WHAT IS IN A NAME: THAT IS A QUESTION I recently asked my sister Courtney to answer. She decided to drop her last name and take on her spouse’s.
On Sept. 22, Courtney Deanne Hyatt became Courtney Deanne Cassler. My sister married Carlos Cassler, a fine man who she met while attending the University of Arizona in Tucson, Ariz.
I, Rev. Ryan Hyatt, was master of ceremonies. I’m glad I sent off Courtney and Carlos in holy matrimony with a few poetic words. I love them both very much and meant everything I said, comparing their lives to a garden that needs to be cultivated for their children and grandchildren.
Still, I would have preferred it if Courtney remained a Hyatt. Or at least keep Hyatt for a middle name. There’s simply no reason for her to have discarded it.
Instead, Courtney changed her last name with what seemed to be a lack of reflection. To me, doing so is the equivalent of an identity eraser — stripping oneself of family and past.
Courtney told me nothing could change the past. It didn’t matter if she kept her name or not. A name is just a name. It means nothing.
Well, then, if a name means nothing, she could have just as easily have kept hers. Right?
Annoyed, drunk — stupid — I punched a hole through a friend’s windshield the night before the wedding. I was troubled over Courtney’s familial slight and felt it necessary to take it out on some glass. Surprisingly, there was no harm to my hand, just some embarrassment as I put the pieces together the morning of the ceremony.
Luckily, my buddy had full-glass insurance coverage. No one appeared surprised by course of action either. But I guess such behavior isn’t so surprising. After all, I’m a Hyatt.
Which brings me to the point: What’s in a name is family. History. And family history, good or bad, is a legacy. It’s who you’ve been that helps make who you are. So keep your last name, whatever it is. Trust me. You and your family deserve it.
The ceremony was held at Aunt Chilada’s Restaurant, caddy corner to the Phoenix Squaw Peak Hilton. Courtney and Carlos already have a house and three kids, and after the exchange of vows, all 100-plus guests enjoyed an open bar and delicious Mexican buffet.
A band played ’70s rock classics and Dixieland on a thumping dance floor; we all enjoyed shots with Tequila Sheila; an adult piñata spewed condoms and G-strings, and guests shared a raspberry champagne cake.
Mine is not a traditional family, and this was obviously not a traditional wedding, all the more reason for my sister to keep her name.
Or so I thought. The highlight of the evening was the toasts. Once the bride and groom’s two daughters and son were whisked home by a babysitter, the best man compared Carlos to a stubborn George Bush. He said neither of them knew when to pull out.
The result of the wedding: $20,000 spent on a decent party, Courtney Hyatt has become Courtney Cassler... and I punched a hole through my buddy’s windshield.
I cannot help but feel that for my sister to deny her last name is to deny, in part, what makes her beautiful; it is to deny the very genes that make her unique.
At least those genes are still present in her children. There’s some consolation.
The Hyatt legacy sounds good on paper but isn’t worth much to anyone except those who keep it. For me, it’s a name I’d like to one day pass on. I understand my sister won’t, but I still don’t understand why it’s a name she’s given up.
Luckily, the relationship I have with her is fantastic. In fact, our differences, it appears, are in name only.
RYAN HYATT is a former staff writer for the Santa Monica Daily Press and author of the nouveau western novel “The Death of Rock n’ Roll: A Biography of Darrell Breedlove.”
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on November 1, 2007. Read the original PDF.