Full-fledged identity crisis

EMC Editorial - I have a confession to make. I hate my name. Specifically, I loathe the hyphen, and mentally cringe every time I have to tell someone my full name.

It’s not that I have anything against the concept of two last names. I just don’t think the hyphen is a good fit for me. I feel it makes me come off as more high maintenance than I am, or that it gives the impression I’m trying to make some grand statement when I’m really not.

I came by the hyphen through a combination of indecisiveness and sheer laziness. My original intention was to change my name to my husband’s – Campbell - when I got married. However, my all time biggest pet peeve has got to be dealing with bureaucratic institutions that require you to fill out forms, dig up old documents and produce nine different kinds of identification before they give you some new or renewed identifier.

As a result, I never did make it to the relevant ministries to have my name officially changed, and when forced to renew my health card and driver’s license this past summer I just couldn’t bring myself to get into it.

I know, I know. I could have the name changed if I gave it any kind of effort. The problem is also that I’m also far too sentimental and caught up in symbols of all kinds. Deep down, the thought of outright dropping my poor old maiden name makes me feel sad. My whole life I’ve been Hollie Pratt, and the name has served me well.

At the same time, I love how Steve and I are now our own little family. Someday, we will have children, and I would like us all to have the same last name. Our family will be “the Campbells” and I would like to avoid being the odd one out.

Thus I started calling myself Hollie Pratt-Campbell as a means of compromising between both sides of my personality. Despite the fact that I hate it, it’s always seemed like the least painful of three evils, and I get to avoid all the bureaucratic nonsense.

However, the situation came to a head a few weeks ago when I became extremely sick and needed to be rushed to the hospital by ambulance. The cause of my illness is not relevant, but the really pathetic thing is that in the midst of everything the precariousness of last name became an issue.

Steve – who would more than anything like me to be a Campbell – told the EMTs that my name is Hollie Campbell, and forms and whatnot were filled out accordingly. When we arrived at the hospital, I was required to produce my health card. Of course, according to the Ministry of Health, I’m still Hollie Pratt.

Much confusion ensued as I tried to explain the situation in my illness-induced delirium.

“Oh don’t worry hun,” said the nurse, who clearly assumed my wedding was five weeks ago instead of five years ago. “All you need to do is bring your marriage certificate down to the ministry and they’ll change it for you.”

Marriage certificate? I haven’t seen that thing since I graced it with my signature on my wedding day. Does that mean I need to call up some machine at Service Ontario and see if it can track down a copy of a piece of paper that will end up costing me $50+? Ugh.

Still, I believe the incident was a sign that the time has come for me to choose. Over the years, I’ve watched friends slip out of old last names and into new ones with effortless ease. I’ve watched others keep their names without even giving it a second thought. I don’t know why this is so difficult for me, and I’d really appreciate some advice.

What do you think, my friends? Should I keep my old name or take the plunge already and change it? Or perhaps you don’t mind hyphens? Women - what did/will you choose to do for your own name and why? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

My sporting life

EMC Editorial - Late summer/early fall is a great time of year for the sports fans in my family. You've got the baseball playoffs, my husband's favourite event, U.S. Open tennis, my favourite, and the beginning of the NFL football season, for which my dad lives and breathes.

Despite the fact that tennis is the only one of the three sports in which I'm genuinely interested, all three never fail to bring a smile to my face.

Baseball is just so gentlemanly and aesthetically pleasing. There's nothing like the crack of a bat on a warm, Indian summer evening, or the image of all the people in the stands enjoying their corndogs with mustard and over-priced beer. Burly men in tights aside, football is likewise a very beautiful game. I enjoy the strategy involved, and the way the tackles actually have a purpose as opposed to the showy, goon-like violence you get in hockey.

Still, for me baseball and football will probably never be much more than background ambiance. Like music, they set a mood - something I can half-follow if I so choose, and that will amuse the men in my life while I read or chat with a friend.

Yeah, I tend to watch sports with about as much enthusiasm as I play them.

Don't get me wrong - I regularly played and enjoyed sports growing up, but never with the kind of passion required for anything approaching athletic excellence. Weekly soccer games, for instance, were fantastic opportunities for socializing and enjoying sweet, juicy orange slices. The promise of post-game ice cream in the event of a win was really the only thing that motivated me to put any sort of effort into the game. Otherwise, what did I care if my team won? Life would go on as usual either way.

