What's in a name (and three last names)?

This is the story of my name, which just so happens to be comprised of three last names. 

Two weeks ago I went to the Social Security Office, took a number, and waited in a crowded room (sometimes standing, but mostly sitting) for just under 2 hours. I was surrounded by people from different walks of life-- many of them old, waiting to meet with someone to discuss Social Security benefits, some of them young, waiting to submit applications for new Social Security cards, and some of them recently married, like myself, waiting to meet with a Social Security representative for a legal name change.

Since I was little, I assumed that I would change my name once I got married. This is horrible to admit (especially here, on the Internet!) but I never really loved the last name Hurst. I appreciated the fact that it identified me as a member of my dad's wonderful, hard-working family. I thought it was kind of cool that the name was derived from a word meaning "grove of trees," but I was never really a fan of the harsh sound the "u" makes. "Hurst" like "wurst" or "cursed." 

A Hurst among a hurst! How fitting.

When I was little I was also kind of embarrassed of my middle name-- Bejarano. I used to tell people my middle name was "confidential" (which in middle school, once led one of my classmates to believe my middle name was literally "Confidential"). It was hard to pronounce and people always wanted to know what it meant in Spanish. Hey, I thought, I never ask you what "Jones" or "Neil" or "Muhlstein" mean! Why do you assume that every non-European sounding name must have some specific, readily known meaning?

My sister Rebecca has what I used to think was a "real" middle name because it could also be a first name-- Marie. Rebecca Marie sounded so cool. In fact, on Facebook she goes by her entire name: Rebecca Marie Hurst, which just looks and sounds so pretty. Victoria Bejarano on the other hand-- that just sounded like a regular first and last name. (At least, this is what the young me thought).

Paul (dad), Paul Joshua, Victoria (+kitty), Rebecca

I started to feel some pride for my middle name when my little brother, whose first name is Paul, but who goes by Paul Joshua (since my dad's first name is also Paul), began to tell people that his full name was Paul Joshua Bejarano Hurst. He assumed that his first name was "Paul Joshua" and that he got to share both my dad's last name and mom's maiden name.

Once I told him that I was the only Bejarano. He started crying and ran off to my mom, who assured him (although it was a lie) that his middle name was also Bejarano. And you know how kids think-- as soon as someone else wants what you don't want, you suddenly begin really liking what you have.

I began to feel more Bejarano pride when I visited Peru and got to learn more about my mom's culture. Suddenly, Bejarano became my connection to an exciting past. It was the legal part of me that proved to the world that I really was Hispanic. When people asked me what my middle name was, or tripped over their pronunciation of it, that gave me an opportunity to talk about my Peruvian heritage.

I went from keeping my middle name confidential to proudly displaying it across my resume, essays I wrote for class, my poems, everything fit to print.

The Original Bejaranos: My mom is standing, upper right.

In March of 2010, I embarked on a year-and-a-half long journey as a Mormon missionary in Salt Lake City (well, the suburbs of Salt Lake City, Park City, and a little town that I love named Kamas). I wore a nametag that said "Hermana Hurst" (Sister Hurst in Spanish). I no longer went by "Victoria," but Hermana Hurst or Sister Hurst.

When people addressed me (or thought of me) they associated me with the name Hurst. It's kind of strange to think that more than half of the people I met on my mission will never know my first name. It must have been around that time that I really began to bond with my last name-- Hurst.

Sister Padilla and Sister Hurst, now Danielle Macias and Victoria Muirhead

When I talk to old mission companions on the phone or correspond with them via e-mail or Facebook, we often refer to each other by our "mission names"-- Dany Macias is still Sister Padilla for me. And I'm still Sister Hurst (or occasionally Hursty) for her. In twenty years from now, I'm convinced that I'll still think of Thacia Schmidt as Sister Schdmit, Lizeth Picuasi as Sister Picuasi, and Geraldine Chatter as Sister Chatter. The same definitely goes for the elders (guy missionaries) I knew on the mission-- especially since I don't even know all of their first names.

When you wear a last name around like that, you get attached to it. The same way I have always been wholly attached to the name Victoria.

Victoria-among-the-Mountains

I have always been grateful to my parents for naming me Victoria. It's as if success is written into my being-- Victoria, victorious. Victoria, a delicate, yet powerful name. There is no way the war cannot be won. 

The day after I turned 8-years-old; with Rebecca at the Laie Temple

When it came time to change my name, I wondered whether I should keep Bejarano or Hurst. I wondered whether I should take on Muirhead. Ultimately I decided, why not take them all?

Victoria Bejarano Hurst Muirhead

Bejarano to represent my mother's family. Hurst to represent my father's. Muirhead to represent my husband Jared's family-- as well as the family of our own we'll have one day.

When I called my mom on the phone to tell her about my decision-- to keep all three last names-- she told me she had secretly been hoping that was what I would decide.

When I told the representative at the Social Security Office about my decision-- she told me the name was too long and that she would need to get special approval to go ahead with the name change. To her it was just a really clunky, long, maybe boring last name. (She also disapproved of me getting married at 24-years-old and in a state other than California, as she'd make clear during the course of our meeting). But what does she know?

The thing about names is, people endow them with meaning. I have made Victoria my own story, and I'm happy to represent the people, living and gone, who have made Bejarano, Hurst, and Muirhead theirs.