Mrs. George?

Shortly after I married her son, my mother-in-law gave me a gift of stationery. It was a pretty shade of blue with a name in dark blue at the top of each page: Mrs. George Curran. It struck me as being an odd gift, something I certainly couldn’t be expected to use.

It was the cultural norm for women of my parents’ generation to be known as the Mrs. to the husband’s name. This was in spite of the fact that my mother and mother-in-law were not dependent on their husbands for survival, each having successful careers outside of the home. Perhaps they still acknowledged an earlier time when women managed the household and nothing more, totally dependent on their husbands, and lived as a mere extension of a portion of his life.

I came from a different era. I grew up as Karen, and pursued those activities and challenges that interested me: music, school and career, and relationships with family, friends, and God. I was not identified as Mrs. or Miss anybody, titles that had no relation to who I was.

When I chose to marry George, I agreed to take his last name, making me Karen Curran. And that, quite simply, is who I am. I am not Mrs. George. There is no such person and addressing me in that manner doesn’t even sound right.

I used the blue stationery occasionally to write my mother-in-law a note but never sent it to another soul; from looking at the top of the page, no one would have known who the writer was. After a number of years, the remaining sheets ended up in the recycle bin.

I am proud to be Karen Curran, wife of George Curran, much-loved child of God, daughter of Elvan and Gennie, sister to Debbie and Kip, mother of Chris, Jen, Taylor and Jen, granny and aunt to so many others. That is who I am.

Never have been and never will be Mrs. George.