Department Of The Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name…
If It’s Hyphenated
Dateline: Monday morning. Starting my morning reading the she’s-brilliant-because-moiself-almost-always-approves-of-her-advice Carolyn Hax’s WAPO column. The first advice seeker of the morning, “Expecting,” wrote about an issue near and dear to the cockles of my heart: deciding the surname of one’s children when both married partners have “kept” their names:
My husband and I are expecting our first baby. I didn’t change my name when we got married, so we need to decide what last name to give our child. I’m pretty adamant that we hyphenate, though I don’t really care about order. I’m also open to giving the child some new last name that combines both our names….It’s important to me that we both be identified as equal parents to our child and that there’s no subtle preference given to one parent/family or the other.
My husband thinks we’d be setting our kid up for a lifetime of confusion and challenges by hyphenating. He says when our child gets married, having a hyphen name will cause all kinds of problems. My perspective is that we don’t know that our child will get married at all, and if they do, they can figure it out then! Husband wants to give the kid his last name and have my last name as a middle name, which from my perspective perpetuates sexist ideas about male ownership and lineage…
Is there some other option we’re not thinking of? Are there really problems with hyphenating that I’m not taking seriously?
Hax, as is her wont, has some fun with her opening remarks, while laying the groundwork for addressing the issue-behind-the-issue:
Expecting:
Hyphens do add some challenges, but it’s not exactly Everest without mittens.
I’ve known dozens of hyphenated people personally, professionally and by association, and none of them were, to my knowledge, wandering around lost in corridors due to failures of identification.
Non-facetiously, none of them to my knowledge have chosen to streamline to one name out of bureaucratic frustration. Hyphenating has been yawned at as within the range of normal naming conventions for decades. Some people and forms will get it wrong, yes. People also get my name wrong every. day. and it’s not hyphenated. [1] Or even long. So if your husband hits upon the Great Unscrewuppable Name, then please share. I might switch….
( excerpts, my emphases, Carolyn Hax 1-12-26,
“Husband sees hyphenating name for fairness as too much of a hassle” )
One of moiself’s many mottos is, Who knows (or cares) what people say behind your back. Behind-my-back- criticism of moiself and/or my life decisions is fine. If it’s behind my back, well then, I’m not meant to hear it, am I? Not my chickens, not my circus.
You can have monkeys in *your* circus, if you like. Thanks to friend CC, my circus has chickens.
To my knowledge/memory I didn’t get any blowback from my side of the family when I kept my surname after marrying MH. [2] As to what was said in-front-of-my-back, it came from MH’s family. After we married there were a couple from testy remarks from MH’s mother and maternal grandmother regarding me keeping my surname. And both women, when they sent written correspondence to us, addressed the envelope to “Mr. and Mrs. MH” and/or “Robyn and MH.” They used some version of what I came to think of as my manhandle; they did this despite us telling them that my name was my name, and despite our having arranged for the officiant of our wedding to end the ceremony by introducing us, “…as wife and husband, Robyn Parnell and MH.” There was also MH’s uncle, who introduced me to one of his children using not-my-last-name, despite my having seem him the previous year at a family holiday gathering, where he, and my future MIL and G-MIL, introduced me to their friends and family as, “Robyn Parnell, MH’s friend….”
After a couple of months of this, MH wrote to his mother and grandmother, requesting that they grant me (and him) – the simple courtesy of referring to me by my actual name.
At the beginning of this surname silliness I told a friend how odd it was, to find out that certain people…
“…had no problem remembering my name – two words, four syllables total – when I was single. Then, I get married, and boom – their brain’s long-term memory storage capacity immediately decreased by a couple thousand neurons. Apparently, it’s my heretofore unrealized superpower.”
My lasso of forgetfulness commands your obedience.
After MH’s request for some R-E-S-P-E-C-T for his wife, I received a three-page letter, from his mother, addressed solely to moiself. The letter began as such letters begin, with compliments paving the way for the critique. MIL praised my many fine and unique qualities!!!…and assured me that none of those qualities would be diminished by me showing my love for my husband by assuming a common surname. [3]
While MH was mortified by the letter ( hellyeah, I showed it to him ), I was…thrilled …is the proper word. His mother was bothered by this issue – so, don’t let it fester, let’s address it and be done with it. I like This Kinda Stuff® to be out in the open and on paper. Unlike phone or even one-on-one conversations, where one party can later deny (or honestly forget) what they said, or accuse you of putting words in their mouth, if it’s in print, there it is. [4] My MIL’s letter gave me the opportunity to articulately eviscerate her archaic, patriarchal, women-marginalizing judgements lovingly and firmly refute her “reasoning,” and educate her as to current and historical practices and cultural and personal assumptions behind the giving and taking of surnames. [5] Sure, a simple, This is so none of your beeswax might have sufficed, but the former was so much more fun.
(one of the thirty-plus bumper stickers on our old Honda Odyssey)
I cannot find that letter to my MIL in my computer files (I save all such correspondence; however, it seems it didn’t survive a systems update from many years ago). But the sentiments I expressed to her were similarly (if less personally) addressed in a letter I sent, many years later, to one of my favorite magazines, Brain,Child: the magazine for thinking mothers. This was in regards to an article that appeared in Brain,Child‘s Debate feature. My letter [6] was published in their Letters to the Editor section.
