My last name at birth was Hepburn.
My grandfather used to tell me, when I was too little to be suspicious or question what he meant by it, that I was “a true Hepburn.”
I also really, really like books.
How do these facts relate to one another, you ask?
Well, I was re-reading ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Brönte the other day (because the last time I read it, I was seven…and funnily enough, a lot of it didn’t really stick with me). And guess what???
One of my ancestors is mentioned in it!!! (My Great-Uncle Firth keeps track of the family tree, and this dude is on it – and up until now I was marginally ashamed to be related to what seemed to be a long line of witches, murderers and horse thieves…BUT NOW I THINK IT’S AWESOME!)
Here it is (and if you don’t believe me, click here to go to the actual text):“I like black Bothwell better: to my mind a man is nothing without a spice of the devil in him; and history may say what it will of James Hepburn, but I have a notion, he was just the sort of wild, fierce, bandit hero whom I could have consented to gift with my hand.”
So it’s hereditary.