Across Ireland, more than 150,000 adults address their parents by given names rather than familial titles — a practice that, far from signalling coldness, often maps the quiet contours of trust, equality, and the evolving nature of authority within families. Whether born of gradual mutual understanding, adolescent assertion, or simple workplace pragmatism, the choice of what to call a parent turns out to be a small but revealing window into how each generation negotiates intimacy and identity. And yet, when crisis arrives, the body sometimes speaks before the mind can choose — returning, unbid
What You Call Your Parents Reveals Family Dynamics
The parent remains the parent, regardless of what we call them.
Mark
So what's actually happening here? Is this a sign that Irish families are becoming less formal, or is something else going on?
Mimi
It's not really about formality in the way we might think. Some of these people grew up in families that were deliberately egalitarian—parents who wanted their kids to see them as equals rather than authorities. For others, it started as a teenage thing, a way of creating distance or asserting independence.
Luke
But we're talking about 4 percent of the population. That's not a trend. That's a small number of people with specific family circumstances. We shouldn't overstate how common this is.
Mark
Fair point. But for those people who do it, does it actually work? Does calling your parent by their first name change the relationship?
Mimi
It seems to reflect the relationship more than it creates it. Sherwood's parents signed cards with their names from the start. O'Tierney started doing it as an act of resistance. Kavanagh stumbled into it by accident. The naming convention follows the dynamic, not the other way around.
Luke
And we should note that even people who grew up with this arrangement often don't want it for their own kids. Kavanagh explicitly says he wouldn't like his children calling him by his first name. That suggests something about how he values the parental role, even if he didn't experience it that way himself.
Mark
So it's not necessarily a better or worse way to parent?
Mimi
No. It's just different. And it seems to work fine when the family is already built on trust and communication. But it's not a prerequisite for those things.
Luke
The most telling detail might be Sherwood collapsing and calling her mother "Mammy" without thinking. That suggests the formal name is a choice, but something deeper runs underneath it.
Mark
So the title doesn't determine the bond.
Mimi
Exactly. The bond determines whether the title matters at all.
The Pulse
- Over 150,000 Irish adults quietly upend one of the most instinctive social conventions by calling their parents by first name — a figure that surprises precisely because the practice remains largely invisible.
- The tension is real: what reads as cold detachment from the outside can, from within the family, represent the highest form of mutual respect — or, alternatively, a teenager's deliberate refusal of deference.
- Each case carries its own logic — a parent who signs birthday cards with her given name, a son who discovered a first name cuts through distraction faster than any shout, a man who needed a professional boundary between Paddy-at-work and Dad-at-home.
- The practice does not resolve neatly: some adults who grew up using first names now feel strongly that their own children should call them Mum or Dad, sensing that the parental title is something hard-won and worth preserving.
- Beneath every deliberate naming convention, something older persists — one woman, collapsing in distress, did not call out her mother's name; she called out Mammy, the word her body remembered before her mind could intervene.
Across Ireland, more than 150,000 adults address their parents by given names rather than familial titles — a practice that, far from signalling coldness, often maps the quiet contours of trust, equality, and the evolving nature of authority within families. Whether born of gradual mutual understanding, adolescent assertion, or simple workplace pragmatism, the choice of what to call a parent turns out to be a small but revealing window into how each generation negotiates intimacy and identity. And yet, when crisis arrives, the body sometimes speaks before the mind can choose — returning, unbidden, to the oldest words it knows.
There is a moment in The Simpsons that lodges itself in cultural memory: Bart calls his father by his first name, and Homer throttles him in exasperated disbelief. The joke works because it touches something real — using a parent's given name feels like a small rebellion, a way of stripping away the authority that comes with the title.
Yet for more than 150,000 Irish adults, this is simply how they speak to their parents. A 2022 survey found that roughly 4 percent of Irish adults call their mothers by their first names. On the surface it seems cold. The reality proves more textured.
Mia Sherwood, a 25-year-old writer from Dublin, cannot pinpoint when she began calling her parents Barbara and Paul. It happened gradually in secondary school — and crucially, it came from both directions. Her parents had always signed birthday cards with their given names. The shift reflected something true about their relationship: a kind of equality, a respect that ran both ways. Eamonn O'Tierney, now 62, began using his parents' first names at thirteen during a difficult period — partly a refusal of expected deference, partly a reaching toward something that felt more adult. His parents were disgruntled but did not forbid it. Decades later, the habit remains.
The reasons multiply in unexpected directions. Neil Kavanagh discovered by accident that calling his mother Maeve got her attention faster than anything else — a practical strategy he and his brother devised and never abandoned. Gavin Keogh used his father's first name only at work, where a professional boundary was necessary; at home, he was Dad. The singer Grimes, meanwhile, has said her son uses her first name because she does not identify with the word 'mother' — not rebellion, but alignment.
