I changed my name on Facebook.
Yeah, I know…obviously I've had such a hard knock life when the most nerve-racking of decisions revolve around what asinine information I spew all over my social networking websites. The truth is, I have (had) a hyphenated last name, and it's always caused a great deal of strife…not just because it's fucking random and hard to pronounce when you're a little drunk (my cousins have established a rule: if you can't say Mary Alexandra Dennis-Renner five times fast without slurring, you're cut off. Personally, I find this rule unfair. Mainly because I've only said my full name out loud around 10 times in the last 21 years, and it takes practice), but because my stupid name has always felt like a team jersey. It's so-called "proof" of where my loyalty lies.
Since we're in the 21st century, it's of no taboo to say my parents weren't married when they decided to raise a bouncing bundle of shared DNA and snot that was all their own. However, the lame social conventions of 1989/90 demanded they get married and quit living the Hollywood lifestyle of sin should a child enter the picture, and long story short, everybody kept their own name, kept their own identity (I suppose), and life went on, under the pretext, that as not to offend any family members, Susan or Jeffery Jr. would have one godawful long last name.
Since then, I've never been able to fill out a standardized test form, receive a student ID, or purchase an airline ticket without being deemed: "MARY A DENNIS-REN." That shit gets annoying after a while. Why?
Because:
A) I'm a little OCD, and knowing that my name doesn't fit centered and justified in the middle of my driver's license drives me insane.
B) That's not my name.
The same goes for people who think they're doing me a favor by shortening it to just Dennis or Renner without my permission on horse show entry forms, birthday cards, or charity return address labels. After my parents split up, how people wrote my name signified who's side they were on, or seemed to suggest what "side" they believed I "chose."
…Or should've chosen.
The truth is, I've never liked my name. Not in the least. However, I never wanted to change it in fear of offending my parents. Now, if my parents' philosophy on my last name was anything like that of religion, sexuality, or my nature-given hair color, chances are, they didn't care which side of the hyphen I'd eventually pick for convenience's sake, just so long as it was a decision I'd arrived at on my own, after a fair deal of exploration.
Here's where the trouble starts: when I decided to publish a book, I was told I needed a more "cover friendly"name.
I'll drink to that. Not many people are up to reading a book that has you tripping over more than 10 syllables before the spine is even cracked.
At first, I thought about assuming a pen name (see: Mark Twain, S.E. Hinton, Ayn Rand, James Herriot, Dr. Seuss), as not to feel like I was putting either side of the family (or the hyphen) on the chopping block. I began sifting through family history for last names that had been married into extinction, or looking to literary idols for their fictional monickers, in hopes of crafting a clever anagram.
I settled on "Marshall," as I've always been keen on the fact that somewhere down the road, Supreme Court Chief Justice John Marshall and I shared a loogie spit into the genetic pool.
When I informed my parents, their reaction was nothing close to what I had initially expected. Both were incredibly supportive ("If you've thought it through," "It's your project, so your decision," "If it makes sense to you," etc…), but visibly irked. Not even sad, disappointed, or stern…more or less perplexed. As always, not wanting to step on any toes, I asked my mother if I had somehow offended her. Her answer?
"Yeah, a little."
"Why? Because I didn't choose your name?"
"What? Of course not…I'm just surprised you didn't choose YOUR name. Aren't you proud of what YOU'VE accomplished?"
(She continued to kid with me and try to convince me that nothing sounds more like a NYT Bestselling Author than "Alex Dennis," or how could shoppers in Barnes & Noble "ignore something as unique as Dennis-Renner" amid the oceans of Smiths, Johnsons, Collins, and the likes)
Later, a conversation with my dad revealed that he felt the same way as she did.
That's what struck me. My parents never saw the shortening of my name as an affront to them. They saw it as a jab to my own identity. Any attempt to change it was not in effort to gain distance from them, but from myself and the little dribble of a story and personhood I drag along behind me.
My parents were right. If I was publishing under "Alexandra Marshall," how would all the teachers who had kindly told me to set my sights a little lower than an intensive degree from Sarah Lawrence College (and later University College London) know that not only did I get accepted to SLC, but I was pursuing a mighty successful writing career there and beyond? How would the handful of people I loathed in high school and college who had an ample distaste for me know that I turned out to be a shit-ton better than them? …Funnier, too.
…How would I show the world--the world who has known me for years as Alexandra Dennis-Renner--that even though it counted me down and out from the start, I turned out okay. I turned out better than okay.
I turned out great.
Against its efforts, I discovered what I love early enough that I have an entire lifetime ahead of me to devote to doing it. I have an entire lifetime to write. I have an entire lifetime to love.
...They say happiness is the best revenge.
Before we get all misty eyed up in here, I guess I should finish what set out to be a rather sour, nagging post, not a heroic declaration of self-worth and discovery.
For sake of selling a lot of books, I still changed my name. I decided to keep the "Dennis," save the "Renner" for my birth certificate and bank statements. How did I ultimately decide? I flipped a coin. Simple as that.
It seems pretty shitty--leaving the fate of your professional career and how you appear to the social circles of your personal life up to George Washington's face on a grody little quarter. But, it seemed to be the fairest way to choose. Heads is Dennis. Tails is Renner. It's in Fate's hands, and maybe I'll have the experience to understand His decision at a later date in time.
You know what else is shitty? Everyone's reactions to my sudden change in name. I had texts, Facebook messages, emails, and such like you wouldn't believe…all wanting to know "what happened?"
I gave everyone the condensed shpeel of what you see before you: I want to sell a book, and since my name isn't K.J. Rolling, or King Stephenson, or something else that in an unfortunate twist of coincidence leads an unsuspecting reader to spend £1.99 in the Amazon Kindle Store, I needed something "cover friendly."
And yet most people couldn't make peace with that. There must've been a falling out with my father or someone on his side of our family. He must've done terrible, unthinkable things to break my heart beyond repair. I must've been wronged so rightly that I've rescinded my name and begun a life anew!
How do you just change your identity with the flip of a coin?
…Gee, I don't know, guys...How could you just change your major every semester for the first 3 years of college? How do you just dye your hair a new shade of "surprise!" each month? Obviously that new tattoo you got to impress your girlfriend is your way of calling your mother a soulless harpy.
At least my flippancy gets me a paycheck.
At the end of the day, it really doesn't matter what you call me. You make the name, the name doesn't make you.
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