On Choosing A Cool Last Name

One of the things that my future wife told me when we were engaged was that she wanted her married name to be Swan (actually, лебедь) and that she’d dreamed about it since she was a little girl. At least the cards were stacked in my favor.

“Well,” I said. “Then let me tell you a little story about how I almost didn’t get this cool last name.”

The surname swan isn’t all that rare and comes in several flavors. One “n” or two.

We are of the two “n” variety.

You see, my last name was pure happenstance. Or the fulfillment of a little girl’s dreams.

My father was born with no assigned last name. The birth certificate simply says, “Infant Duncan,” Duncan being my grandmother’s maiden name.

If you’re not familiar with the process, let me explain.

My grandmother, for who knows what reason, found herself in Pensacola, Florida, in 1927. I’m guessing it was still a big naval town then, too. At the time, she encountered a man and conceived a baby boy.

I don’t know if there was a serious relationship or if it was a one-night stand. I do know that my father was born there in 1928 with no last or even first name.

And I don’t know how long she lingered in Pensacola after the baby was born. Maybe she stayed a while to see if the relationship would work out, or maybe the man never knew that he had helped to produce a son.

My grandmother and her new baby, her firstborn, traveled back to Choctaw County, Alabama, where my dad grew up in Silas. After a few years, she met a man named Swann (with two “n”s).

Mr. Swann would become my dad‘s father. I don’t know what kind of father he was because my father didn’t talk about him. He did talk about learning how to drink alcohol at 13 years of age from the man next door, but not much about his father.

Which probably speaks volumes about his father.

Anyway, there was no official adoption. I spent one long afternoon in Butler looking through old papers for any hint of an adoption, to no avail. Mr. Swann married my grandmother and unofficially adopted her son as his own, giving him the aforementioned cool last name.

Which is a good thing because my dad’s biological donor brought a very different last name to the table.

So, my wife’s dream came true. Not only did she get the cool last name, but she got an extra “N” as well.

I thank my Grandma for not putting the not-as-attractive-last-name on my dad’s birth certificate.

I suppose dreams do occasionally come true.