Shakespeare wrote, “What is in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” Until recently, that was a nice line to recite and use in English papers, but now it holds a little more meaning for me.

I recently discovered that my last name is spelled wrong. Really.

For some reason, the Omo family has always had a few amateur genealogists who do extensive research on our family history. Usually, this uncovers little new information and goes no further than to add a few minor details to the record of our family history or to contact more family members across the country.

But this time, something big was unearthed. Someone was poking around on an old family farm and discovered my last name was originally spelled Omeaux. The pronunciation remains the same, but the different spelling has a significantly more French appearance.

For the longest time, I have tried to convince people that my last name is French in origin. Most people guess Japanese, thinking it looks much like Ono. Even as I tell them my ancestor Simon Omo (Omeaux?) was in Napoleon’s military before coming to the United States, they look at me like I’m crazy.

When my sister went to France and told people her name was French, they told her she was nuts. The only French Omo they knew of was a laundry detergent called Omo Soap (which, I imagine, is the French equivalent to “Bling” or “Zappo”).

My name has always been of great concern to me. My first name, I’m told, is also French, or at least that’s what my parents were told. But even the spelling of it has been changed. My parents added the extra “ne” on the end because my mother liked the way it looked. I have a small sense of pride because it makes me unique.

But I didn’t always like my name because it’s different. Through no real fault of their own, many people have butchered the pronunciation of my name. In fact, out of frustration, in sixth grade I turned in assignments under the nom de plume “M. Louise Omo.”

After awhile, I realized I should be thankful for having a unique name. When someone calls my name across a crowded room, I’m the only one to turn. When people see my name, they remember it.

So now I have this new name, sort of. While I don’t know how or why my last name’s spelling was changed, I wonder if I should change it back.

Many people have found their names were changed when their ancestors passed through Ellis Island and have changed their names back to the original spelling. Plus, plenty of people have changed their names just for the hell of it.

Besides the benefit of a really cool looking byline (Michonne L. Omeaux, doesn’t that look great?), I gain a stronger connection to my French heritage. And maybe I owe it to my ancestors to restore the original state of the family name.

Beyond the implications toward my family, I wonder if I missed out on something because of this?

Until now, I have identified more with the Polish heritage on my mother’s side. It has never been difficult to convince people that Supianoski, my mother’s maiden name, is Polish. I crave Polish foods like pierogies, borscht, kielbasa, gulampki (stuffed cabbage) and my grandmother’s duck blood soup. I’ve even been known to attempt to polka on occasion.

Now, I’m beginning to feel a little more French. Sure, your heritage is more than your last name, but sometimes an ethnic name makes it easier to identify with your ancestors.

I’m not about to go out, buy a beret and start referring to myself as French-American, but I do plan on making more of an effort to learn about my French heritage. Who’s to know what else has been changed or forgotten about my family’s history?

Shakespeare has a point - with any other name, I am the same person. But, like it or not, your name says something about you and your family. It is the first identity given to you when you’re born and the piece of you that lives on after you die. When something about your name changes, something inside you changes, too.

This new development has changed something in me, if only to have sparked a curiosity. Maybe it will change me more.

Michonne L. Omo, a State News intern, can be reached at omomicho@msu.edu.