The Value of a Name
by AEfthymiou
Prior to being engaged, it never occurred to me that I would face the question of whether or not to change my last name. As naïve as that may sound, taking on the name of a man as my own “new” name never struck me as a question. To do so was the customary practice in the culture I was raised in: not just as the only child of parents of European descent, but also in a family tradition which, while always respectful of both genders, was nonetheless patriarchal. When a woman marries, she changes her last name to that of her husband … that’s it.
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So at the time, steeped in academia in 2005, I felt stunned when I was first asked by one of many colleagues, “You’re keeping your last name, right?”
“Well, no? Maybe? Not exactly … I don’t know!” How could the question not have entered my mind before? I am an individual with my own identity. I have studied and presented to my undergraduates notions about the ways in which society constructs gender. How could I have never asked myself this question?
It turns out that something I once took for granted as a customary (but perhaps in the 21st Century has become a growingly unusual) cultural practice, was a very difficult question of identity for me. Did I want to change my last name? I could not fully answer “no.” Generally any form of gender inequality is discomfiting; yet, somehow I could rationalize changing my name, not as a form of subservience or backing-down, but rather as a gesture towards joining two lives. After all, my husband and I were not becoming the same person; we were simply two individuals who were agreeing to share the rest of our lives with each other. Yet in such agreement, the changing of my name suddenly struck me as something of a concession. If I wanted to have the same last name as my future children, society dictated that I must possess the same last name as my husband.
There are many ways that women have negotiated this choice. Some have chosen the hyphen. Unfortunately, I believe Rosso-Efthymiou is phonic punishment for my students, my colleagues, and myself.
I thought that perhaps the safest choice to ensure that I retain my identity as an individual was to keep the family name I was given at birth. As I leaned to one name over the other, I became more consumed with its value and envisioned my life ten years down the line. I talked to other women who kept their original surnames and had children in grade school who shared the surnames given by the children’s fathers. The women complained of confusion during student-teacher conferences and their own personal sense of distance because their children shared the names of their fathers, not their own. One woman I spoke to was so bothered by not sharing the same last name as her children that she ended up taking her husband’s name after twelve years of marriage, well into her own professional career as a psychologist. Would I ever regret the choice regardless of which name I favored? Suddenly, taking on my future husband’s last name seemed harmless enough, as he had no preference in favor of either: “Do whatever you’re comfortable with.” It was wonderful that he was liberated in that sense, yet still left me feeling stuck in some sort of identity crisis.
Prior to getting married, I told myself that the this was a decision I needed to make soon, as my goal was to one day create a name for myself in my field … so what name would it be? Relinquishing my given surname seemed somehow like letting go of my family, my heritage, myself.
Irony lies in this tradition I have acquired from my mother, grandmother, and the generations before them. Whatever the reason may be for why a man’s name determines the identification of an entire family, the choice, at least recently, has been primarily the woman’s. Had my mother not made the choice to take my father’s last name, a name I will always associate with him and all that makes me proud to be his daughter, she would have had a separate way of identifying herself, a way which would have been disconnected from my father and I. My father’s name had never made me feel less close to my mother’s family; if anything, I grew up closer to my extended maternal family than my paternal side. In thinking through the naming process, I soon realized that, while so much rests on the choice of a name, identity is comprised of so much more.
Seven months after having married my husband, I have chosen to change my last name to Efthymiou. I have also decided to change my given middle name to my family name. If surnames change, certainly middle names can too. I no longer feel as if I conceded or compromised my identity in any way. Perhaps I have complied with social convention, but each day I make many choices that require me to rebel against or acquiesce to a variety of cultural practices in one way or another; this is just one of many. My husband supports my choice but has told me that if it weren’t for his ultra-traditional family, he would have taken my surname because it’s so much easier to spell.
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