What’s in a name? Sometimes nothing. Sometimes everything.

Background

When I was born, my name was Randolph Edouard Paulin. My birth father’s name was Edouard Paulin, so it is quite obvious where I got most of my name. But I didn’t know that was my birth name until I was 13. It was the same time that I was told I had a different birth father, whom I did not know.

Finding this out answered some questions. Most of the Bassett family never treated me any differently than my other cousins and relatives, but a few did. My step-father’s mother, whom I am particularly careful not to call my grandmother, did treat me differently. Even as a young boy and up to the time she died I could see and feel it. For instance, in her later years, I recall her giving a Christmas card with $5 in it to my sister. I did not even get a card. I know how minor it seems through my adult lenses, but as a young boy, it crushed me. It wasn’t the $5. It was the lack of acknowledgment or caring that I was even there.

It’s amazing how much a seemingly small event can brand a young person. Other things also happened, but the news that I wasn’t a blood Bassett did shed light as to why they happened.

New Questions

Yet finding out I had a different birth father also raised many questions. What did he look like? Do I have other brothers or sisters? What was he like? Where does he live? Will I ever meet him? Does he want to meet me? It would take decades before these were answered.

But one question that never bothered me was why he left when I was 2 years old. It even surprises me how little I care why he left – but even that line is unfair. I don’t even want to assume he left – I always thought my parents split up without casting blame anywhere. There were other people, circumstances and events going on at that time. It was the early 1960’s and my parents were young, roughly 20 years old. People change more at a younger age – emotionally and psychologically.

Why my parents parted never concerned me when I first found out about him, and it still doesn’t nearly 50 years later. I know that type of question can haunt some people in my situation and it can take a long time to come to grips with it, yet it was never a fleeting thought to me. I have even tried to dig deep within me, to see if there is a buried emotional cord waiting to be struck around this question – but I have never found such a pocket within me. I am at complete peace not assigning blame to either parent.

Wrong Time

To say my path through my teen years was rocky would be an extreme understatement. I was laying the groundwork for the following decade or more – alcoholism and other addictions. I was crafting the ability to hide behaviours and feelings. I was functional as an alcoholic for many years, but I was still drinking an average of at least 12 beers daily. But I was masking the fiery feelings burning inside me, maybe hoping the next beer could dowse the flames.

Although I have come to peace with my late step-father, George Bassett, (even thanking him for indirectly contributing to who I am now), I hated the son-of-a-bitch in my 20s. His emotional grip on me was draining, nearly debilitating. As much as I screamed “fuck you” to him in my head, I couldn’t shake it. George was so insecure that he dropped my middle name when he adopted me – the name I shared with my natural father.

In my mid-20’s, I started to consider changing my name back to my birth name. I felt that by changing it, I could loosen his grip on me. He didn’t deserve to have me or anyone carry on the name for him.

But then I also realized that he was not the only Bassett around. He might have had the deepest hooks in me but was not the only family member to consider. No one else in the family treated me any differently – cousins, aunts and uncles. I was always an equal part of the family in their eyes. Also, I highly adored my late Uncle John – a wonderful man in so many ways. I could not insult him or any other Bassett in my family by changing my name. So I decided to leave it – the time was not right.

New Answers

Over the years I often wondered about my birth father and his family. I would look up “Edward Paulin” on the Internet and get nowhere. I did this many times with the same outcome. But then in May 2021, through the help of an online service (23 and me), I was to connect with a cousin I never knew. I eventually connected with her mom (my aunt) and many cousins. Then through a lucky Facebook search, I connected with 2 brothers and a sister (although they are technically half-siblings, the “half” part is meaningless to me – they are my siblings!). The details of these discoveries will be a topic for a future blog entry…

Through the wonders of technology, I finally found my missing family. Without exception, everyone I connected with through messenger or talked to on the phone has been very warm and welcoming. They have embraced me and I have happily embraced them as well. Each conversation has flowed so gently and easily. I have had discussions with my brothers, which fill me up with excitement every time. I have been in daily contact with my sister Suzanne. We just met, but it feels like I have known her all my life – the spirit is not bound by time.

Sadly, I found out that my father passed away in 1977 through an unfortunate accident. Suzanne and a couple of cousins have given me some details of that fateful night. But there were 37 years of life he experienced before that night. From the accounts of many people, “Uncle Eddy” was a good man. He cared about others and it showed. I have seen pictures of that I never saw before – a handsome man with a wonderful smile.

I know more questions and answers will follow, but from what I know now, I have the blood of some fabulous people pulsing through my veins.

The Right Time

Over 40 years later, the idea of changing my name has come back to me. But this time I am not running from someone or something. This time I want to embrace fully who I am. I am a Bassett and I am proud to be so. I have done my little bit to bring some respect to the name and I want my son to hold it high.

Yet I am also a Paulin and given the exceptional reception from all members of my new-found family, I am happy to have that name as well.

I have decided to change my name. Currently, my name is Randolph Bassett. My new name will be Randolph Édouard Paulin Bassett. This keeps Bassett as my last name but brings my natural father’s complete name into mine. The change pays deserved respect to him and his family – and it more completely reflects who I am.

It’s in the Mail

It is no longer simply a decision to change my name. I sent out the application a couple of days ago. I will wait patiently now for the revised birth certificate to arrive in the mail with the new name

“Hello, I’d like to introduce myself.

My name is Randolph Édouard Paulin Bassett.

And I am very pleased to meet you.”