A mother. A daughter. A topic.
My Maiden name was Kram.
It was nice and short and went well with Cindy.
Cindy Kram.
Easy to remember, and easy to spell.
And the fun part of the name was that it was ”Mark” spelled backwards.
My dad named his manufacturing company “Mark Industries” (a nice little family inside joke). And, I’m pretty sure I have a cousin out there named Mark Kram (funny family huh?).
People used to tell me that my last name was almost certainly shortened from “Kramer” (a well known German name) when my grandfather immigrated to this country, but my dad denied it…adamantly…as did his dad.
But I didn’t care. I just thought it was cool that it was Mark spelled backwards.
Growing up, I never felt a strong attachment to the name. But I identified with it. I was Cindy Kram.
I guess, as a girl, I got the message early on that it was a temporary moniker that I’d someday shed for another, so don’t get too close. Boys are raised with the expectation that they will keep their last names and “carry on” the name throughout the generations, but none of that pressure (or expectation) is bestowed upon girls.
But I was raised in a pretty progressive family where most of the gender expectations were being challenged on a regular basis. So when it came to actually changing my name when I got married…I really had to think about whether or not I wanted a new name.
I felt like I could choose to take on a new name…or not, (which actually ended up causing me lots of angst).
Should I hold onto my given name and buck tradition? Did Cindy Kram carry an attachment to my heritage and history that I should hold on to? Did giving up my last name for a man mean that I wasn’t an independent woman? Did I want to have a different last name than my husband? Or… my (future) kids?
Finally…it came down to the most important question of all…did I like the name?
Carrillo. Cindy Carrillo.
It kind of flowed.
I liked the two “C’s.”
But I couldn’t roll my “rrrrrr’s” when saying the name (unless I used the phlegm in my throat) and felt a bit intimidated by a name that I knew carried a whole new ethnicity with it.
Most folks think its Italian, but it’s actually Hispanic. Or rather Spanish…as my mother-in-law used to tell me.
But even so, she said I didn’t have to role the “rrrrrrr’s.” She said they pronounced it with a hard “r” and “l” sound (Car-ril-lo)…not (Carrrrr-eee-yo).
So I tried it on. Played with it. Wrote it down. Practiced a new signature. Pretended that I was being introduced at a party, “I’d like you to meet Cindy Carrillo.”
And I started to like the way it felt.
Only then did I start to embrace the idea of taking on a new name with true enthusiasm (and let go of all the other stuff).
But not my mom.
She never really loved the name Kram herself (her maiden name was Dankner – so not all that wonderful on its own!), but I think she liked the married identity that the name brought to her. And that it was shorter than her maiden name (she loved having a full name that was only 7 letters – Del Kram). And (if truth be told)…that it was Jewish.
And Carrillo was not.
So she came up with an alternative that she carefully proposed to Brian and me.
She explained that since Brian was becoming a doctor…and we were now living in a time when women shouldn’t have to change their names to match their husband (ALWAYS the feminist)…she thought we BOTH should change our names to…
Cohen. A nice Jewish name.
Brian would be Dr. Cohen: a nice Jewish doctor.
Problem solved.
Except I kinda liked the whole Hispanic (sorry…Spanish) thing. It’s not often a blonde haired- blue eyed-Jew-from the suburbs of Detroit, could get a new layer to her identity without anyone judging her.
So I took the name Carrillo (mom ended up embracing the whole idea), with all its history and richness, and wore it with love and pride.
I never felt like I “gave up” Kram. I just wore Carrillo over Kram like the layering of a perfect outfit.
And…when Brian and I split up, I asked him if it would be ok if I kept Carrillo (I asked his mom too).
It had become a significant piece of my identity. I had two beautiful Hispanic (sorry…Spanish) kids with the name, and the name had been with me for almost as long as I had the name Kram, so it felt like it was mine.
So, I’ve kept it, and I’m glad I’m a Carrillo.
And a Kram.
P.S. Now that Ally is getting married…to a “Kohn” (I know, the irony is almost scary), I’m leaving her alone to make her own decision.
