The clocks were just turned back an hour, but if I could, I
would turn back time to 1987 so I could correct one of the worst
decisions I ever made
– changing my eldest son, Michael’s, last name from Holstin to
King. At the time it seemed logical, yet in hindsight, it has
created a dilemma.
A few months ago, Michael’s truck was stolen in Arizona, along
with his driver’s license and personal documents. My son made a
police report.
The clocks were just turned back an hour, but if I could, I would turn back time to 1987 so I could correct one of the worst decisions I ever made – changing my eldest son, Michael’s, last name from Holstin to King. At the time it seemed logical, yet in hindsight, it has created a dilemma.
A few months ago, Michael’s truck was stolen in Arizona, along with his driver’s license and personal documents. My son made a police report.
They found the truck, but no documents. However, the towing company would not release the truck because he had no ID, so a police officer had to come down to make a personal ID.
In the meantime, Michael is trying to prove who he is so he can legally change his name back to Holstin, but Michigan Vital Records Department won’t release his birth certificate.
The state claims if they gave Michael the original birth certificate he could establish two identities.
“You can understand how useful this duplicate birth certificate issue could be to the terrorists in this country who want to cross borders or board airplanes unidentified,” wrote Laura Webb of Michigan Vital Records.
Someone who didn’t know Michael might mistakenly think he was a white supremacist, but in no way does this guy need an ID to get into this country – Michael is about as American as you can get!
According to the state of Michigan, “Michael simply has to legally change his name back to his birth name.”
Not so simple because to do so, he has to prove who he is to the state of Pennsylvania where he lives.
Will the real Michael James Holstin please sign in?
The Catch-22 is he can’t get a social security card without a birth certificate or a driver’s license and he can’t get a birth certificate without ID, and he can’t petition for a name change without proof he exists. A live body just won’t do.
Frustrated by the bureaucracy and his inability to solve the problem, my son calls me to ask for my help. Then he started blaming me for his predicament because the judge told him to provide ID.
“Hey buddy, I’m not the one who got a traffic ticket,” I reminded him. “You could have changed your name a long time ago when you had ID.”
“This wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t change my name,” he moaned. “Why did you? There has to be more than what you told me.”
Well, there isn’t. I believed I was doing the right thing because it was hard telling the story to the parents of his classmates.
Michael’s father died in 1974. I remarried and had two more children. My thinking was to have the family all under one name so not to explain what happened to his father because to say, “He died” was not enough to satisfy inquiring minds.
“But he was so young (24). What happened?” they would ask.
“He was shot,” I replied.
Still, I could see they wanted to know more, but my morbid sense of humor would stop the conversation abruptly.
“You know what the hospital staff said to me when he died? ‘I’m sorry, he’s expired‚'” I joked. “Expired? Are you telling me I need another dime for the meter?”
Looking back, name changes seem to be a family trait. Up until I was 16 years old, I thought my mother’s maiden name was Beno because it was my grandmother’s last name, but mumma was a Bodzar. What I didn’t know was grandma divorced my maternal grandfather and married the man I knew as “grandpa.”
Keeping track of “me” is tricky enough. Raised Catholic, I was supposed to be baptized with a saints name, which my middle name at birth, “Lee,” was not. Therefore, my mother had me baptized “Patricia.” The Church documented me as Linda Patricia and not Linda Lee, as it is on my birth record.
On my Confirmation Day, I choose another saint’s name – Marie.
When I married my first husband, I took the name Rousku, but given that he was gay as a goose, we divorced. I met Michael’s father and kept the name Holstin until I married my third husband, changing my name to King.
For the record, my name is Linda Lee Patricia Marie Bogard Rousku Holstin King and God help me the day I file a claim with Social Security for widow’s benefits.
