Ain’t No Use In Callin’ Out My Name, Gal
There is something I’ve been mulling over for what feels like a lifetime, a thread of thought I’ve spun round and round the spools in my head almost daily in recent months in an attempt to create something of logical consequence I can wear whenever my mind comes swiftly twirling back to the original question: Should I change my name, or leave it the same?
I know for many people this isn’t an issue, at all. When they marry, when they unite their life with another’s for the rest of their earthly existence, they meld everything into one. One name. One bank account. One burial plot. It makes complete sense to me. I can appreciate it on every level, and for months before these past six, I assumed I would follow marital suit.
I don’t feel the need to defend my love for Chris here, as most of you know us well enough to know we aren’t bluffing. We love each other with everything we have, and will strive to always. I love Chris. I love his last name. But I love mine, too.
Ladish to me is more than merely my last name, but then I guess that can also be readily understood in the context of my father’s passing at such a young age. A young age for him (39) and an even younger age for me (12). My father was the only boy in a brood of six children, big and little brother to five beautiful sisters, and from the moment my childhood self realized no sons for my father meant the Ladish name died with my grandfather and my father, I swore I would never change mine. I understood it would change nothing, me not changing my name. At least, it would change nothing by way of my last name being passed down any further. My children, if ever I had any, would presumably still take their father’s name, which of course would not be Ladish. Yet, my resolve to keep my maiden moniker was real, was consistent.
Years down the road, it would become harder for me to explain, harder to fully rationalize beyond the loss of my father. I knew the desire was deeper than compensation for a deeply felt loss, but I couldn’t have explained it had anyone asked. Thankfully no one thinks to ask a fourteen, fifteen, sixteen year-old why they are considering not taking their (currently non-existent) husband’s last name.
Before I walked down a bear-grass laden aisle toward Chris last September we had engaged in the name-change conversation multiple times, and each conversation resulted in different outcomes with regard to my currently held opinions about my stance on the issue. (Chris was steadfastly wonderful throughout each conversation.)
After we moved to Portland at the end of October and I started a new job at the start of November I presented my newfound employer with my new name. My email address, my signatures, my employee file, all read “Jernigan.” My paychecks, though, remained “Ladish,” as payroll had to match current social security records, and with the addition of Iggy, the move itself, and the new job starting a mere five days after we arrived, I legitimately hadn’t had a day’s extra time to officially change my name.
As weeks turned into months I still hadn’t made it to our local Social Security office. Part of it was poor timing and busy schedules, yes, but a larger part of it was indecision. I wasn’t ready to bid Ladish adieu, and day-by-day I started to remember, as if a self-imposed patriarchal fog was lifting from my brain, that I didn’t have to. There were no rules, either way. There was only popular culture, and less popular culture.
During month three and four of living as both a Ladish and a Jernigan I started to make a list in my head of everyone I knew and didn’t know who had decided to change their names upon taking vows, and a list of those who had not. I started to wonder if it was a betrayal to not want to take my own husband’s last name. I started to wonder, too, why anyone does.
For about ten minutes I considered hyphenating, but thought our particular names, while lovely alone, paired side-by-side sound less alliterative and more, well, long.
Then of course there was the option of reinventing our last names–or my last name–altogether, but that sort of defeats the purpose in this case, and anyway I’m not a Hollywood actress attempting to rid my life of a moniker that doesn’t read well when credits roll.
Are you starting to get the visual of the back-and-forth see-sawing my brain does when faced with any sort of substantial decision to be made? Me, too. Suffice it to say, I’m thankful I don’t become motion sick easily.
So, what’s in a name? As it turns out, quite a bit.
And now here’s the part where I stop opining for a moment to include you in this, the constantly spooling thread of thought currently weaving itself in my head (if you don’t run screaming in the opposite direction first).
I want to know what’s in your name.
Now, I’m not attempting to put anyone on the spot; I’m not asking you to share intimate family history (unless you are so inclined), and I’m certainly not asking you to out your entire real name on The Internets if that is something you don’t feel comfortable doing. I don’t blame you if it’s not.
I do want to know, though, if you kept your “maiden” name when you married, if you are married, or if you are planning to, if you are engaged, and why or why not.
I would also love to hear the opinions of the unattached, because I know from experience that just because you don’t have a fiancé or a spouse doesn’t mean you haven’t thought about what you would do with your surname if you did.
Last but not least, and this is for you gentlemen in the audience, this isn’t a ladies-only discussion. At least, I don’t want it to be. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to know your thoughts on this particular topic. Your life partner taking your last name: Archaic tradition, or the biggest compliment someone can bestow? Or, neither?
Popped in via Five Star Friday and have opinions, so I figured I’d comment.
I married at a very young age and took my husband’s name. I divorced after seven years and retook my maiden name. When I started using my maiden name again, it felt like coming home. It felt right. I felt like I was myself again, and I had just been pretending to be another person for all those years. Now, if I marry again, I’m certain I won’t take my partner’s name. As for naming children, that’s something that will be more complicated. I know of people who share the last names: boys have the father’s name, girls have the mother’s. I also think the whole making a new name thing is appropriate for kids.
I took my last name and his last name, and just slapped them together with a hyphen. If we ever have kids, they’re going to have that same last name. Or, you know, just call them Banana-Hammock. Depends on how drugged I am. ;)
obviously i’m super late to the party here, but i feel compelled to comment because i think this is a really important question for women. i am unabashedly biased – i think women should keep their names. i just got married two weeks ago, and there was never a doubt in my mind that i would keep my name. MY name – it’s mine, you know? the whole “your husband’s or your father’s name” is a red herring, imho – the minute it goes on your birth certificate, it’s YOURS. and that so many women are still encouraged to sacrifice that self-identifier that they’ve had and owned and inhabited for decades for the sake of “family unity” makes me really, really sad. so many comments about about being excited to take on a new family name, and almost no questioning of why it’s invariably the woman who’s asked to sacrifice in order to make that happen.
just because something is traditional certainly doesn’t make it fair or right, and i think if women feel connected to their names, they should keep ‘em. end of story. the sky will not fall, society will not crumble, and people will figure it out :)
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