The Fellowship of the Wedding Ring: The County Clerk's Office

Everything new is old.

That is what I told myself as I stood before the County Clerk of Pontotoc County, Oklahoma in the Springtime of 1998. My soon to be bride stood next to me with the same look of bemusement as mine as the entirety of the office had ground to a halt, straining to see the oddity unfolding before them while simultaneously trying to pretend they were working. I had not recognized a cause that lost since the mid-19th century circumstances which perplexedly seemed to still be in some manner of dispute in the current day according to certain individuals with rather virulent opinions.

Our wedding was planned for the end of June and we had arrived in the aforementioned office in order to apply for our marriage license and secure the necessary paperwork for the name change. All perfectly appropriate requests which in the majority of cases to that point I had assumed had been performed fairly quickly and without disruption. To be fair to the good people of the County Clerk’s Office of Pontotoc County, Oklahoma in the Spring of 1998—We were not a typical case.

All had been typically rote and hum-drum right up to the point that I asked for the paperwork to change my name. A deep quiet immediately fell over the room. I felt a shift in the air and the temperature of the room while nothing seemed to have physically changed. It was a moment frozen as if the wheels of time had ground to an abrupt and painful halt.
“Excuse me?”
“I need the paperwork to change my name.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Sure I can. Why not?”

Again—to be fair to the young woman who was standing before me in that moment—I don’t think anything in her life, nor in the life of anyone in that office had prepared them for that moment. Or for me.

I have three primary faults to combine with a relatively moderate level of intelligence. I am petty, pedantic, and passive-aggressive. Its not particularly fun to name those things about myself but lets be honest—everyone who really knows me already knew those things.

I’m working on it.

But not in the Spring of 1998 which brings us back to the young woman with the blank expression of terror and horror on her face at what stood before her—a modest looking man, nicely dressed and groomed, a man who a colleague would later refer to as a “shady-ass Mr. Rogers,” who had uttered the words following further conversation:

“I’d like to add my wife’s name to mine. We would like to hyphenate our names.”

A woman arose from the back of the office and proceeded towards us with conviction and a posse behind her. She was Diana of the Hunt with her followers and their visual arrows focused on the lanky prey on the other side of the fake wood laminate. The younger woman at the desk was brushed aside and I was presented once more with:

“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“You have to have a court order.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” (Remember my faults)
“No. You have to go before a judge.”
“She doesn’t.” I nodded to my right. (Ibid.)

I had stunned her for a moment but she rallied:

“No. Her’s just happens.”

Here is where I paused, took a deep breath and assessed the options in my head. I will refer you as a reader back to a previous paragraph where I noted my faults. Go ahead and look back if you don’t remember. I’ll give you a moment.

Back? Good.
Now assessing those faults with what you may or may not know about me or have discerned about me, do your best to think of what kind of responses I had going through my brain at that time. You can use the blank space above to write down your answers. I encourage handwriting.

Knowing that I was going to be residing in previously stated county for an unknown at the time number of years I chose the option that would not embarrass my raising.
“Ma’am. Nothing magically happens with the federal government. There has to be something you give the woman that you don’t give the man.”
“The only thing we don’t give the man is the Social Security form.”
“Then I’ll take one of those.”
“They’re just going to reject it and send it back.”
“Well, I’ll do it anyway and take my chances.”

And that is how I became Brian Green-Young.

You might think the story ends there but you and I both know that isn’t true. We were our own dual Fellowship of the Wedding Ring and our journey had just begun.

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