Naming

One of the hot topics on one of my groups this week is naming. Should an adoptive parent change the name of the child that they adopt or should they keep the name that they were born with? I am a firm believer that there is no wrong answer for this.

I am not on the fence about this. I have one foot firmly planted on both sides of the fence. Keep the child's birth name? Absolutely! Change the child's birth name? Absolutely! How can I have such a stance?

I was removed from my biological family at 5.5 years old. I was 7.5 years old when I was placed for adoption with my family. When my parents had gotten married (about 3.5 seconds before we were placed with them) my mother did not change her last name. So when my sister and I were placed we knew we were going to change our last names and we were also clear that we wanted different last names. Apparently, according to my parents (who are divorced and still agree on this story), that I also decided that I wanted to change my first name. I don't have a real memory of it but always assumed it was their idea. Either way, I wanted to change my name. I remember that. Clearly. My sister entertained the idea but in the end she decided to stick with her name.

I took my time deciding on my name. I remember conversation after conversation about it. The reality is that I really wanted one name. I knew it was the right name for me. But it was also very clear that my father really wanted another name. He didn't put a lot of pressure on me but still it was clear. In the end, in an effort to please my new family, I picked the name my father wanted. When the adoption was finalized, I got a new name.

However, it never felt like me. Oh, don't get me wrong. I answered to it. It was a natural thing. But there wasn't a time in my life that I did not think about changing my name again. I already did it once, why not again? And when I was about 25, I did exactly that. I changed my name to the name I had wanted when I was 7 years old.

So when I was getting ready to adopt I immediately began picking out names. Of course I was going to change her name. She was going to be my only child, likely. Of course I was going to change her name. It is a parent's right. Right? As a single person it should have been easy to pick a name. I just needed to pick one I liked. I did not need to compromise with a partner. But as a single person, because I had no designated partner to compromise with, everybody thought that they had a vote in the naming process. But eventually I picked a name. A first name I liked and a middle name that was a family name. And then I waited for the referral call.

When I was on the phone with my agency learning about my daughter and looking at the first photos of her on the computer my certainty changed. I learned her name. I learned the meaning. And I instantly wondered if I was making the right decision to change her name. Within 24 hours I had decided that I needed to wait until I met her before deciding if I was going to change her name.

Part of it for me was that she was not an abandoned child. She was a child who had lived with her loving parents for 18 months and was named by them. It was also a connection with her culture. It was also a unique name. She would be the only one in her class. Guaranteed. I liked that idea. I grew up in a world where many kids were named Kimberly or Christine or Lori. I didn't want my daughter to have a name that every other child had. And, I admit, one of my concerns was also that her name was also unusual. What if kids made fun of it? What if she was discriminated against because she did not have an all American name?

Well it turns out that her name is actually unusual in Ethiopia. As a matter of fact, most Ethiopians think I am saying her name wrong or don't know how it is spelled. And I find myself correcting Ethiopians. Her name is Ethiopian, just not a common one. Her name is never used in America. But it is also more simple then some of the other kids in her class. In a sea of Jamaiyas, Ezekiel, Hithas, and Sarais, Ladybug's name is not any more unusual then those.

In the end, I kept her name. And the ones I picked out for her. And never regretted it. She is her name. It fits. And I don't regret it. At all.

And as this topic heated up this week on the group I thought back on all of that. Change the name. Don't change the name. I have no problem with the decision either way. But I have a problem with some of the excuses people use to justify their decision. If I changed her name, would that make her less black and therefore not as likely to suffer discrimination? No. If I changed her name would I feel less bonded to her? No. If I Didn't change her name would she have a better understanding of her culture? No. Do I think you should pick a name purely so other people will never mispronounce it? No. Change the name because it is right for your family. Keep the name because it is right for your family. Simple.

As I was putting Ladybug to bed tonight she asked me why I gave her her name. I looked at her and told her I didn't. And of course the next question was "Who did?" So I reminded her that it was her first parents. Another advantage of keeping her name was that tonight she got another deeper understanding to her life. We talk about adoption regularly but as she grows she slowly gains understanding one straw at a time about her life. That simple questions led to me recounting to her what I know about her life and how we met. For me, keeping her name brought us just a little bit closer together tonight.

Mean Mama