A Father's Legacy

My youngest child has a hyphenated last name. We weren't trying to be different, we weren't attempting to be trendy, or break from tradition. I guess you could say it was an accident. It's actually comical when I look back on it. 

After 23 hours of labor, I had to stay in the hospital a little longer than expected. There had been some complications, and you can believe I was exhausted. Someone brought the paperwork to my room for the birth certificate. I handed it off to the baby's dad to fill out. I had been a single mom for 8 years prior, and it was difficult for me to receive help with anything. But I believed I was delegating an important task appropriately. After all, we'd already decided on the perfect name. 

Maybe it was fatigue, or the pressure of fatherhood. Maybe it was a slip of the pen. Maybe it was a mistake on the part of the courthouse. Maybe it was a complete disregard for what I'd said.

My family name was to be a middle name. It seemed really important at the time. Perhaps a mix of nostalgia, and loyalty. I emphasized: no hyphens! I didn't think of it again until a month later (I was haemorrhaging, after all) when we received the notification to pick up the birth certificate at the courthouse. 

The name was hyphenated. I think I flipped out.  It wasn't what we wanted. We could have changed it then, but defenses went up, and a legal name change even at such an early point would have meant more paperwork, and fees. We were broke, and it seemed smarter to spend the little money we had on more practical items. You know, like food.

It's actually been a source of contention over the years. On the one hand, I maintain that I said no hyphens, and what's the harm in having a family name as a middle name? On the other hand: a time honored tradition. There were actually conversations bordering on the ridiculous: arguing about what hyphens actually mean, are they legally binding? Grudges ensued.

So, what's in a name? Years later, the kid has meshed well with a too many consonants, multi-cultural last name that few can actually pronounce properly. It seems fitting to me now that such a unique child should have an equally unique name. Even if it wasn't planned that way. 

It seems that more and more often, a surname is the only legacy a child has of their father.  A legacy is so much more than just a name. A legacy is the time and energy spent in building it. A true legacy is built from Mentos and diet cola, paper planes, and skateboards. Toy boats in the river, and an imaginary island of "Broken Sword". Singing silly lyrics and playing a guitar. It's built from getting too caught up playing: like the trip to the emergency room because dad slipped through a window while his child was steering an imaginary boat. It's Christmas, birthdays, graduations, plays, soccer games, camping, and piñatas. It's vomit and dirty diapers. Time and energy, effort and work. It goes beyond handfuls of happy memories. It is the time that spans between them. How a child is spoken to, how a child hears a father speak of others. The attitude towards life that is carried to the child. If you can maintain it in the spaces between happy, then it's a job well done. It is a child who is secure, and happy, and confident, or not and it hangs on the health of a parent from whom they've learned. For better or for worse. Children who are sure that their father loves them, or question it. Rightfully, my children own this legacy.