What's in a name?

The symbols of a family can be many, but the most overt is the family name. I’ve always been a bit torn over my family name, having held four over my life. Now, I am not some multiple passport-holding Interpol Agent, carefully razoring away others’ photos and inserting my own so I can slip through borders, but I do have a minor identity crisis to reveal.

My dad’s surname and therefore that on my original birth certificate is ‘Higginbottom’. It alternatively means, depending on the source, those who dwell down the bottom from where the Higginses live or down the bottom from the region known as Higgins, or it is a derivative of the German ‘Ickenbaum’ meaning oak tree. The latter is my preference. It matters not, as I discovered at age five and endured my first round of teasing. It has the proper word for ‘bum’ in it. Hard to love it. Even its Latin motto, translated as ‘everywhere the rain fertilises’, is confusing and uninspiring.

So, when I was seven and my parents’ unfortunate divorce eventuated, Mum asked me if I might prefer to be known by her maiden name of ‘Kemp’. I bounced on my bed in joy and eagerly accepted. Dad was disappointed at the loss of continuation of the family name, but my brother and I disregarded his emotion. We were kids. Kemp is such a lovely short name. It goes well with Kate. As it turns out, it too has a variety of meanings and origins, ranging somewhere between common foot soldier and champion. This is me preferring the latter, again! The coat of arms, bearing three garbs (wheat-sheafs) and proclaiming the Latin for 'I hope for light' and another motto, 'he who sows in sadness shall reap in joy' makes the name seem a bit more loveable, than fertiliser and bums.

I’ll skip my first husband’s surname as the reason for taking it is the same reason I took my best husband’s name. I wanted a legitimate name. Not one I was embarrassed about, and not one that I just ran with, but one that I could stamp on an official document and not have to sign 42 stat decs to prove who I was when I went for a licence. And so, I became a ‘Doyle’; the anglicised version of the Gaelic for ‘dark stranger’, referencing the dark haired Vikings who invaded the Emerald Isle. Oooohh, shivers of romantic delight! "He conquers through fortitude,” proclaims the herald as he claps his fist to the shield emblazoned with three noble stags. Ooooohhh!

I am still torn. I feel guilty for my father because I finally understand the connectedness a family name gives you. I associate most strongly with Kemp, because I wore it for so long; I’ve forgotten being a Hall (and can’t even be bothered looking up its secrets); and I love being a Doyle, because I love my husband and our children and we all look at our name as a bonding symbol of our unity.

Yet, I find I want to reflect all of this family love from all the Higginbottoms, Kemps and Doyles and last week, I drew my own coat of arms with each of the families represented. And I sighed in happiness. Complete.

I am Kate Elizabeth Higginbottom Kemp Doyle, someone who loves the life-giving rain, hopes for light, reaps in joy and conquers through fortitude. I am me. I love all of mine.

What’s in a name, indeed?