Category — feminism

I’d like to preface the following with the important fact that most of the Navy wives I have met here are damn cool ladies. They are smart and funny and independent and generally awesome people. They are women I would want to be friends with, whether or not our husbands shared an occupation, and for that I am very grateful.

That said, what’s the deal with some of these other Navy wives? Have I somehow stumbled into a Lifetime original series?

On the one hand, it can be comforting to talk to women who know exactly what you are going through– excruciatingly long deployments, bureaucratic red tape, ridiculous difficulty planning anything further than two weeks in advance. On the other hand, that can’t be all we have to talk about.

I’ve been a little unsettled by the Navy wives I’ve met here who don’t seem to have an identity outside of being a Navy wife. Instead of asking what I do for a living or what my interests are, they ask what my husband does on the ship and where we have been stationed in the past. They sign emails “Have a great Navy day!” and drop acronyms I don’t understand into normal conversation. They form hierarchies based on the rank of their husbands instead of on any merits of their own. I kind of want to shake them and scream, “We are not in the Navy!” If Brian talked this much to his friends about my job, I would be seriously concerned about him.

Honestly, I find it a little insulting. The Navy may play a large role in my life right now, whether I like it or not, but it is not actually my life. I do not work on a ship; therefore, I find talking incessantly about what happens on a ship strange and annoying. Bottom line: I don’t really care what your husband does; I want to know who you are. What do you like to do? What do we have in common? I was a complete person before I married into this role, and I plan to remain that way. I have a job, I have hobbies, I have dreams… and believe it or not, all these things are not wrapped up in my “hubby’s” job (related note: the word “hubby” makes my skin crawl; don’t do it).

It’s funny because the possibility that I might someday become a Navy wife has been a running joke with our friends since Brian and I started dating back in college. Haha, the barefoot NorCal feminist is going to have to learn to be a proper lady and not say outlandish things at dinner with the admiral. Kind of like “Pretty Woman,” except for the minor detail that I am not a hooker.

We all joked about the Navy wife stereotype, but I didn’t actually expect it to be true in real life. I don’t know how to cope with it aside from what I’m already doing: bitching/laughing about it, hanging out with people I like and avoiding the others like the plague. Other suggestions are welcome.

I have a confession to make: I have been looking forward to changing my name since I was a little girl… well, at least since kids in my class discovered that my last name contained a four-letter word and was therefore worthy of mockery. So around sixth grade. Junior high is not kind to the Dickers of the world.

As I’ve gotten older, tougher and wiser, I have embraced my family’s name and have become unfazed by any jokes people may throw my way. There is a long, fine line of Dickers before me, and I am proud to be part of that lineage. I’m sorry, are you giggling? Did I say something funny?

We will always be the Sisters Dicker

For the last few years, I’ve gone back and forth on whether I would change my name or not after I got married. The independent feminist in me said I should keep my maiden name to show I am still my own person with or without my husband. The family-oriented part of me wanted me to hyphenate or take my husband’s name to show unity between us and to make things easier for when we have kids someday.

Well, it turns out I don’t really like the way “Dicker-Burgess” or “Burdicker” or “Dickurgess” sounds. Plus, DMV employees already get testy with me for having a super long name. If I became Gillian Elena Mei Po Dicker-Burgess, they might kill me with their angry, soulless eyes. I decided to make the full change to become a Burgess.

I went to the Social Security Administration and the DMV last week to change my name officially, and I got a lot more emotional about it than I thought I would. I’ve had this name for 25 years, and it has served me well. Brian came with me to both places, waiting patiently and holding my hand in depressing, crowded, fluorescent-lit offices. We went out to lunch to celebrate after Social Security legitimized my new identity as Gillian Burgess. As we toasted over Karl Strauss beers, I told my husband that I’m happy I did it. And I meant it.

Welcome to the Burgi

Changing my name was a hard personal decision, one I thought about a lot before I took the plunge. If I was surprised by my strong emotions on the matter, I was even more surprised by the stronger reactions I received from friends, acquaintances and even total strangers (beyond the expected “wow, it’s going to be awhile before I get used to your new name”).

A few:

• It’s archaic to take the man’s last name and you should keep yours.
• You should definitely hyphenate.
• I think it’s nice when the woman goes the traditional route and takes her husband’s name.
• I’m going to change my name, too, when I get married.
• I would never change my name.
• You’re a terrible feminist and you might as well kiss your freedom goodbye because you are now your husband’s property.

Maybe that last one was more implied than stated outright, but I can read between the lines.

I respect everyone’s opinions, but this experience made it very clear to me that a decision that is good for one woman is not necessarily good for every woman. Taking a new last name or not, having children or not, being a stay-at-home mom or a working mom, traveling the world or settling down and buying a house, all the gray area in between– these are all choices we get to make as individuals. No one can make them for us. And that’s what both thrills and terrifies me about being a woman.

Coming soon… The Name Game, Part II: A How-To Guide to the Tedious, Obnoxious Process of Changing Your Name