When I was a teenager, I gave up my hated last name. As an adult, I learned to love him Evelyn Rose Worman
“WUrmi! wormy! Come here, Wormy!” I’m seven years old, my arms wrapped around my legs like a protective shield, while a group of older kids on the playground tease me with an unkind nickname that would otherwise plague my childhood.
A nickname derived from my own surname, Worman (pronounced “War-mon”, not “Worm-man”, although such nuances eluded my classmates in the 1990s), the simple act of rescuing a worm from being unceremoniously cut into The half would earn me the unfortunate title for nearly a decade. How clever they felt when they put two and two together, and how infuriating that was to me. Since then, I hated my rare nickname and the jokes that came with it.
According to Online surname databaseWorman originates from the Old English term for a skilled worker or craftsman. One genealogy website goes so far as to link his ancestry to the kings of Mercia. While there do not appear to be any famous or noteworthy Warmans in recent history, we are a seemingly honest group, holding down jobs as butchers, painters and laborers in England from the early 19th century.
My name would have disappeared from our family generations ago, had my maternal grandmother not been so young and my father’s identity remained a secret. In my mother’s household in the 1960s, illegitimacy was frowned upon, and since her parents were not married, she took her mother’s surname. My father was absent, and while I was close to his family growing up, I didn’t have his surname either. So Worman stuck around like a used stick of gum.
I struggled with being a “Woman” as a child, so when Facebook came along as a teenager, I knew it was an opportunity to reinvent what I called myself. Went by Evelyn rose – My beautiful and delicate middle name that won praise in the smoking areas outside nightclubs and received compliments from my first boyfriend’s mother. She said it reminded her of “sweet-smelling perfume.” I enjoyed my new confidence.
After college, the resentment toward my title melted away. There was not a single appearance, but a series of small discoveries. Meeting students from different backgrounds helped me change my perspective; I have found nicknames that are even more amazing and unusual than my own. Laughing with others about the quirks in our names has become an amazing source of connection.
But the jokes kept coming when Worman appeared again, this time on my autobiography. When I got my first job in advertising and started dating one of my colleagues, he was asked when he was going to “fertilize the Worminator.” What I would do is call it something familiar and ordinary. Not a name that would ignite misogyny in the office.
It wasn’t until I signed up Lineage That I finally gave up hating my last name. In the past 100 years, nearly 200,000 titles have disappeared from England and Wales, according to a study conducted by the site. Family trees are filled with surnames that come and go, but mine sticks around. People have noticed its uniqueness and the fact that you don’t hear it every day. Both are true. This feels strangely comforting. Worman Lee. It’s not “pretty,” but it’s memorable — and it sticks.
Now that I’m in my early 30s and have had my first child, I’m very protective of my title. Worman, with all its on-court torment and bizarre office banter, has earned its cult status. When our son arrived this summer, we decided on a dual surname, honoring both sides of his heritage. It is a legacy that could have faded, but will now, hopefully, stand the test of another generation.