P.S.S. My mom would not.
First off, I’m changing this topic to “Should ALLY change her name when she gets married?” I’m super selfish like that.
(And also because I don’t believe that there’s a rule. There’s no “should” when it comes to this. It’s up to her (and him).)
We’ve wanted to write about this subject for quite a long time, and now that I actually have to MAKE A DECISION about this in the near future, it’s time to talk it out.
I love my last name. I identify with it. I like having the same last name as my family.
I LOVE that my initials are ABC (just like my Daddy).
And with all of that said, it seems obvious that I should keep my last name when I get married to Mike.
I never even thought about this when I was growing up. Sure, Alexandra Taylor Thomas or Alexandra DiCaprio sounded fun, but I never actually thought that I’d have to change my name someday. My folks never brought it up with me or anything (which I now resent you guys for because I feel a little blind-sided).
Over the past decade, I think I’ve always assumed that I’d keep my name.
But now that it’s HERE (which is awesome), I have to think about what to actually do.
Even though I love my name and initials, I also want to have the same name as Mike (which is Kohn).
And, even more than that, I want the same name as my future kids.
(I don’t even have children yet, and they’re already making shit complicated…)
Mike says he’s completely supportive of whatever I decide, which is ABSOLUTELY NO HELP AT ALL.
So, I’ve been compiling a mental pro and con list about what I should do.
PROS OF CHANGING MY LAST NAME:
– I’ll have the same name as Mike… everyone will know we’re Mr. and Mrs. (Though, with our luck – and the fact that we look vaguely similar – people will probably just assume that we’re brother and sister… or at least cousins.) We can be introduced as Ally and Mike Kohn, not Ally Carrillo and her husband Mike Kohn. It’s a symbol of us as a couple, as a team…
– I’ll have the same name as our kids. Now I know our future children don’t HAVE to have just Mike’s name, but I don’t want to hyphenate. Carrillo is long enough on it’s own – I’m not adding four more letters to it. I think that’s just mean.
– Speaking of length, Mike’s name is half as long as mine. My full name is Alexandra B Carrillo, and that is one long ass name to fill in on standardized test sheets. I loose valuable test time filling in name bubbles! Plus, I’d be able to cut my email address in half, and spelling it out for people would be way easier…
CONS OF CHANGING MY LAST NAME:
– I won’t be ABC anymore! ABK just doesn’t have the same ring to it… If Mike would just change the spelling of his last name to Cohn, this wouldn’t be an issue…
– I’ll have to change all of my online accounts. I know, that seems like a silly thing to say, but damn if it isn’t a pain in the ass. I mean, on top of changing my driver’s license, I have to change my Facebook URL!
– I have perfected the Alexandra Carrillo signature. I’m proud of my signature. Learning a new one makes me feel sleepy. (It’s a lot of effort…)
– I like that my name is Spanish.
– Yes, most of these CONS are silly and stupid, but this one is real – and the one that matters: I have an indescribable, irrational, overwhelming fear that I’ll loose part of my identity. Again, this seems foolish – even as I write it – but it’s a strange, lonely feeling thinking that I won’t have Carrillo attached to the end of my name. I know that I’ll still BE a Carrillo, but still.
I tell myself to listen to my gut, but my gut is as indecisive as my brain.
And so, to sum up, you all decide for me.
YOU HAVE ELEVEN MONTHS (!) to get your pro and con lists in.
PS: While were at it, tell me whether or not I should work during my first year of Graduate School, and whether I should cut my bangs again. These are all super important things I need to think about.
PPS: Maybe I should just change my last name to INDECISIVE… but that’s even longer than Carrillo…
I’ve been a good boss for most of my career…but I was really lousy at it when I first started.
My first chance to step into a supervisory role was when I worked at the Jewish Community Center in Denver as their Children and Youth Director. I was in my early twenties…and I knew nothing about being a boss.
