Whose name is it?

I never planned to be anyone but Julie Manushkin. In fact, just the other day someone said to me, "You don't seem like the kind of person who would take her husband's name."

Oh? What kind of person is that? Independent? Strong-willed? Feisty?

That's me, whatever my name.

I didn't expect to get married, and when faced with the proposal and the desire to bind myself to another for life, I really didn't mean to take his name.

Why would I?

My stance was part defensive feminism -- maybe he should take my name! -- and part loyalty to my father and his family. But the day after that ring was on my finger, it suddenly felt wrong to sign my name Julie Manushkin. Like it or not, I was a Moos.

Sometimes, I wonder whether women who kept their names are judging me. Sometimes I wonder whether I'm judging them.

Back when I was about to be married, no one questioned my decision to keep Manushkin. Gary's parents never suggested it would make me a less legitimate member of the family, and my friends didn't point out that perhaps subconsciously I thought the marriage might just be temporary.

And no one questioned me when I decided to "take" Moos (do I have to give it back?). But still, I question myself.

There are some easy answers. Gary's family and family name are simpler than mine. Also, Moos was five letters shorter than my maiden name.

Another factor: Moos couldn't be butchered as badly as Manushkin.

Standing only 5 feet 4 inches, I didn't especially like the moniker "Munchkin." The only time Gary remembers his name being messed up was when a 4th-grade teacher called him "Moses." Hard to complain about that.

Usually, when people hear Moos, they ask whether it's "moos" like a cow or "moose" like with antlers. Either way, I'm an animal, not a short person.

And even at its most mangled, it's not unpronounceable. In fact, it's sort of cute. When Gary's name is misspelled, he's Gray Moos.

Growing up, I was used to people being unable to spell my last name, but it always annoyed me to have to repeat it. And repeat it. And repeat it. My dad actually avoided the chant --- "M-A-N" (pause) "U-S-H" (pause) "K-I-N" -- by using the name "Marsh" when making reservations. But he wouldn't give it up entirely and follow in his brothers' footsteps by shortening Manushkin to Mann.

At least one of my cousins kept Mann as her last name when she married. Another cousin kept her unmarried name and gave it to two of her three children as their middle name (the third child received a variation of it for his first name). I have some friends who did the same.

Not us. Colter got a name all his own, and it had to be just right. Nothing out of a baby book or a soap opera or our own histories. We named him after someone unique and heroic: an adventurer, a pioneer, an individual.

We never considered giving Colter my previous surname, although we did have friends who formed a whole new last name for their child by combining their two names. That wouldn't have worked for us: Mooskin? Sounds like a rug. And Colter Mooskin sounds like a trapper (which is sort of appropriate since John Colter, his namesake, was, in fact, a trapper with the Lewis and Clark expedition who captured our imagination when he appeared in a story told by Charles Kuralt).

Because I was pregnant when I adopted Gary's last name, there was a certain parental pragmatism involved. I guess even before Colter was born, we knew we'd be getting lots of calls from school about him. I figured if we all had the same last name, it'd be easier for them to reach us. Seemed like a good idea at the time.

Does it make us more of a family that we're Julie, Gary and Colter Moos? I don't think so. Would it make us less cohesive if we were Julie Manushkin, Gary Moos and Colter Moos? No. But see how much longer that took to read and how unnatural it sounded?

Imagine Julie Manushkin-Moos. Hyphenating was never even a hypothetical possibility. That's because it involves adding letters and subtracting minutes, hours, maybe years off my life. It also seems to lie about the work a little dash can do to blend two families together.

Remember Romeo and Juliet? Would they have lived happily ever after as Capulet-Montagues? Of course not. The star-crossed lovers needed to unpack more family history than was contained in their names. Creative punctuation could not have saved them, because it is not the name that makes the family, but the family that makes the name.

In the end, Shakespeare was wrong. Sometimes, a Rose by any other name is a Rosenberg.

A slightly different version of this LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.

Comments

[Amber]

When I got married, I was happy to take 'Northfield' in exchange for 'Soper' - It was the norm... From that day it sounded natural and as though it had always been my name. Then when I moved to Belgium 'they' suddenly want me to use my maiden name for everything official!! Women here, as a rule, never give up their name... I have to insist that my legal name is the same as my husbands!! I was adamant my married name go on my ID card and I am registerd at the doctor with 'my' leagal name (other expats have been amazed that they let me do it) - It strange how different cultures veiw different things...