Back in high school, I had a friend named Ving. He and his twin sister, Ling, had recently moved here from China and so they had very traditional names. One day, Ving mentioned to me how much he hated his name.
“What kind of name is Ving? It’s so stupid,” he said, frustrated.
“You know, you can get your name changed at city hall.”
“Really? It’s that easy?”
“Yeah you just have to fill out some paperwork.” I paused. “I can drive you if you want.”
“Thanks dude. What would I even change my name to though?”
“How about something common that holds on to your roots. Something like Lee.”
“Lee. I like it.”
Unfortunately, Ling had overheard our talk and launched into a tirade about how his name had been in the family for generations and he couldn’t just throw away his heritage like that. Ving was set though.
The next day, we drove to city hall. Ling insisted on coming along, hoping to convince Ving to change his mind. She complained the entire way. Ving wasn’t deterred though.
We finally got to city hall and got the paperwork. As he was filling it out, Ving’s face changed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “You’ve been excited all day and yesterday for this.”
“I know, I know. It’s just— it’s my dad’s name too. I don’t know.” Ving sighed. “I don’t think I can go through with it.”
Ling looked relieved. The receptionist noted that there was a small cancellation fee. Ling happily took out some money.
Suddenly, an Asian man in Ray-Bans, neon shorts, and an American flag T-shirt bursted through the doors.
“Dad!” Ving, tears streaming down his face, ran to embrace his father. Ving Sr. smiled at his son.
“Don’t stop. Be Lee, Ving. Hold on to that fee Ling.”
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