During the school year I ran children’s programs for kids in elementary school. Programs like vacation camps, before & after school programs and specialized classes like woodworking, and craft making on weekends. I had a small staff to actually teach/supervise kids in these programs (although I learned how to teach kids to build a mean birdhouse) but most of my responsibilities focused on the administrative side of the department. I wasn’t really anyone’s boss for these programs…I was more like a coordinator who ran around setting up rooms, printing out worksheets and making sure supplies were on hand.
During the summer months however, I was in charge of a 25 acre summer day camp, complete with a full swimming program, horseback riding, arts & crafts, music and tons of sports activities….and I had to supervise about 40 young college-aged staff who were counselors, wranglers, and program specialists for more than 200 campers.
It was during these summers that I discovered I knew nothing about being a boss. I could fill out P.O’s (purchase orders), work with the maintenance staff to get the facility in order, make sure we had all of the supplies we needed, and even figure out how to “lease” over 2 dozen horses for the season…but I had no idea what it meant to supervise or lead my staff through the course of a summer camp program.
I was terrible.
I thought the word “boss” meant that I had to “boss” everyone around! I yelled incessantly. I yelled at my staff, and I’m embarrassed to say…I also yelled at the kids.
I went through the summer yelling and bossing, and basically bullying everyone around to get them to do what I thought should be done.
I had no idea what it meant to actually be a boss…let alone, a good one.
And then I went to graduate school. I think it was there that I first began to learn new and effective ways to communicate. But it wasn’t until I left the JCC and started my own company and started to hire my own employees…that I started to really understand what it meant to be a boss.
I still had no idea what it meant to be a good boss…but at least I figured out that it wasn’t about yelling and bullying people to get what I wanted.
It was about leadership. About inspiring people to join me in whatever work needed to be done.
I realized after about a trillion mistakes, that being a boss wasn’t about proving that I was in charge. It was about leading the charge.
And that took time to learn.
It’s not something that I learned in graduate school however, because they don’t teach leadership in school. It was something I had to learn on my own and grow into overtime.
Moral of the story
Maybe we should teach leadership in school so that there will be a lot more good bosses out there.
2nd moral of the story
Maybe that’s something I should try to do at some point in the future…
I’ve never been a boss (officially, at least…), but I’ve had quite a few.
(One of them was my mother. That’s a different topic, though…)
I’ve had great bosses, and not so great bosses.
Bosses that I would consider friends (and family) (though I don’t “consider” my mom family… I’m sorta stuck with her…), and bosses that I’ve damned to hell (NOT TALKING ABOUT YOU, MOM).
Bosses that have inspired and encouraged me, and bosses that have scared me and made me cry in the bathroom.
(This makes it sound like I’ve had a lot more jobs than I have.)
What sets the “good” bosses apart from the “not-so-good” ones?
First, it’s the way they lead. What they do to motivate, inspire, and get shit done. The good bosses that I’ve had have made me WANT to go to work and WANT to do a good job. Because my boss made me happy to be a good employee, to go above and beyond, and to make them proud. Good bosses encourage you, and you’re better because of it.
Next, it’s the way that they manage. A good boss clearly tells you what they want from you (COMMUNICATION), what is expected, and then they let you do it. They guide, they don’t push. They allow you to do your job, because they have enough faith in your ability to do it. If you get off track, they’re watching close enough to catch it and get you back on track, but they don’t look over your shoulder all of the time, or berate you when you mess up. I think this is probably one of the hardest things for managers (in any capacity) to do, but the good bosses I’ve had have this skill down.
Last, it’s the atmosphere that they encourage and cultivate. A good boss finds the balance between working and getting things done, and having a good time. If you walk into a place and see people smiling or laughing while they’re working, it’s probably because the boss encourages that. And I don’t know about you, but I love going to a business that’s full of people that actually look like they want to be there. When there’s a boss that pushes for a positive and inspiring work environment, work is done faster and better.
