When planning our wedding, my fiance gave two dates, between which we had to pick a day to get married. At first, I thought she picked these dates to be near my birthday. Instead, she told me those were the last dates for us to marry in time for her to complete and file the name change paperwork and begin the new school year with her pupils calling her Mrs. Campbell, not her previous husband's name.
I asked if she wanted to go back to using her father's name. I knew him before I knew her and loved him dearly. I wasn't her first husband, and she'd already had a pretty remarkable life with her father's name. It would have been a fine choice by me. She said I was being an asshole, and I didn't understand. She was probably right on both points. Sometimes I can try very hard to understand and still miss the point.
Before that, when my sister was to marry, many of us, cousins, uncles, and peers all wondered what name she would choose. For her part, my mother swore that she wouldn't say anything to influence her decision either way. My father never made any comment. By her early twenties, my baby sister already had one of the most remarkable careers of our generation. I hesitate to say that our father's name was considerably well-known. It kind of makes me sound like a conceited asshole, but I think it's true. Dad was at the peak of his career in those days. It'd take him being dead for twenty years for his name to lose its potency.
Would she keep her name, hyphenate it, or choose tradition and take her husband's name? My sister's wedding was slightly more organized than Patton's conquest of Africa. Patton never had the advantage of spreadsheets. I never commented either way, but I was very curious about what she would choose. It took her a while to announce a decision, but ultimately, she chose tradition and sentimentality and took Jay's name. So far, her marriage has lasted longer than any of the others in this generation of our extended family; maybe tradition and sentimentality were a winning factor.
In planning my wedding, my fiance and her daughters were already on my cellphone plan, and I put them on my internet plan and a few other things. I changed my will and bought a new suit, but I never had to worry about what people would call me. What my identity would be. There wasn't any thought of that at all. It doesn't seem quite fair.
Forgive me for indulging in a bit of wokism, but this bit about how one has to change their name when they marry because the patriarchy sees you as the property of either your husband or your father would probably bother the crap out of me if I were a woman. I loved my father-in-law dearly, but would I have been comfortable taking his name?
I'm more traditional than most folks. (I still wear a tie). I'm also dangerously sentimental unless I consciously work around it. Still, I'm also very well-read and a lifelong observer of our world from as many different perspectives as I could imagine. I've never had to change my name on Facebook, or my driver's license, checking account, or credit cards. I know women who have done it as many as five times. I can hardly criticize anyone for making marriages that didn't last. Mine didn't either. Is this fair? We're making these women choose a path and complete tasks no one ever asks of men. Your name is a big part of your identity. How would I respond if someone wanted me to change mine?
We didn't create this tradition. I don't think the modern world would. We were born into it. Most of the women I know chose the traditional naming conventions without much difficulty or consequence, or any I could see. There are women I love, though, who have yet to choose a life companion and make their own way in the world. I monitor what sort of world we're leaving them very closely.
Today, in the ancient land of Persia, women are being murdered for violating the tradition of covering their faces and hair. It's a tradition, just like the tradition of what name a woman takes when she marries. I don't know if they'll read this, but four women on my list are of Persian ancestry or extraction. The crisis is that close to my life. I'll call it Iran when the men who run the country choose to cut the noose around their people's necks. Until then, I'll use the more ancient name to remind them of their more noble past.
I once swore, on pain of death, to live by the motto "Dieu et Les Dames" where does that leave me here? Clearly, our traditions aren't always in the best interest of women, and God commands that I put the needs of compassion and justice above my own life. My vow demands I consider and contemplate these issues closely. They matter.
There's nothing I can do to change or influence any woman's decision about the name she chooses. Still, I believe it's my obligation to be aware of what these choices mean and acknowledge the sacrifice they are making in their life that I was never asked to do.
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