no circumstances was he going to miss the naming of the robot, in case they selected our entry, D2 (short for R2D2, and also Dimitri's Diner, which I thought was extremely clever). The prize was a gift certificate to none other than, of course, Dimitri's.

We sat down, and the waiters served free pizzas for the kids. We could not believe how many people were sitting in the diner, waiting for the small puppy-sized, white, talking, walking remote and sensor-controlled creature who stands at the diner's front door to finally get his fully-deserved identity.

Over the last several months, my daughter had struck up quite a relationship with the diner's pet robot, who grabs your hand with its claw if you dare to touch it. If you speak to it, it will respond, but knowledge of robot-language is definitely required.

When I have attempted to talk to the robot, it did not seem interested in my conversation. But somehow my daughter learned this special robot language (and I doubt it was during her two hours and 45 minutes of kindergarten).

My son, however, was a bit skittish around the robot, retreating from its potential grasp with the hide-behind-mom's-leg maneuver, so I have a feeling his enthusiasm for the naming was more due to the unlimited pizza and cake they were serving, or to the prospect of winning.

As the servers scurried around the diner, handing out food to a packed house, the owner announced that if you found a coin inside your piece of cake, you would win a prize.

"What will we win?" asked my prize-hound son. "Candy? More cake? Toys?"

As I tried to explain to him that it didn't matter if we won a prize, that we should be happy with the free cake, etc., my son proceeded to rip apart his slice of cake with his bare hands.

Upon seeing that there was no coin in his slice, nor in anyone's slice at our table, his bottom lip started to quiver, pre-cry.

"You can't always win," sighed my logical yet unsympathetic husband.

As if on cue, a little girl across the aisle from us screamed out, "I won! I found a coin!"

"What did she win?" asked my son, trying to hold it together, as the waiter handed the little girl's mother an envelope.

"Don't worry," I said. "It's just a gift certificate for the diner."

"What's a gift certificate? Can I get one of those?" he said.

"This cake is great!" said my daughter.

Fortunately, the owner chose this dicey moment to announce the winning name. There had been over 1,500 entries, and he narrowed it down to 100. Then, he let his grandson, the great Selector of Robot Names, choose randomly from the bag,

"And the winning name is…ROBBY! ROBBY THE ROBOT!" he exclaimed with exaggerated enthusiasm.

With slightly less fervor, I applauded along with the full house, who all seemed to like the appellation.

Trying not to appear a sore loser in front of my children, I muttered, "I guess that's a cute name for a robot."

"I think D2 is much better," said my husband, igniting the fire. "Robby is kind of boring."

"Yeah, Mom," my daughter chimed in, licking the icing off her fingers. "Robby is not as good as D2. Why didn't they pick our name?"

"What prize did the winner get?" asked my one-track-mind son. "Candy?"

To be honest, I was having difficulty with a name other than D2, since that is how I saw Robby in my mind. I'm not even sure I'll call him by his proper name the next time I see him. But I was glad to be able to confirm his gender, finally. And as we were leaving the diner, the kids seemed oddly at ease with the newly-anointed friend.

"Bye, Robby!" sang my daughter, as she tricked him into thinking she was giving him her hand. Robbie grabbed for it but was not quick enough for my daughter's great escape plan. He muttered something in robot-language to her, which hopefully was not anything inappropriate.

I'm glad I had the opportunity to show what a good loser I can be, and I hope I modeled an appropriately gracious attitude toward the winner of the contest, even though I really thought our answer should have won.

Still, I feel like we had some part in the birth of this newest member of the Ridgefield community. And I hope this is not the last robot-naming party my kids will attend. Perhaps we will adopt our own robot someday. And of course, though it would make no sense, we'll name him D2.