It's nothing more than a cough, really. A small jerk of the pen, almost accidental in its appearance. But I give the apostrophe a lot of flack. Sometimes I deliberately leave it out when signing my name - that's right, little mark, you go in the corner and think about all the trouble you've caused. And now, the ultimate revenge: in less than a month, my name will change and all the confusion will vanish. Take that!
(also, this.)
I thought that was all there was to it. But then I had to write my post-wedding name on one of the vendors' contracts, and I felt a small pang for my soon-to-be-lost apostrophe. There's actually something very subtle and strange about changing one's maiden name. Because I have never been anyone else. When I learned to write, I learned to write that name. When one of my teachers in elementary school had to ask the class five times whether I was present that day because I wasn't paying attention, her voice would incrementally rise as she called out that name. In high school, that was the name I frantically searched for when the cast list for an upcoming play finally went up. Acceptance and rejection letters to college, all of the important exams I ever took, my degrees, my resume, all of the places I have lived and all of the people I met and then lost touch with - twenty-seven years' worth of experiences belong to a girl who identified herself by that name. And of course all of those things are still part of my story - it's just the end of one chapter and the beginning of another. The way all of that would feel is just not something I ever considered before.
We tie our identities to many things. Our names, our jobs, our roles and relationships with other people, our interests and hobbies, our chosen spirituality. And really, when I look at that list, I would argue that a name falls pretty close to the bottom. As a late twenty-something navigating my impressions of what it means to be a wife, embarking upon a brand new career, working to create a home out of a relatively new apartment, learning to cultivate interests and hobbies in a new community, and trying hard to discover what the heck this life is all about, I think I have my hands full. But, dear apostrophe, when I do sign those papers in just a few weeks, I want you to know that despite my complaints and grumbles, and despite how thrilled I am to be marrying into such a wonderful family, I've been proud to be a D'Amico.
And don't worry - I fully expect that after the wedding, when it's time to begin the endless line of red tape that comes along with legal name change, you will relish the opportunity have your own revenge.
