The Last Name Game

It's the first week of classes and I actually have a lull (which means there's no grading yet). I could be writing one of the two lectures I have to give in the next two months, or writing up Administrative mumbo jumbo. But instead, I'm going to write this post that I've been stewing about since last fall.

When I got married, I didn't change my name. Even when I was in junior high, I knew I wouldn't change my name. When girls were scrawling "Mrs. Dana Johnson" on their notebooks to indicate their crush on whichever boy du jour, I would try it, and it just didn't feel right. I knew I would never be Mrs. anyone, even though I also knew I wanted to be married someday.

Anyway, when we got married, I told Drew we could either hyphenate or have two different last names. He wasn't super excited by this conversation, but he has always known who I am, and I know this was not a surprise. It's not that his last name isn't cool--if I was going to change my last name for anyone, it would be for a Carmichael. Dana Carmichael sounds like a spy. She would have excellent trench coats.

It took his parents a little while to get used to it, but the most I ever got from them were a few good-natured jibes. From time to time, a friend will formally address a letter or card to Mr. and Mrs. Drew Carmichael, which I understand, but which, I must admit, I am bothered by. I am not the property of Drew Carmichael and his family, nor is he my property. I am all-too-aware that my current last name is my father's name, but hey, you've got to start somewhere.

So WELL before Nola came along, Drew and I had the conversation about last names. I said that we had two options. Our potential children would have my name OR we could hyphenate her last name and she would then have both. His last name only was not an option for me. I was not about to have a different last name from my child, and I knew Drew wouldn't want to either. It's a clumsy solution, particularly since his last name is so stinkin' long, and it wasn't one that he liked much. However, neither of us wanted to give up our own name or invent a new name, or any of those thousand compromises we had discussed when we got married. So Nola's last name is hyphenated, starting with his last name.

The order of our names was an easier discussion. While we both kind of wanted to be first, of course, but then we started thinking about our future. Yes, this poor kid is going to have a 17-letter-long last name (SOO many bubbles on the standardized test sheets--sorry, Nola), but more importantly, we are going to be sitting through a lot of graduations. Wouldn't it be better to be out of there more quickly? So we went alphabetical, ergo, Carmichael is first. Drew can complain all he likes--but it's his last name that has 10 letters. I only have 6.

But now the problem of the mis-addressed envelope is much more pronounced. The reason that I'm still irritated by these mis-addressed missives is that I'm too big of a pansy to correct people. I don't want to be perceived as a feminist pain in the ass, even though clearly I AM a feminist pain in the ass. So I usually don't say anything, but it DOES matter to me when people call me by the wrong name. And now it's starting to happen a lot more.

The first time was at daycare. All of Nola's documents and sign-in sheets and what have you were addressed to Nola Carmichael. Not Nola Carmichael-Oswald. I didn't notice at first, because I was always in frenzy, getting in and out of there before my hour-long commute to work. But then I noticed. And I stewed, for about a month. Finally, when chatting with the director, I said it. I said something like "I've noticed you just use the first part of Nola's last name, but my name is the last part. It kind of hurts my name not to be included." The director apologized far too profusely, and said that it was only because of the length of the name--understandably!--but that this would be fixed. And it was. She even had to change the spacing on the sign-in sheet a little, but I felt both a little ashamed and a lot happy when I signed in the next time. I know this won't be the last time this happens. I think I will speak up more quickly next time.

But the bigger concern is one with larger social connotations. What should children call the parents of other children? Should they be referred to by formal titles? I appreciate the respect that such a practice indicates, and the manners that it teaches children. But titles are uncomfortable for me. I am not a Mrs., although I am married. I SUPER HATE this title. My actual title is Dr. That Ph.D. did not come easily, although no, friends, if you are having a heart attack at a restaurant, I won't be much help. I don't like the snobbery that's attached to Dr., but I like it a hell of a lot more than Mrs., because it's a title I actually earned, rather than one that indicates if I am sexually available (okay, an overstatement, but seriously. Men's titles don't change when they get married. It's stupid.).

I would prefer to just be called Dana, but I absolutely respect my friends' desires to have their children use formal titles. But how do I communicate my preference for Dr. without sounding like a jerk? I don't know. People are embarrassed when they are corrected, and that feels very rude to me. But I do suspect that if a man were a medical doctor, this wouldn't be an issue. He would Dr. without any hesitation--and it might be true for a woman as well. But so far it's not true for me. So friends, what do I do? Can't I just rule the universe and get rid of our horrible titles and replace them with non-sexist ones? That would make my life as a parent so much easier.

Anyway, I guess I have many years of being called Mrs. Carmichael ahead of me. But I really don't think I can grin and bear it.