That was the name on my birth certificate. My father’s name and my name were both spelled with a small v.
I’m not sure when he changed it by capitalizing the V. Nor am I sure of the spelling on the birth certificates of my siblings. I think he was trying to set himself apart from all the other Levangs of the world.
The name Levang is not French, as so many believe when they see the V capitalized. I remember being tired of always having to explain that it was a Norwegian name.
How many French people do you know that eat lefse and lingonberries or knackebrod with pickled herring?
Others followed in his footsteps. They adopted the capital V in the name.
Perhaps, it was to be more like him. He was a guitar player on the Lawrence Welk Show. It was as close to “famous” as some might reach.
There was a time when I, too, used the capital V. But I always thought it looked funny. It wasn’t my name.
When I joined the military, they went by my birth certificate. So, back to Levang it was.
But for a brief marriage in my late teens, I have kept the name with which I was born. The name of my ancestry.
And I’m pleased to be able to open up a jar of pickled herring and enjoy it with some crisp Scandinavian rye bread.
It really is much less complicated than figuring out how to get the escargot out of its shell.