Riley

Like most children, I didn't give much thought to my name. It is what it is. (I can't believe I just typed that -- I hate that expression.)

Then, I went to college. There was another Sheri/Sherri on my dorm floor. We had the same initials. Her last name was Reid; mine was Riley. Different spellings don't matter when you're screaming down the hall. So, she became Reid and I became Riley. I spent four years with that name.

When the husband and I married, it was important to him that I took his name. I was a little weird about it but it was the right choice.

There's a reason I am Sheri Riley Roman. I refuse to give up the Riley. It speaks to me. I have been married and divorced. The name Riley is constant. It is my identity. It's also a little bit of rebellion. I may love you. I may marry you. I may take your name -- but I'm keeping a little bit of myself in the process.

When I met a friend from college earlier this year, he said, "Hello Riley!" My heart swelled.

Then, I was at the state fair and someone asked, "Weren't you Sheri Riley?"

Yes, I was. I still am.