When I married in Berkeley in the seventies, I transformed myself from Harriet Goldhor (pronounced Goldhoar) to Harriet Lerner with a great sense of relief.
The last syllable of my name evoked merciless teasing during my adolescence in Brooklyn. A neighborhood boy called me "Henrietta Whorehead," and "Silverslut" was a later variation on the same theme. I felt uncomfortable when I was introduced to new people who would invariable say, "Gold-what?"
To be honest, "Lerner" is still a relief, but it never feels quite like my name and I have mixed feelings to this day about my decision.
It's easy to think that the naming issue is much ado about nothing, but how many men do you know who have traded in their name for a spouse because her name was easier? Or prettier? Or for any other reason, for that matter? (I know two such men).
You couldn't convince men that they should take their spouse's name in marriage any more than you could convince them that words like womankind, she, and chairwoman, truly include them. Giving up one's name, or keeping one's name but not giving it to offspring, is not a small matter for at least half of our species.