Liz Breslin (Debate, Does a Family Need to Share a Surname? Winter 2009) claims she is a feminist, but that her intention to take her future husband’s surname “…is not a feminist issue for me. It’s a family one.”
Say what? Since when are feminism and family issues separate?
Breslin feels that a family should share a surname. As for those who feel the same and do so by blending names she declares, “Think of the strife involved in that…it sounds fine, but it causes issues in school…at the doctor’s office…whether it’s right or not, our wider administrative world operates largely on an assumption that a family shares the same name.”
Ms. Breslin ( Mrs. Soon-to-be-His-Last-Name? ) needs to get out more. The “administrative world” deals quite effectively, every day, with blended, step- and foster families, whose inhabitants often have three or more differing surnames.
My husband made the bold step of keeping his name when we married (Oh yeah, so did I). Our children share a blended name, and we refer to ourselves collectively using that name, as the ___ family. Who knows (or cares) what people say behind our backs, but we’ve had nothing but positive comments to our fronts:
“Oh, I get it!”
“How clever!”
“We’ll remember your family!”
(And guess what? They do.).
It has caused us no trouble, nor even inconvenience. Even if it did, how long does it take to say, “I’m Robyn Parnell, Belle _____’s mother” [7] when you call the doctor or meet your kid’s teacher?
Any cultural anthropologist (or weekend genealogist) can tell you that naming customs have varied, all over the world for all of recorded history, and somehow, people have always been able to keep track of who belongs with whom.
Like Breslin, I am also a writer of short stories. I would point out to her that, more important than any alleged administrative inconvenience is the story that your choice of a surname tells, regarding to what or whom your family is and belongs. Few things are more personal than your name; it is part of your life story. Sure, your surname is (most likely) your father’s. But it’s your father’s, not someone else’s father’s name.
If you take your husband’s name, some people will judge you…just as they should, because you call yourself a feminist but cling to the most personal aspect of traditionalism. Feminism has always involved thinking outside the box re the ways people structure relationships. “Giving away” your name makes a statement, whether you intend that or not, which is why women in many cultures and countries are not allowed to keep their surnames.
Don’t take your rights for granted; don’t say you’re a feminist when you go for the traditional, patriarchal choice. Proclaiming feminism only to “give away” your name tells your children and the world something very basic, even Orwellian: all animals are equal, but some animals are more equal than others.
If you really want to share the same name with your husband, both of you can change your names. After all, it is a new family unit you’re creating, isn’t it? You can look into your joint family histories, or favorite books or mythologies, until you find a name you both like and both change your surname (we have several friends who’ve done this; again, the “wider administrative world” has not imploded). Many options are consistent with a feminist world view. Taking his name isn’t one of them. [8]
BTW and FYI, re that pesky administrative world: do you realize that if you take hubby’s name you’ll have to change or append your driver’s license, passport, bank account information, medical records, credit cards, your country’s version of a social security card, and…?
Robyn Parnell, Hillsboro, OR
( excerpt, 12-19-08 Letter to the Editor, Brain,Child magazine )
* * *
Department Of One More Observation
Re the letter to Carolyn Hax: the person who objects to a hyphenated or “kept” surname usually wraps their disapproval and/or digging-in-for-the-sake-of-digging-in with the excuse of concern for the future confusion of all of those anonymous, administrative hasslin’, judgmental, *other* people. Cue the pearl-clutching, “But, what about the children??!?!?!?” …
…which thinly masquerades as a criticism of your choice to keep…your own fucking name.
If you are married or single, no matter what you did or did not or will or will not choose if you marry, let us all take a meditative millisecond to consider the breathtaking absurdity of why this should even be an issue: keeping Your. Own. Name.
When this pearl-clutching comes from the wimmenfolk in the family, it is often, IMO, because they take your decision to keep your birth name as an implied criticism of *their* decision to take their husband’s family name…as if they even had a true/no pressure option to choose, back in my MIL’s day. Or even today, when the patriarchal norms of ownership and possession, of who “counts” in a relationship and whose relationship/family this really is, still linger like the festering odor from that July 4 BBQ when your Uncle Anuss used rancid bacon grease to fry the catfish.
One of Carolyn Hax’s readers pointed out
Re: Hyphen: I am feeling like this is just a matter of U.S. society getting used to the idea. The Brits have had names like Harumpher Stinkly-Blowhardington for centuries, and they seem to have it figured out.
I read that comment and thought, DANG, I missed the boat! After all these years….I could’ve told MH’s family I was British and intended to honor my roots by reverting to my original family surname, Petardhoister-Snotsbury-Flapjackington.
* * *
Department Of Welcome Mindfulness, Lovingkindness, And Compassion,
But Leave Them At The Door, Along With Your Shoes
At my recent post-op appointment [9] I obtained my doctor’ ok to do some gentle yoga. But, until my next appointment/assessment of my foot’s healing, any exercise I do – including just walking around in my own home – cannot be barefooted.