At the end of the day, work is WORK, and a good boss can make all the difference between a job that’s meaningful, or one that makes you want to poke your own eye out with the corner of your pay stub…
(It’s worth noting that most jobs make you want to do BOTH of those things, but if you have a good boss, then it’s a lot easier to show up after those eye-poking days…)
In order to answer this question I found myself walking around my house looking at all of the “stuff” I own and asking myself if I thought one thing or another was the most important.
I knocked lots of things off the list right away. Electronics, clothes, shoes (come on…I like ‘em but I’m not that shallow!), furniture, bake ware….ya know, all the stuff that sits in and on cabinets and closets throughout the house.
And then I thought about my artwork.
The oil painting hanging over the couch in my office was my first piece of art worth more than $100 and I do love it. It’s a beautifully done oil painting of flowers in an exquisite frame. It is the most beautiful painting I own. But truthfully, it’s not even close to being the most important thing I own.
In addition to the painting, I now have 3 amazingly beautiful sculptures that Brian has given me since we separated (I know…don’t even get me started) that I certainly would make a point to grab and put in my car if I was told that I had 15 minutes to gather my possessions before my house were to blow up. But again…when it comes down to it, they aren’t the most important items I own.
So then I thought of all of the sentimental stuff I have.
Obviously, the first thing I thought of was our family photos. After Brian and I split up, I was the one who declared that I would be the keeper of the family photo albums (of which there are probably 20-25) and I have them neatly stacked on top of each other on storage shelves in the basement. Not that I don’t love to look through them, and cherish all of the pictures/history/memories in them…but the reality is that they “live” in the basement. So in all honesty, how can I proclaim them the most important items, when they gather dust in the bowels of my house 99.9% of the time?
Jewelry? I do now have some amazingly beautiful and sentimental pieces, and I would be absolutely heart sick if I ever lost them…(like a necklace that was my mom’s and another from Ally, a watch from my grandmother, earrings from Brian and a bracelet from Matthew) but I just can’t elevate any one of them to the status of “most” important thing that I own.
So how about books? There are a few (not many as I’m not a voracious reader like the other members of my family) that have shaped my life. They influenced the way I look at the world. They occupied hours of my life by taking me to places and times I’ll never visit. They broadened my mind. But they certainly are not the most important things in my life.
So what the hell could it be?
It’s my dogs.
We could get into a philosophical argument as to whether or not our pets are our property or chattel? But the reality is…that they (there are 4 of them now) are the most important “things” in my life.
I don’t treat them like things. I treat them like pets. That I love. And cherish. And care for.
And when it all comes down to it…if my house were on fire, the ONLY thing I would run in to rescue without thinking about it twice…would be my dogs. The rest…while important to one degree or another…are just not the most important things in my life.
It’s funny. I have stuff. Lots of stuff, actually. Too much stuff, some would say.
But what’s actually important?
What would I grab if there was a fire?
What do I love more than anything.
Of course, first and foremost, there’s the dogs. But most days I feel like they own me, and they’re not really things. And the importance that the two of them hold for me should be assumed.
So in terms of actual THINGS that I own, what’s the most important thing to me?
My computer has so much important stuff on in that it would be a total bummer if, for whatever reason, I no longer had it.
But is it the MOST important thing I own? No – it’s definitely not.
I have a ring that Mike gave me several years ago for Christmas. I love it. I wear it every minute of everyday. It makes me happy every time I look at it.
Yeah, I would say it’s a pretty damn important thing that I own. It’s not only beautiful, but holds an incredible amount of sentimentality too.
And the only thing that’s tied in first place with THAT ring is a new ring I got 2 weeks ago.
One of those rings.
THE ring.
The big one.
The one that came with a question and a promise from a boy who wears glasses and who’s my best friend.
Yeah, that’s my most important thing.
:-)
PS: I also got into graduate school for next Fall. I’ll be going to the University of Colorado for Speech Language Pathology. I was trying to come up with a cute way to make that part of the actual post, but I can’t come up with anything. BUT YAY I’M GOING TO GRADUATE SCHOOL.
(Followed closely by OH SHIT I’M GOING TO GRAD SCHOOL.)
(I have no similar fears about getting married.)