Left: Biological father, Michale James Brady of Seaside Oregon, approximate age 17 c.1983. Right: Me Arta Marie Powers, age 34 b.December 2019. It was here, me age 34 that I finally see him my biological father for the first time. Not in person just as you are seeing him now the blown out digital image of an uploaded photocopy. I saw this image once before, I was living in San Diego CA, stomping grounds of my early childhood. I must have been six or seven sneaking around the garage and snooping in boxes. This tiny cut out school photo was mixed in with letters and information I could not read, it all held together by a photo album sporting a black and orange depiction of the oceans sunset. I recognized the handwriting as my mothers. She always wrote in cursive, I hadn’t reach that portion of my primary education so I was clueless, clueless but inquisitive. I asked the wrong person for help in deciphering the information. Back in 1992 Southern California I went by a different last name, Tatman, it was the last name of the man I believe was my father. After much arguing he and my mother chose to tell me the man pictured was of my uncle Dannie and I forgot about this picture until I turned 12 and got my third last name, Terrel. I now live with my 4th and final last name of my choosing after I cycled through three last names by age 14. When I did marry I never changed my name. While I was going through my divorce I spoke candidly with my friends about my desire to change my last name, after a light joke made by my good friend I knew I had magically stumbled upon the last last-name for me. I loved the sound of it, Arta Powers. I still love it. I found some power in claiming my own identity after feeling lost in the three I had collected without trying. The prescribed identities of people who imposed temporary care.

My life experiences has shown me how powerful names can be and how powerless they truly are; how a last name can make and break people and relationships. In the end it only matters to me what I chose to be referred to as.
When the woman handed me my new freshly printed social security card and referred to me as Miss Powers, I felt amazing. Women don’t need a wedding or a daddy to give them a name, they can choose for themselves.