Barefoot is the norm for most yoga studios, although I’ve seen yogis wearing socks (and even what looked like ballet slippers) in the classroom during class. Last week moiself emailed the owner of the yoga studio where I (up until eight weeks ago) attended classes, re my intent to return to class. I explained my limitation and asked whether my wearing light-but-supportive shoes (not street shoes) in the classroom was kosher.
I didn’t hear back from him for several days. I’ve been a studio member since 2017; his replies to emails have always been prompt; thus, I assumed things were copacetic and signed up for the Wednesday evening class. He got back to me Monday. His response, after congratulating me on my healing:
“This question has come up before and we have to be consistent. There aren’t any types of shoes allowed in the classroom. Shoes and cell phones in the classroom is what we hear the most about. One time a student didn’t take their shoes off to put their mat down in the classroom. It bothered someone so much, the student followed the other student down the hallway after class to express their feelings.”
I replied that I understand, and hope to be back in class after my next month’s post-op appointment. But… Holy Obsessively Mindful Stalker.
What I understand is that the studio has a no-shoes-in-class policy. What I do not understand is a no-exceptions policy which cannot be modified when a student has exceptional circumstances. What I cannot understand – what I cannot wrap my blissful brain around – is that a yoga student followed another student down the hallway after class to “express their feelings” about such a trivial matter…a matter which, if it truly was a problem (to anyone other than that one anal-retentive complaining student), should have been handled by the class’s teacher. [10]
There are several reasons why yoga is traditionally practiced in bare feet, including
* to help yogis feel stability, develop balance, and feel connection with the ground/the mat under your feet;
* to keep the practice room clean (shoes track in dirt/although you can change from your street shoes to indoor only/studio shoes, like what dancers do)
* historical and cultural considerations: in some cultures and traitions it’s considered disrespectful to walk indoors with your shoes on. Leaving one’s street shoes at the door is a sign of respect, and in yoga it also becomes part of a pre-class ritual, as you step onto your mat and prepare for a shift in attitude and perspective.
But I’ve seen/heard of other accommodations for yogis with permanent or temporary physical limitations and disabilities. [11] Also, yoga teachers and studios and magazines have been fighting an uphill battle to counter the idea that yoga is for young, super-fit and flexible people who wear size 2 leotards and look like Yoga Journal® cover models. The yoga world emphasizes that “Yoga is for Every Body“ (space intentional, get it?), but apparently, everybody does not include a body requiring a physical support that, the mere sight of it makes a busybody yogi lose her mindful shit and stalk you down a hallway…. [12]
Guess it’s back to Irish Yoga for me.
* * *
Freethinkers’ Thought Of The Week [13]
“We don’t want a piece of the pie – it’s still a patriarchal pie.
We want to change the recipe.”
( bell hooks 1952 – 2021, American author, educator, feminist, activist )
* * *
May you hyphenate as many names as possible;
May you reap the benefits of yoga without acquiring a stalker;
May you find a clever (and tasty) way to change the pie’s recipe;
…and may the hijinks ensue.
Thanks for stopping by. Au Vendredi!
* * *
[1] Ditto to the nth for my name.
[2] Knowing moiself, they expected no less. The only feedback I got was positive, specifically from my father, who confessed to me that he wished my younger sister had also kept her surname (my older sister…there was no question she’d take her husband’s name..to do otherswise would not have been an option in that relationship).
[3] Hey, I would have been happy for MH to take my surname (how’s that for commonality?), but I never asked and he never offered. We both liked our respective names.
[4] You can always weasel out with, “that’s not what I meant,” but it’s evident, that’s what you wrote.
[5] Yep, she had no idea what she was getting into.
[6] Which, as per the magazine’s circulation, probably got more readership than any of my published stories.
[7] As is my custom in this blog, my offspring’s first and last names are redacted, as I cling to the outdated notion that there can still be a modicum of privacy remaining in this world.
[8] Now, those last two statements…I’m not the Feminist Police (there was an election, and I lost the position by five votes). Some of my favorite, righteous right-on feminist friends have taken their husbands’ surnames. The reasons and reasonings can be complicated, and not everyone is attached to their name of birth.
[9] I had foot surgery eight weeks ago, addressed here.
[10] Whatever happened to the yoga mantra of keeping your eyes on your own mat?
[11] Including chairs in class for elderly yogis who have balance and stamina issues. Also, I have a couple of friends who could not do yoga, or any exercise, barefooted, due to neuropathy and other painful foot conditions. They bring their own supportive/orthopedic house shoes when they go to other people’s homes where removing shoes is the custom and expectation.
[12] Following someone down the hallway after a YOGA class to “express their feelings.” It both cracks me up and frosts my butt. Once again, I may be a fiction writer, but I can’t make up this shit.
[13] “free-think-er n. A person who forms opinions about religion on the basis of reason, independently of tradition, authority, or established belief. Freethinkers include atheists, agnostics and rationalists. No one can be a freethinker who demands conformity to a bible, creed, or messiah. To the freethinker, revelation and faith are invalid, and orthodoxy is no guarantee of truth.” Definition courtesy of the Freedom From Religion Foundation, ffrf.org
