Buster goes to orientation “W

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As a licensed, professional humorist, I immediately recognized the opportunity for high comedy.

“Charlemagne,” I answered confidently.

“Your name is Charlemagne?” She apparently thought my fake first name strange.

“That’s right. My name Charlemagne.”

She shrugged and wrote down my name. I went back to my family at a table and waited for my “name” to be called.

Moments later, they beckoned over the loud speaker. “Charlemagne! Charlemagne, your order is ready!”

When I arose to stares from those in the restaurant, my family started howling with laughter. It’s a joke that never gets old (for me, that is), and I’ve been doing it for decades, although this was the first time they had asked for my name at Chick-fil-A, which caught the family flat-footed.

I purposely choose to dine at restaurants that use this “name-calling” method just to offer an odd, or ridiculous, name. The last few times I’ve had the opportunity, I’ve chosen Ebenezer, Julio, Hawkeye, Deuteronomy, and — as mentioned — Charlemagne.

I mention this custom of mine to amuse myself mostly, but also to serve as a prelude to my daughter’s college orientation this past week.

When my wife and I checked in for the parent/guest orientation, we received our name tags. My daughter had signed us up, and my name tag read: “Buster Robbins.”

“My joke” was on me. I’ve taught her well.

Unlike those occasions at restaurants, where I’m only Raoul or Mortimer for a few brief moments to pick up my food, this time, I was Buster for an entire day-and-a-half.

“Well, if I’m going to be Buster, I’m going to have to change my personality a bit,” I told my wife after coming to accept my new nickname.

So, with that in mind, on the second day of orientation (yes, second day! My college orientation lasted about four hours), I wore a T-shirt I bought at a convenience store that had “World’s #7 Dad!” scrawled in cursive across the front. I have zero idea if a real Buster would wear such a garment, but I know this real Len wouldn’t.

After over 12 hours of “orientating” to a new world and lifestyle, daughter, mother and World’s #7 Dad were sufficiently prepped — and baffled.

To be honest, I have no clue how to parent a college-aged child. Or if I should.

Just when I got used to being a parent to a high school student, she graduated.

And once I get comfortable as a college-aged parent, that will be over as well — I hope.

I don’t think I can afford more than four years of college. Maybe Buster can. is