It always comes as a shock to those who have seen me attempt to play sports that I actually come from a very athletic family on my dad's side. Because both sides of my family have lived in the Kingston/South Frontenac area for decades, my job regularly brings me into contact with people who know my parents from way back. Often I'm asked if I am any relation to Don Pratt.

"Yes, he's my dad," I say.

Usually they reply with some version of "wow, he was one hell of a quarterback back in high school" or "you should have seen him on the basketball court."

Even those who didn't attend Sydenham High School - where my dad went - but grew up in the area in the late '70s seem to have an awareness of who he is.

Such conversations never fail to make my heart swell with pride at the thought of Dad, the "famous" athlete.

All the same, one of my favourite stories - for its sheer irony - details my mom's first meeting with dad's mom.

Apparently, the first thing Nan asked Mom was whether or not she had ever seen my dad play football.

"I just thought it was such a bizarre question," Mom always remarks when telling the story. "How on earth could I ever have seen Don play football when I didn't even know him in high school?"

At least I know where my attention span for sports comes from - although strangely enough, like me, Mom just cannot seem to get enough tennis. Maybe it's a girl thing. After all, tennis is really the only sport where women and men share the spotlight equally.

Still, tennis tournaments are sporadic and brief, and during the school year the majority of my sports viewing is done for my job. Usually, I cover high school basketball, which is conveniently my second favourite sport to watch. Again, it's probably more of an aesthetic thing for me, but the sheer excitement of high school sports - the glory, the rivalries, the electricity that fills the air during a tournament - always makes my day, and such events have become some of my favourite things to cover.

Who knows, maybe they'll make a sports fan out of me yet.

Big dog

First of all, hooray for the first non-column post in a really long time.

Things have been happening lately that have left me a little distracted. Soon, I hope to explain.

In the mean time, I hope you enjoy this photo. It was taken when we were in Montreal last month. I for one happen to find it funny. Then again, I'm pretty weird.

Back to school envy

EMC Editorial - The energy is everywhere this time of year - can you feel it? That unmistakable quality of back-to-school and the approaching fall is palpable no matter where you go - from the mall, where it hits you with the full force of a speeding mac truck whether you like it or not, to the peace and quiet of your back deck in the evening, where the intensity of the daytime's light and heat lingers less and less with each passing day.

For me, the only thing that will change the day after Labour Day is that I will increasingly dread doing anything outside for fear of being cold. For students of all ages, though, the end of August means the final few pages of one very distinct chapter of their lives, and the onset of a new one.

I recall that time fondly. Summer would float on by like a heavenly dream full of bike rides, days spent lounging by the pool and weekend trips to Sandbanks. All the same, by mid-August I was usually ready to get back to the books.

The shopping aspect of back-to-school always helped to fuel this desire. Every year around this time, my mom and I would head up to Toronto to shop. I would pick out new clothes and shoes, as well as crisp packages of lined paper and snappy new binders to put it in - all colour coordinated by subject, so full of potential.

As a self-identified nerd, I enjoyed school for the less popular reasons as well. Back then, I could still believe that beautiful myth perpetuated by parents and teachers everywhere that academic success would lead to success in the "real world." To me, this was fantastic news, as I was always one of those kids who considerably lacked in extra-curricular talents.

The best part was that the older I got, the better school became. High school was infinitely better than elementary school, and by the time I got to university it all just seemed too good to be true. I studied English literature, which meant that my days were spent doing either my favourite thing in the world: reading, or my second favourite: writing about what I had read.

To all you students out there, I say make the most of back-to-school while you still can. I understand that some of you are probably dreading the end of summer, but know that the time you spend in school is proportionally very small compared to the time you spend working. Unless you get lucky, as I did, and find yourself in a job you enjoy, chances are you'll long to transport yourself back to your school days once they are gone forever. Never again will you be given the opportunity to devote yourself full time to learning. It's a gift, really.

Also, while I'm on this advice-giving streak, please hear to this: pay attention in French class. I understand firsthand that bilingualism seems completely and utterly unnecessary when you're growing up here in Kingston, but in actuality it's one of the most vital skills you can have in this country. You'll come to this grim realization when you try to get one of those cushy, coveted government jobs 10 years down the road.

Finally, to those currently in your last years of high school, trying to decide what you will study post-secondary: for the love of god, choose something you enjoy, not whatever your parents think would be the most practical or prestigious. Trust me, you won't regret it.