Thirty Years

This photo is my birth certificate.

Thirty years ago today, it was finally official – the long process of my dad adopting me was complete.

Although I had already considered this man my dad for more than three years at this point, some things take time.  It’s funny how one small piece of paper can represent something so monumental in my life and bring closure to a complicated process.

This birth certificate, with my new name printed on it, signified a new beginning for me – a life in which I knew where I belonged.  My dad choosing to make me his daughter was loving and selfless and amazing, and reflected the respect he had for my mom, of whom I was an extension.

So I got a new birth certificate to reflect this new life.

I was so thrilled to have this new name – immensely proud of the story behind how it came to be and what it meant for all the days of my life that would follow.

Those of you who know me know how much I love my last name.  I don’t just love it, I LOVE IT.  Sooooooooo much.  I think is a fabulous name!  (Don’t ask me how many monogrammed tote bags I have!)

But more than that, this name is a gift.  The greatest gift I can imagine receiving.

And that is why when C and I got married, I did not change my name.  This name means everything to me – it is my family’s name, my dad’s name, MY name – and I never once ever considered changing it after getting married.

Let me be perfectly clear:  I utterly adore my in-laws.  I hate the term “in-laws” because C’s mom and dad are so much more to me than that.  I could not love them more if I tried.  They are truly my second set of parents who love and support us in every sense of the word.  My parents and brothers love them, too – as cliché or cheesy as it may sound, we really are two families that have grown into one.

And so the decision to not change my name had nothing to do with C’s parents – I happen to love their last name – and if I am being honest, it really had very little to do with my family, either.  It was simply a deeply personal decision that was right for me.

When C and I talked about getting married, I told him that I wasn’t going to change my name.  He didn’t even blink.  He knew exactly why I was so attached to my name and how the history of my life was tied up with it.  This was not surprising to me – he is an awesome human being and an even more awesome husband.

What WAS surprising to me was that he offered to change his last name.  This possibility was not even on my radar – I hadn’t considered asking him to do so and I certainly did not expect him to suggest it.  While it may be a tiny bit more commonplace now, twenty years ago, we had never even heard of anyone doing such a thing.

And so C gave me the second greatest gift I can imagine and he legally changed his last name so that it would be the same as mine.

Unconventional?  Yes.

Grand romantic gesture?  YES.

We’ve gotten our share of weird looks, ignorant comments, and ridiculous questions when people find out what we did, and many, many, many people think my brothers are C's brothers and that I am the one who married into the family.  Which is fine by me, since they were 5 and 6 years old when C and I started dating and so C really IS their big brother and for all intents and purposes, always has been.

It’s been thirty years since I received my new birth certificate declaring me an official member of my newly-defined family.  If it’s possible, I love my name even more now than I did back then…I love hearing students call me by it, decorating my classrooms with items related to it, and dreaming of the day when it will be partnered with the prefix “Dr.”

Happy Tails to you!