Who Are You? : Use of Maiden, Married Name--or Both--Can Often Spell Confusion

Do you hesitate when someone asks what your name is or when you come to the part of a form where you’re asked to identify yourself? If so, you might be suffering from an increasingly common disorder called “Women Who Have Kept Their Maiden Name but Sometimes Use Their Husband’s.”

When I decided to retain my name nine years ago, it didn’t seem like a particularly momentous decision. I had grown accustomed to it and had no desire to start all over with a new one. My husband supported me and understood completely. We both agreed, however, that there were older relatives who would not understand and I would use his name in my dealings with them. In retrospect, that is how this nightmare started. From then on it became easier to do the same in other situations. And soon I became a habitual name changer.

The first real problem we experienced was when we had children and started using baby-sitters. Naively, I gave my name to them without a second thought. It was not until they started calling back that the problem surfaced. “There isn’t a Mr. Hazlewood here,” my husband would explain, only to have a confused teen-ager insist she had baby-sat for us once. Eventually he learned to answer in a noncommittal manner until he learned the purpose of the call.

Things reached an all-time low, however, when my husband was forced one day to identify himself as Mr. Hazlewood. I persuaded him to do this in lieu of a lengthy explanation to the caller. He did so, with a great deal of embarrassment, but refused any further involvement in name swapping.

Finally, I relented and started giving my husband’s name to baby-sitters.

Another area of contention is the whole problem of reservations. We are continually forgetting what name the dinner reservations are under and what name to give the shoe repair service when we go to pick up our shoes.

One of our biggest fiascoes was in regard to airline reservations for a vacation to Seattle. My sister, who lives in San Francisco, was boarding there and accompanying us on our vacation. She generously donated one of her frequent-flier vouchers in order for me to receive a free trip. One of the rules was that only a family member with the same last name could use the ticket. So she proceeded to make reservations for the two of us under our common last name as well as for my husband and two children. Meanwhile, my husband, who was organizing the trip, was also making reservations for all of us. For the sake of convenience, he had my reservation under his name. So we ended up with 10 seats on the plane. One evening an angry airline reservation agent telephoned trying to figure out who all these people were. I was going through a rather complicated explanation when he finally asked: “Now let me get this straight. How many people are really going, and which name is really yours?”

Then comes kindergarten with endless forms to fill out. Some do not even have a space for my last name; they just assume it is the same as my husband’s. Sometimes I just use the name that fits best in the space given. No one seems to care, and I’m not sure anyone is reading those forms anyway.

I knew I was in the name-changing business for good when I volunteered to work in my son’s class. He had a very traditional teacher, a no-nonsense sort of person whom I could never imagine being “Ms.” anyone. When a mother first works there she is introduced by her child to the whole class. I did not realize this until my son started asking some peculiar questions.

“Mom, what is your name?” he inquired after school one day.

He knows the answer but has trouble understanding why everyone else’s mother has the same last name as the rest of the family. He became increasingly agitated as the day approached for me to go with him. He finally admitted he was worried about what name to use when he introduced me. Here is a boy who has the only duck-tail haircut in his class, and he was worrying about being different.

Memories of being young came rushing back--the terribly wrong dress I was forced to wear, and the unmatched socks I had to wear because one of my five sisters beat me to the sock drawer. All those painful moments when the price of being different was too high. And so I relented and became Mrs. Slade in matters pertaining to school.

I stubbornly cling to my name in the midst of all these compromises. It helps that I’m not the only one going through this.

Perhaps the best solution is offered by British royalty. In that vast multitude of names that Prince Charles and Andrew pronounce at weddings, there is not one last name. As a matter of fact, Queen Elizabeth’s husband gave up his last name when he married her. There is no chance of that happening in our household. Despite the inevitable confusion, I intend to keep my dual identity. My father--who, after six daughters, finally gave up on his dream of having a son to carry on the family name--would be proud.