"Do We Have to Keep Dad's Last Name?" How Surnames are Changing

THE FULL STORY

My daughters have started asking a question I didn’t see coming—at least not at ages 14 and 11. And it all came up because of a package.

A few months ago, a friend sent something in the mail and, I’m sure without thinking, addressed it to “Katie, Sophie and Juliette Dupuis.” When I brought the box inside, there was a weird vibe. We all paused for a beat, like something subtle but significant had just shifted.

Their names, next to mine.

They noticed right away. There was a flicker of excitement, quickly followed by something else—uncertainty, maybe. Or perhaps recognition. It was as if they were seeing a version of themselves they hadn’t quite given themselves permission to imagine. (I kept my name when I got married, which meant the kids have always had a different name from me, but now that their dad and I are no longer together, the difference seems to carry more weight.)

It felt like it shouldn’t have been a big deal, but it was.

That moment opened the door to a conversation I hadn’t realized they’d been circling for a while.

Soon the questions started: Did they have to use their dad’s last name? Even though they live with me full time? Even though their lives—their routines, their inside jokes, their sense of belonging—are so deeply rooted in my side of the family? Could they hyphenate their names? Would he be mad?

This wasn’t about choosing one parent over the other. They love their dad. They love his family. But something about seeing their names written differently made the question feel possible.

My younger daughter cut the address off the box and kept it. She slipped it somewhere safe, like a keepsake. Every now and then I’ll see her take it out, smoothing the edges, studying it. It’s almost like she’s trying it on for size.

Which makes me wonder: What’s really in a name these days? And who’s to say you can’t break and remake the rules for yourself?

For most of modern history, this wasn’t even a question.

Why kids traditionally took their father’s last name

The idea that children inherit their father’s surname isn’t just tradition—it’s the legacy of a legal and social system built around male lineage.

In many Western countries, surnames were tied to property, inheritance and identity. Men were considered the heads of their households, and women and children were often folded into that identity. Passing down the father’s name was a way of signalling ancestry and continuity.

Over time, that practice became so normalized it started to feel like the only option.

Even now, most children in Canada and the United States are given their father’s surname, particularly when parents share a last name. Even in families that challenge other conventions, like when a woman chooses to keep her maiden name, the default for children often remains the same.

It’s one of those cultural habits that has somehow outlived the system that created it.

Believe it or not, it’s not universal—and never has been

But what feels like a given in one place (in most of Canada, especially) is just one version of many.

In Spanish and many Latin American cultures, children traditionally receive two surnames—one from each parent. In Quebec, it has long been commonplace for children to carry both parents’ names, with flexibility in how they’re ordered.

There are also matrilineal cultures around the world where names, inheritance and identity flow through the mother’s line.

What’s changing now

The shift in terms of how we choose our names isn’t just about what’s allowed—it’s how people are thinking about it.

Across Canada, parents can choose the mother’s surname, the father’s surname, a hyphenated version or a completely different combination. (I once had a friend who hated both her and her partner’s surnames, so when they had kids, they chose a new family name for everyone.) Increasingly, those choices are being shaped less by tradition and more by lived reality—who does the caregiving, where kids feel most rooted, what name reflects who they feel they are.

The incidence of hyphenated and double-barrelled surnames have already been rising for decades, alongside broader conversations about gender equality and family structure. More recently, researchers have begun looking at how these choices affect children—how names shape belonging, identity and connection.

And in some families, like mine, the conversation isn’t happening at birth. It’s happening years later, sometimes after families have been through the wringer, when kids are old enough to weigh in.

Why changing a name isn’t so simple

Even when the desire is there, the logistics can be daunting.

In Canada, changing a child’s last name typically requires a formal legal process completed through the provincial government. In Ontario, that means submitting an application for a legal name change, paying a fee and, in most cases, obtaining consent from both parents with legal custody.

That last part can be one of the biggest hurdles. Even in amicable co-parenting situations, the request can carry emotional weight. A name can feel symbolic, even when the intention isn’t to erase or replace anything. (I haven’t even broached this topic with my children’s dad, because I don’t want to wade into it until the kids are sure and have made the decision themselves. It’s not something I take lightly.)

Then there’s everything that follows: updating health cards, school records, passports and bank accounts. It’s paperwork, time and often a bit of emotional labour layered on top.

Which is why many families land somewhere in the middle—adding a hyphen, using different names in different contexts or simply leaving things as they are as the conversation evolves.

The emotional calculus of a surname

The sentimental weight of the decision is the hardest to quantify, because a last name isn’t just a label. It’s a thread that ties you to people, histories and expectations. Changing it—or even thinking about changing it—can feel like tugging on that thread.

My daughters aren’t just choosing a name. They’re trying to honour both sides of who they are.

They don’t want to hurt their dad. Or their aunts and uncles and grandmother. They don’t want their curiosity to be mistaken for rejection.

And yet, they’re also trying to make sense of their own identities in a way that feels honest.

That tension lives inside the question.

So what’s the “right” choice?

There isn’t a right answer. The correct choice is just the one that feels most true to the people making it.

That might mean keeping a traditional paternal surname, choosing their mother’s name, hyphenating or blending.

I don’t know what my daughters will decide, but what I do know is this: They feel like they have a choice.

And that feels like something new.

Because for a long time, it wasn’t even a conversation.

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