“Kelly Lee!” chirped my 9th-grade algebra teacher during roll call, just as she had every day of the school year. But this time, a giggle rippled through the class.
When Ms. Wade — a woman who brooked no nonsense — demanded to be let in on the joke, a classmate blurted out, “That’s not her name!”
My name was an honor and a headache
My maiden name is Lee Kelly. I used to joke that I had two last names and two first names because people used my two names interchangeably. Since Lee is traditionally a man’s name, and I am not a man, people would look at me, see my name, and automatically flip my name around.
The male name was intentional. My parents named me after my maternal grandfather, who was sick when I was born and died when I was a year old. Carrying his name was an honor and a pain in my daily life. And I couldn’t use my middle name to help bail me out. It was Pallardy, my grandfather’s last name, giving me a full name that was all surnames. My family takes honorary naming very literally.
So I was stuck being Kelly Lee.
Kelly Lee could pop up anywhere — in school, mail, phone calls, or other interactions with strangers. Sometimes, I corrected the error. But a lot of the time, I didn’t even bother. Even though the mistake drove me crazy, it didn’t seem worth the energy to call out the other person.
It got to the point that I responded to “Kelly” just as readily as I responded to “Lee.” The only thing that would end my name duality was a legal name change.
I knew I would take my husband’s last name
When my husband and I got engaged, I was 100% ready to take his name. I had no qualms about shedding my family identity. There were no feminist hesitations about the patriarchal expectation to subvert my identity for my husband’s. I wasn’t going to be Kelly Lee anymore.
My husband’s last name is O’Connell, and it was perfect. It wasn’t weird or unattractive. When paired with my first name, it would have no unfortunate associations or sounds (think Lee Oswald or Lee Roy). And there was no way anyone would confuse it for a first name. I would never have to correct anyone about my name again. I would never be O’Connell Lee.
No one gets it wrong now
In the 14 years I’ve been married, I haven’t had to correct someone about my name once. I am always Lee, never Kelly. My ears don’t prick up when I hear “Kelly” anymore, and I don’t feel compelled to answer to any name besides my own.
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Strangely, I received a letter addressed to Kelley Lee O’Connell two years ago. When I took my husband’s name, I followed the convention of making my maiden name my middle name, mostly so I had a female name somewhere in there. As soon as I saw that letter, I texted a photo to the high school friend who sat next to me in algebra, the one person who jokingly calls me Kelly Lee to this day. “She does exist!” I exclaimed.
Courtesy of the author
Weighed against all the problems in the world, having people get my name wrong is pretty insignificant. It was a minor irritation that never meaningfully impeded my day.
What bothered me about it was that so many people were willing to initiate an interaction or a relationship with me based on an assumption of who I was or who they thought I should be. And that assumption was wrong. It would’ve been more refreshing and more generous to have them get curious about who I am, to explore whether my reality challenged their assumptions.
Now that it’s behind me, it’s easy to consider my double name as a quirky blip from my past, compared to my present ease of always being Lee and never Kelly. People occasionally still assume I’m a man, so you can’t win everything.
