A Rose By Any Other Name

"How could I have been anything else but what I am, having been named Madonna? I would either have ended up a nun or this." - Madonna

So, I'm sitting here this week waiting for my newly-revised State of Nevada driver's license to arrive in the mailbox. 7-10 business days, they told me last Friday when I went down to apply.

My name has legally been Ryan Aaron Reisman for 16 days. District Court Judge Gerald W. Hardcastle (thank you, Your Honor) signed my Order for Change of Name on August 8, 2012, and presto chango, I'm a Reisman.

Well, that's not all it took really. The rolls of red tape required to change a name are preposterous. Not tricky by any means, but weary, archaic and silly, especially in the dead of Nevada summer, where "one more" 105 degree drive across town to the family courthouse turns into two, then three, then four, then...ugh.

No matter. It's done. Published, printed, notarized and signed after finding, filing and re-filing about 20 pieces of paper. It was a ginormous pain in the ass, but it's done. The judge signed the order, I immediately took it down to the social security office, waited seven days for that new card to arrive - you can't get a driver's license without one - and now when that shows up, I'll finally have ID to match my spiffy new Ryan Reisman credit cards.

Incidentally, here's a piece of checkout trivia. I've been using the name Ryan Reisman for two months now. All my credit cards say Ryan Reisman. Credit cards don't give a shit what name you put on the card as long as you pay the bill. They don't even ask for proof you exist.

Anyway, point being, my credit cards all say Ryan Reisman, but my driver's license still says Ryan Malone. I've now shopped, spent, charged at what? A hundred stores and points of sale? Each time I hand over my Reisman credit card to a clerk on auto-pilot, they dutifully say, "Can I see your ID, please?" To which I hand over my Malone ID, a mismatched red flag to be sure, but not a single clerk has even remotely noticed the name on my license is different than the name on my credit cards. Not one. Not a peep.

Conclusion? "Can I see your ID" is actually just store-speak for "Can I ask you to inconveniently wave your license in my face so I can not really look at it." Happy to. Done. God bless American consumer protection.

Almost effective as TSA at the airport. They let me through with my mismatched ID on my recent flight from Las Vegas to Green Bay. Reisman on the ticket, Malone on the ID. Didn't even flinch. Come on down. As long as you take your shoes off so we can play security theatre and wave an occasional wand under an old lady's armpits, we're apparently well-protected from travelers with identification discrepencies like me.

Anyway, where was I?

Oh yes, names.

So, for those of you who are scratching your head, wondering why a guy changes his name to another guy's name - even for us gay guys, that's not a customary procedure - I figure I should explain it's for family consistency and Jewish identity.

It doesn't mean I'm "the girl." Thank you, friends, for your continually sophisticated analysis. "If Ryan is taking Adam's name, and Adam's not taking Ryan's name, that most certainly must mean that Ryan is 'the girl.' Mystery solved." You'd be amazed at how much time our friends have spent through the years wondering who's on top and who's on the bottom. Good Lord, people, give it a rest. We're both guys. Things go everywhere and everybody shares. Nobody takes any boob injections. After 15 years, pick a new topic.

Actually, I just wanted the kids and the family, as a unified whole, to have a Jewish name. The kids were born Jewish, raised outside of the Jewish community for many years in foster care, and now they're coming back into their original faith and culture. With that, and our new family identity in mind, I wanted my name to be Jewish, their name to be Jewish, and our family name to be Jewish. And for that simple reason, Reisman beats Malone, nothing more gender bending than that. Although, small admission, I do like it when Justuce paints my nails.

The kids' last name is legally [withheld for privacy reasons] right now. They won't officially be Justuce and Justin Reisman until our adoption is finalized halfway through the school year. But we already have them self-identifying as Reisman as much as possible, not so much to stake our claim, but to help them solidify into a recognizable family unit here as quickly as possible. It's hard for them to conceptualize belonging with us if their name tags keep telling them they don't match the team colors.

