I am not the same person
today as I was
yesterday. For half of my natural born life I've had this headache over names and
signatures that refused to be resolved until this morning.
I walked into
court with one name and walked out with another. My mother is only slightly horrified, but at least she agrees that changing my name is for the best. Now a new headache has begun: informing everyone who needs to know that
I changed my name, no I was not married, no my
surname is the same, and no I am not getting a
sex change.
It started when I was nine. I decided I didn't like being called Karen anymore. At the time, everyone I knew with the name was middle-aged,
divorced, and quite unpleasant. So at the beginning of
fourth grade, in a spur of the moment decision, I informed my teacher that I would like to be called
Wren, as in the bird.
Thus commenced nine years of people
asking where
Stimpy was.
Then there was the issue of my middle name. The one I was born to sounded like a hideous
cacophony following Wren, nor did I particularly like that name either. So I decided to tell everyone my middle name was
my favorite name in the whole world. Unfortunately, this confused a great deal of people because that name happens to be a very common name for
little boys. Unless you are familiar with a certain popular
anime, I wouldn't expect you to know that it also makes quite a lovely name for
little girls.
That is the part my mother takes issue with. I have flirted with
androgyny my entire life; it only seems like a natural progression to me. My mother is a
afraid of what the neighbors will
think. Getting a brand new name isn't common in
small town America. More than a few strange looks and glares have been shot in my general direction since I announced my
intentions, but I'm glad.
They remember who I am now.