My name is Sara Dolan.

I am a journalism major and a graduating senior. Like my classmates I will walk down the aisle this May 14. Unlike them, I will not wear a cap and gown or collect my diploma (cover).

Instead, my tuxedo clad 60-year-old father will escort me down the aisle at St. Raphael Catholic Church in Naperville.

For the rest of my life, May 14 marks not only the date I graduated from NIU, but also the anniversary of my marriage to Michael Orchowski, an NIU alum. It also marks the last day I will be known as Sara Dolan.

This saddens me.

Michael and I met our sophomore year at NIU. Michael lived on Lincoln 1A, a co-ed floor below 2A, my all-girls, quiet-lifestyle floor. The night we met he was trying to get to know better a floor mate of mine, Jessica.

Jessica and I later would rent a townhouse together and to this day, talk frequently. Jessica invited me to play a game of spades with a small group of people in her narrow double.

Michael and I were partners and as they say, the rest was history.

A tired cliché, for sure, but it saves space in this column for my real issue.

From May 14 on, I will forever be known as Sara Orchowski.

It is with a heavy heart that I take my new name. Please don’t misunderstand me. I want to take Michael’s name. I don’t want to keep my own name; I am not a raging feminist nor do I feel the need to buck tradition. I also have rejected my friends’ suggestion that I hyphenate our names. I have made a decision. I just cannot seem to come to terms with it.

For starters, I like my name. It is easy to spell. It is closer to the front of the alphabet. With my new ‘O’ surname I fall 11 places to the back of the alphabet!

Not to mention my private wish that monogramming goes out of style. My new initials? They spell SLO. (My middle name is Louise.)

I relish my Irish last name. It is not as obviously Irish as Murphy or O’Connor. But, I do find that more people than not see the name Dolan and know my heritage. I do not have terribly fair skin, freckles or flaming red hair. My name was the honor badge I wore of my Irish heritage.

Mount Prospect, a northwest suburb of Chicago, is a good place to be a Dolan.

I have no intention of returning to live in my hometown; however, when I visit it is hard to go far without someone knowing my name or a close relative of mine.

We are an Irish Catholic family and aside from our sheer numbers, I suppose our claim to fame is my cousin’s ice cream store. It is true that Capannari’s Homemade Ice Cream, featured both in the Tribune Magazine and on WGN television, is named after an outsider, my cousin Meg’s husband Jim Capannari. But we all know it’s really Dolans running the show.

If I want a good deal on a BMW, Orchowski is the name to sign. (Michael’s cousin is a BMW executive.)

Nonetheless, I’ll miss the recognition that came with my old name.

I am the spring 2005 campus editor at the Northern Star and as a journalist my name, Sara Dolan, has graced every one of my bylines.

Sara Dolan has covered school board meetings, water main bursts and swimming pool contaminations.

She has even conducted interviews with DeKalb city officials in her pink flamingo pajama pants and pink fuzzy slippers.

But who is Sara Orchowski? A tad more professional, I would hope.

I guess it all boils down to identity.

All this time I chose to see my new name as the death of my old identity. I have mourned it long enough.

I choose now to see my new name as the honor badge of my new identity, the one I share with Michael.