I had dinner last week with a group of women, of whom I was the youngest.
Post-dinner we sat around snacking on rice krispie treats and sharing one of those insightful, open-hearted conversations you'd expect at Friday Night Knitting Club (except this was a Thursday). The conversation turned to last names. Majority of the women were married and had children or were soon expecting. I was surprised to discover the number of mixed race marriages around the table. One woman is Korean and married a Mexican man, one woman is Mexican and married a Caucasian man, and one Caucasian woman married a Vietnamese man. Each woman adopted her husbands last name. No hyphenations. They simply too up their new names despite clearly being from a background far from the surnames origins. They brought up funny stories about mispronunciations, awkward moments and gave a peek into their new family's family gatherings. Although each woman genuinely loves her husband and accepts their new families, each expressed a sense of lost identity with the loss of their maiden names. Each has an American first name so without the Korean or Mexican last name, who would know? I admit, a Caucasian woman with a Very Vietnamese last name would still probably give me a bit of a surprise if she was my nurse or teacher. One woman added her former last name as her middle name to regain a bit of her history.
One Chinese woman married a Chinese man but stayed adamant on keeping her maiden name and still remains firm. In Chinese culture, the continuation of the last name is of greatest importance. It is the reason why sons are so prized. They are the ones to carry on the family name. My father is the only son after a long line of sisters. I think my very traditional grandmother must have sighed a great sigh of relief when she finally had my father. My brother, my only brother, was always her favorite. I never knew until after her death that she always carried pictures of him in her purse. When my grandfather passed them back to my brother I wondered if she had pictures of me hidden somewhere. I had always hoped I was both of their favorites since I had spent the most time with them. Tradition and culture tends to win out in many situations. I remember reading somewhere before that if the woman came from a wealthier, more prestigious family the newlyweds would adopt her last name rather than the groom's. Carrying on a last name is tied to family honor.
I like my last name. It is short, simple, has meaning and is seemingly rare.
I never gave it much thought because it always felt like mine.
Names identify us from birth on our birth certificates, on teachers' attendance sheets, by nicknames classmates and friends call us, on the degree we gladly accept at graduation and at death on our tombstones.
Could you imagine having any other name?
