When I was a little girl, I told my father “Daddy, I’ll never change my name.” I felt bad about him not having a son to carry on our awesome, made-up-at-Ellis-Island last name. Dad hugged me, I remember. I think he remained silent or said something like “Oh, honey.”
By the time I was a teenager, I panicked. Changing one’s name was what women did when one got married, right? Could I break my promise to Dad? Would he care?
Some do. At least it’s a choice now. But some people are making other choices that make me strain my side-eye muscles.