she just looks like a summer
I spent 3 hours at the courthouse yesterday. All part of a very lengthy process to legally change my daughter’s name.
You know… it’s the same old story. You realize when your baby is a month old that she has the wrong name, so you say nothing for five more months and then one day, you ever-so-casually mention to your husband, “Hey, what do you think about us changing our daughter’s name?”
And he looks at you like you are CRAZY because your daughter is 6 months-old now. But he knew you were crazy when he married you so isn’t this really his fault?
So after debating this issue for two MORE months, you finally start calling her the new name when she is 8 months-old. Yes, 8 months-old.
This kind of thing happens to everyone, right?
So that’s how “Presley” became “Summer.”
And now we want to make it official. But unless you’re a newlywed, changing a name is not easy. At least not in New York City.
They want to make sure 2 year-old Summer isn’t changing her name to try to avoid some kind of prison sentence, debt or IRS investigation. Now I can’t account for every moment when she’s napping but I think she’s led a pretty honest life so far.
So yesterday, I sat in the courtroom and each person got up to request their name change.
There was Woo Wo who wants to flip things around and change his name to Wo Woo.
There was a transvestite who wants a more feminine name.
There was an Asian man who wants to change the first names of his 5, 7 and 11 year-old kids so their first names sound more American.
And finally, a woman who wants to change her name but couldn’t tell the Judge whether her middle initial “H” stood for Harriet or Hazel. She just can’t remember anymore.
As I sat there, waiting for my turn, I realized two things…
1. Being a judge in New York City must be one hell of an entertaining job.
2. And it turns out, I’m not so crazy after all.
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