So, we introduced their new last name to them early. We registered them at summer day camp as Reisman. We wrote it on their water bottles and backpacks. We registered them at the athletic club as Reisman. It's the name stuck to their backs on their ID stickers when they run around in the kids' play area. Their library cards say Reisman. They're registered at Adelson for the new school year as Reisman. But technically, they are not. Their medical records, Medicaid cards, case files, etc., are still under the legal name, [withheld].

They're a bit ambivilent about being saddled with the Reisman brand so far. They may or may not be able to spell it once the school year starts. They usually don't mind it an awful lot, although Justuce, when angry, will defiantly yell, "My last name is not Reisman, my last name is [withheld]!!" In other words, "screw you Reismans and the horse you rode in on." We expect she''ll continue to adapt to it and be more warm toward it six months from now when she's legally stuck with it, but you never know with Justuce. Come to our finalization hearing. You and the judge might get an earful.

One thing that Justuce is looking forward to is a new middle name. Can't say I blame her. I dropped mine like a hot potato. I used to be Ryan Eugene, which I hated. When I changed my last name, I picked a new middle name, too. Now I'm Ryan Aaron, my Hebrew name, and a loving homage to my sister Erin.

Justuce's birth mom wanted her to be doubly unique. So she spelled "Justuce" unconventionally, with a second "U," which confuses people and makes them think we're all dumb and can't spell, and then, dear woman, sealed the deal by giving her the bizarre middle name "Unique." I kid you not. Poor kid's name is "Justuce Unique." We weren't crazy about that one right off the bat, but after a while it grows on you. And we both believe it's hers to keep or cancel at her discretion. It is her identity and if she wants it forever, forever it is.

Justuce sometimes vaguely likes her unusual middle name out of familiarity, but mostly, as part of the adoption process, looks forward to giving it the boot. All of her foster sisters, you see, when they were adopted, chose new first names for themselves. So to Justuce, this new name choosing process is part of what makes adoption "real" and "normal." Picking a new name validates it for her somehow. The foster sisters' parents helped, suggested, and offered suitable nudges in the right direction, but long story short, the four girls with a mishmash of dissimilar names, became the orderly (and quite pretty) quartet of Ashlen, Jaeden, Kaelen and Madisen.

Justuce has been toying with the idea of a new middle name ending in "e-n" to match her four foster sisters' first names. To keep them with her, to keep them all connected, and that's beautiful. I floated the idea when it came to me this week, and she instantly lit up. We had Rachel on the table...Justuce Rachel...that's her Hebrew name, given to her by her birth grandma, and that's a pretty one, too. But only time will tell if Rachel beats Unique, or if a new "e-n" hybrid trumps them all.

Justin has no middle name. Not sure why, but his birth parents never gave him one. We'll fill in the blanks. We've asked him for his input, but seriously, Justin is not at an age or stage where he remotely cares. "La-la pee-pee poop head" was his last suggestion, and something tells me that wouldn't look good on his résumé, so we're going with Benjamin. Justin Benjamin Reisman. That'll be his Hebrew name, too. Binyamin. A good, traditional name. It means "son of the right hand." It also means "fortunate." I hope so. I hope we're giving him that good omen, at least.

So, there you have it. All our names in a nutshell. Adam Lance Reisman is keeping apprised of the situation, but he really doesn't have to do diddly squat on his end, lucky duck. He was born a Reisman, fair and square, and I can hardly fault him for his free ride through all this hubbub, since he was a good enough sport to keep me company during my my 75 days of paperwork and five fun trips to the family courthouse to get one judge to sign one slip of paper. He even put up with my whining and grumbling while we sat in endless take-a-number lines, killing the time playing games on his iPhone and eating Reese's out of the vending machine.

Now, one new driver's license in the mailbox is all I need, and it's smooth sailing from this point on.

Except, crap, I have to figure out how to re-register to vote.