LJ Idol Season 8: Week 20; Open Topic.
Outside of getting a root canal, I can't think of a more painful way to spend an afternoon. Shuffling from station to station, filling out forms and taking a ridiculously tedious written exam. From my drivers license getting stuck in my wallet, to having to stop to fix my contact before proceeding with the vision test, it just wasn't my day. The DMV attendant was happy to shuffle me right along to the next station, thankful that I was out of her hair at last.
"Ms. Duvall. You left this on my counter and you're going to need it to proceed." The DMV attendant was more than annoyed with me at this point. But what caught my attention wasn't so much the tone of her voice as what she called me: Ms. Duvall.
And I genuinely meant it when I said, "Thank you."
I’d made things complicated for the poor, grumpy civil servant since not only was I changing my name back to what it should be, I was also becoming an official California resident. I was starting over at last. Feeling almost giddy, I took the document and proceeded to the area where I’d have my photo taken for my new California driver’s license.
She couldn’t have known, but when I’d thanked her, it wasn’t for returning the paper I’d left behind. No, what I was really thanking her for was for giving me my name back
I know that many women look forward to the day they take their husband’s last name. Little girls often scribble their first names with their crush's last names in their diary just to see how it sounds. I was one of them. I must admit that Kristen Dicaprio had a nice ring to it. However with reality in mind, I tested it out with every boyfriend I had just to be sure that it was a name I was willing to be stuck with for the rest of my life.
But something changed within me as my wedding neared and the time for me to give up my name crept ever closer. I realized I no longer wanted to part with the name I'd had for my entire life.
"What's in a name anyway?" My future ex-husband countered my hesitation.
"Well if it's just a name, why can't I keep mine?"
"Because you can't. It's tradition and that's just how it works."
"But that's not how it works. Lots of women keep their names these days. Why can't I? You wouldn't like it if I asked you to change your name; so why do I have to change mine?”
"It's not even your real name anyway,” he said. "Why does it matter?"
"But it’s my name,” I snapped back. “It’s the only name I’ve ever had."
"It's not even your dad's name though. But while we’re discussing it, maybe you should drop his name too so it doesn’t sound so silly."
That argument always stung the most.
I'm a complicated person and my name seems to reflect that fact. My full given name also includes my dad’s last name as my second middle name. My last name, Duvall, is actually my sister's dad's last name; a man my mom divorced long before my existence was even considered. My own dad passed away when I was just a baby; my mom's ex-husband filled in as a father figure most of my life.
Who said your familial ties should be dictated by blood and marriage? When it came time for Christmas, we spent time at Grandma and Grandpa Duvall’s house and they treated me like any other grandkid of theirs. Grandpa Duvall would even joke that I had his eyes. I liked my hodge-podge family. It wasn’t the typical nuclear family some people idealize, but then, very little about me is typical. And I like that. Why couldn’t my future husband see that about me? Why couldn’t he appreciate the history my name had, and allow me to keep it?
"I'm at least keeping my dad's name. You know that's all I have from him..." I felt like I was negotiating for a new car, not talking to my future spouse about something so personal.
"But it's weird to have so many names.”
What I should have said, what I wanted to say was, "Why not let me be who I am and not try to change me?"
But I didn’t. I should have fought harder; but he put his foot down. He screamed, yelled, bullied me and won simply by being louder and more obnoxious.
He said I'd get used to his name. I hated how no one could pronounce it right. I've dealt with people not pronouncing my first name right my entire life; at least my last name was easy. Not anymore.
"It rhymes with America." I got used to saying when people asked me how to pronounce it. "It's Czech."
And suddenly I took on his name, his identity.
My hatred for his name only worsened as our relationship fell apart. I always yearned to get that piece of me back, while he tried to take more of it away. Everything from trying to change the way I eat to how I dressed. It eventually went too far when I realized I was not even sure what I liked to do for fun because he always dictated every activity we did.
I wasn’t okay with that.
So what is in a name, you might ask?
To me, it’s about who I am. It’s part of my identity as a person. And I finally have that piece back.
