3.25.2013

"No, just one 'T,' actually."

I was born a Lary, the name my grandfather had to take when joining the Navy. His father was a Lary, but died when Granddaddy was two. His adopted name--the name he was given by the man who raised him--was never made official, and thus wasn't sufficient for the Navy. I should have been a Godwin. Instead, I'm a Lary.

And I'm not even sure what that means. I mean, I know I come from a line of kind of awkward noses and even awkwarder family ties. But my last name doesn't carry any "That's so Lary" traits with it. At least not any to which I'm clinging or claiming.

I like being a Lary, but it hasn't defined me. Perhaps because I didn't choose to become a Lary; I was just born one.

But in the last several years, a few experiences have defined me.

I came out.
I became a mother to the best person I know.
I married my true north. My only home. The love of my life.

Those experiences deserve a defining name.

And yet, I fill out the first line of my return address as "La Casa de Tres Nombres," because until now, we've been The House of Three Names. A family. Three fools in love. But without a common name to unite us.

That all changes tomorrow.

We've long talked about names and their importance and what "taking a name means" and so on. About nine months ago, Erin was doing some of her best thinking in the shower, and she beckoned me and mentioned a possible new last name. Since then, we've talked about it and marinated in it, we've discussed it with Merritt, practiced signing it, practiced saying it. We've slept on it. We've nurtured it. We've given it time. Y'all, we basically gestated a surname.

Tomorrow morning, we will go before a judge for a legal name change. And because we haven't chosen "Bananahammock" as our new family name, we're pretty sure that when court adjourns, we will officially be Katie & Erin Scot.

And that's not because we've got a weird thing for Tartan plaids. Or because I think it would be awesome for people to start referring to me exclusively as KATE SCOT! (Great Scott!). Or because I just really feel it necessary to trade in one should-be-five-letter last name for another.

Merritt's middle name is Scot. So we'll be doing what my great-grandfather was unable to: we'll be sharing a name with the child we're raising.

While the Scot family name is merely a newborn at this point, it already means something to be one. It means anxious eyes and rain-speckled hair. It means "fruit and cheese night" and too many made-up games to count. It means baseball, and snuggling, and taking bites all together. It means traditions and rituals that already exist, like flossing every night and making cupcakes each year on October 24th. And creating new ones as time goes on and conditions call for them. It means the answer Merritt gives when you ask him to tell you his favorite thing: "family."

And while I'll still have my misshapen nose and Erin will still boast the ol' Wilson butt and thighs and Merritt will still have his own surname, we will all forever be connected by name. We will all be Scots.


As a final part of this process, Erin and I sat down and wrote these posts without knowing what the other was saying. Her take is here.

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