What strikes most forcefully is how often these arrangements correlate with genuine closeness rather than distance. Sherwood describes simply enjoying her parents' company. The intimacy, she suggests, never required the title to sustain it.
And yet a curious reversal emerges. Kavanagh, who called his own mother by her name without incident, does not want his children to do the same. 'It's a privilege to be a parent,' he says. 'You feel like you've earned it.' The title he never demanded of his mother is one he now quietly hopes for himself.
One moment cuts through all the reasoning. When Sherwood once collapsed in distress and reached for her phone, she did not say Barbara. She said Mammy. The word returned before she could choose it — a reminder that beneath every deliberate convention, something older and more instinctive persists. The parent remains the parent, regardless of what we call them.
There is a moment in The Simpsons that lodges itself in the cultural memory: Bart, skateboard in hand, addresses his father by his first name. Homer's response is swift and violent—a throttle, an exasperated cry. The joke works because it touches something real. Calling a parent by their given name feels like a small rebellion, a way of stripping away the authority that comes with the title.
Yet for more than 150,000 Irish adults, this is simply how they speak to their parents. A 2022 survey by iReach found that roughly 4 percent of Irish adults call their mothers by their first names. The figure for fathers is likely similar. On the surface, it seems cold—a distance masquerading as familiarity. But the reality, as it often is, proves more textured than first impression allows.
Mia Sherwood, a 25-year-old writer and historian from Dublin, cannot pinpoint the exact moment she began calling her parents Barbara and Paul instead of Mum and Dad. It happened early in secondary school, she says, and it happened gradually. What she does remember is that her parents had always signed birthday cards with their given names rather than parental titles. The shift, in other words, came from both directions—a mutual understanding rather than an act of defiance. Sherwood describes her parents as having a relaxed parenting style. Barbara made clear that trust was a gift, not a default. Sherwood was given room to grow. "I was kept on a long enough tether," she recalls. The form of address, then, reflected something true about their relationship: a kind of equality, a respect that ran both ways.
For others, the choice carried a different weight. Eamonn O'Tierney, now 62 and living in England, began calling his parents by their first names at thirteen or fourteen. He was going through a difficult period, he says, and the shift was partly about refusing the deference they expected. It was also, he admits, about wanting something that felt more adult. His parents were surprised, even disgruntled, but they did not forbid it. They accepted it. Decades later, O'Tierney still uses their names.
The reasons multiply. Neil Kavanagh, an audio producer in his early forties, discovered by accident that calling his mother Maeve by her actual name got her attention faster than any other method. He and his brother had devised the strategy as a practical tool—a way to cut through parental distraction. It worked. She did not object. Thirty years later, the habit remains. For Gavin Keogh, who worked alongside his father in the family wine business, the distinction was purely contextual. His father was Paddy at work and Dad at home. The formal name created a necessary boundary between professional and domestic life.
There is also the matter of how parents themselves understand their role. The singer Grimes revealed in an interview with Vogue that her son calls her by her first name because she does not identify with the word "mother." The form of address, in that case, reflects not rebellion but alignment—a parent and child moving in the same direction.
What strikes most forcefully is how often these unconventional arrangements seem to correlate with genuine closeness rather than distance. Sherwood, who uses her parents' first names, describes enjoying their company. She hangs out with them. The parenting dynamic, she says, was never as pronounced as it might have been in other households. The intimacy did not require the title.
Yet there is a curious reversal at work. Neil Kavanagh, despite calling his own mother by her first name without incident, does not want his children to do the same. "It's a privilege to be a parent," he says. "You feel like you've earned it. To me, the best sound is hearing your child say 'Dada' or 'Daddy'." The form of address, for him, carries weight that his own experience did not demand but that he now seeks.
There is one moment that cuts through all the reasoning and choice. Sherwood collapsed once and called her mother in distress. In that moment, in that voice, she did not say Barbara. She said Mammy. The title returned unbidden, a word her body knew before her mind could choose. It is a reminder that beneath all the deliberate naming conventions, all the conscious decisions about family dynamics and adult relationships, something older and more instinctive persists. The parent remains the parent, regardless of what we call them.
Notable Quotes
Being a mother feels weird to say. For some reason, I don't identify with that word.— Grimes, in an interview with Vogue, explaining why her son calls her by her first name
It's a privilege to be a parent. You feel like you've earned it. To me, the best sound is hearing your child say 'Dada' or 'Daddy'.— Neil Kavanagh, on why he would not want his own children to call him by his first name
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