#Yearof50. Entry 10: Nomen est omen

On October 22, 1984, I became “Stacy Kelly”. By the stroke of some pens in a judge’s office in Hull, Quebec, my late dad, Richard Kelly, adopted me.

Prior to that day I had my mom’s surname, Hodgins. My mom had married my then step-dad, and my sister Angela came along in 1980, followed by my sister Marsha in 1982. I think it was important, both legally and symbolically, to have me join the fold properly and share my last name with my new dad and sisters.

When I arrived back at my school, and a teacher announced my last name had changed, a fellow student asked me if I had gotten married (I did not know the term “unpack” then but, yes, lots to unpack there). To borrow from Johnny Cash, it has always been challenging to be “A Boy Named Stacy”.

My mom can better regale you with my boisterous efforts as a youngster to correct those who assumed I was a girl, but I do recall saying to someone, “I am a boy, so my name is a boy’s name”. It was not until I joined The 519 in 2017, when I learnt the term “misgendered”, which finally explained my entire life of navigating the world as a boy with a name that apparently, by decree of some stone tablet in a far-flung desert, can only be used by women.

To add further complications, one of my Grade 10 teachers insisted on calling me “Kelly”. I told him I would allow it only if I could call him by his first name, Jack. He was agreeable. At the time it seemed like a momentous diplomatic breakthrough.

It was a huge emotional and deeply meaningful step for me to be adopted by my dad. I recall sharing at his funeral the story of the very first time I called him “Dad”.

Your name is your destiny. I love my name. No apologies. No regrets. No changes here, darlings. My name is Stacy Kelly and here’s to the adventures to come…