I may have pissed off the grumpy DMV attendant by being difficult and complicated, but so be it. I’m no longer going to feel guilty for being a complex individual. As of yesterday, I have a California driver’s license with my real name on it.
I've never been so happy to just be me .
"Ms. Duvall. You left this on my counter and you're going to need it to proceed." The DMV attendant was more than annoyed with me at this point. But what caught my attention wasn't so much the tone of her voice as what she called me: Ms. Duvall.
And I genuinely meant it when I said, "Thank you."
I’d made things complicated for the poor, grumpy civil servant since not only was I changing my name back to what it should be, I was also becoming an official California resident. I was starting over at last. Feeling almost giddy, I took the document and proceeded to the area where I’d have my photo taken for my new California driver’s license.
She couldn’t have known, but when I’d thanked her, it wasn’t for returning the paper I’d left behind. No, what I was really thanking her for was for giving me my name back
I know that many women look forward to the day they take their husband’s last name. Little girls often scribble their first names with their crush's last names in their diary just to see how it sounds. I was one of them. I must admit that Kristen Dicaprio had a nice ring to it. However with reality in mind, I tested it out with every boyfriend I had just to be sure that it was a name I was willing to be stuck with for the rest of my life.
But something changed within me as my wedding neared and the time for me to give up my name crept ever closer. I realized I no longer wanted to part with the name I'd had for my entire life.
"What's in a name anyway?" My future ex-husband countered my hesitation.
"Well if it's just a name, why can't I keep mine?"
"Because you can't. It's tradition and that's just how it works."
"But that's not how it works. Lots of women keep their names these days. Why can't I? You wouldn't like it if I asked you to change your name; so why do I have to change mine?”
"It's not even your real name anyway,” he said. "Why does it matter?"
"But it’s my name,” I snapped back. “It’s the only name I’ve ever had."
"It's not even your dad's name though. But while we’re discussing it, maybe you should drop his name too so it doesn’t sound so silly."
That argument always stung the most.
I'm a complicated person and my name seems to reflect that fact. My full given name also includes my dad’s last name as my second middle name. My last name, Duvall, is actually my sister's dad's last name; a man my mom divorced long before my existence was even considered. My own dad passed away when I was just a baby; my mom's ex-husband filled in as a father figure most of my life.
Who said your familial ties should be dictated by blood and marriage? When it came time for Christmas, we spent time at Grandma and Grandpa Duvall’s house and they treated me like any other grandkid of theirs. Grandpa Duvall would even joke that I had his eyes. I liked my hodge-podge family. It wasn’t the typical nuclear family some people idealize, but then, very little about me is typical. And I like that. Why couldn’t my future husband see that about me? Why couldn’t he appreciate the history my name had, and allow me to keep it?
"I'm at least keeping my dad's name. You know that's all I have from him..." I felt like I was negotiating for a new car, not talking to my future spouse about something so personal.
"But it's weird to have so many names.”
What I should have said, what I wanted to say was, "Why not let me be who I am and not try to change me?"
But I didn’t. I should have fought harder; but he put his foot down. He screamed, yelled, bullied me and won simply by being louder and more obnoxious.
He said I'd get used to his name. I hated how no one could pronounce it right. I've dealt with people not pronouncing my first name right my entire life; at least my last name was easy. Not anymore.
"It rhymes with America." I got used to saying when people asked me how to pronounce it. "It's Czech."
And suddenly I took on his name, his identity.
My hatred for his name only worsened as our relationship fell apart. I always yearned to get that piece of me back, while he tried to take more of it away. Everything from trying to change the way I eat to how I dressed. It eventually went too far when I realized I was not even sure what I liked to do for fun because he always dictated every activity we did.
I wasn’t okay with that.
So what is in a name, you might ask?
To me, it’s about who I am. It’s part of my identity as a person. And I finally have that piece back.
I may have pissed off the grumpy DMV attendant by being difficult and complicated, but so be it. I’m no longer going to feel guilty for being a complex individual. As of yesterday, I have a California driver’s license with my real name on it.
I've never been so happy to just be me .