written by Joniel Gyles
Ever thought someone had dating potential—until one sentence landed them squarely in the friend zone? For me, it was this: “A girl child cannot carry on a legacy…”Maybe it was the subtle condescension in his tone, or maybe it struck a nerve. Either way, even after an in-depth discussion on the topic, he remained firmly rooted in his stance.
The concept of legacy has long been intertwined with family lineage—and for centuries, that’s usually meant the patrilineal kind. The age-old question of whether a daughter can carry on a man’s legacy is often met with a quiet but definitive no. Why? Because girls traditionally marry out of the family, take on a new last name, and even if they keep their birth name, their children often bear the surname of their male parent. For the man intent on preserving his name, this presents a troubling dilemma. After all, what is a legacy without a last name? But this framing is both outdated and narrow. In an era of evolving gender norms, chosen family structures, and rising awareness of women’s contributions across generations, the traditional view of legacy warrants a deeper exploration. Must a surname be the only vessel through which one’s impact persists?
Legacy: Beyond the label of a Name
Growing up in a very traditional Jamaican household, it was normal for my parents to discuss the day-to-day management of the home, but it was usually my father who had the final say. Still, there was a certain balance of power. Each of my parents brought a unique mix of complex and distinct legacies to their union—my mother was primarily raised by three generations of women who never married, while my father grew up in a two-parent household where male-female dynamics were more balanced. Raised in a stable home by strong women, you might think he’d believe a daughter could carry on a legacy too. But his views were largely shaped by the theology of the Gospel Hall churches in Jamaica, part of the Plymouth Brethren tradition, which taught that men are called to lead publicly, while women are meant to serve in quieter, more supportive roles. Although some of his views began to soften when he started attending a non-denominational church, that evolution didn’t quite extend into his domestic life. He continued to privilege sons over daughters, particularly in matters of inheritance and authority.
Though he ensured his daughters were well educated—with the expectation that they would “hold their own” and marry well—the assumption remained that only his sons were heirs, and they’d prolong his legacy by virtue of their gender, and perhaps the fact that they would forever hold his last name. A point of contention, and not surprisingly, one of the points my friend raised in our discussion—and I get it.
Historically, surnames have functioned as a symbol of continuity. In many cultures, passing down the family name was inextricably linked to property, inheritance, social standing, and honor. Sons were seen as stewards of that legacy, while daughters were viewed as temporary extensions of their birth families until they transitioned into their husbands’ households.
Sadly, this belief remains deeply ingrained. Some men still express quiet disappointment when they don’t have male children. For them, a daughter’s inability to pass on the family name equals a dead-end in the family line. From this perspective, a woman, no matter how accomplished or loyal, becomes a chapter in someone else’s book. This mindset is becoming increasingly discordant with modern realities—and frankly, a little tiring. Can men who think this way not see that reducing legacy to a last name diminishes an entire lifetime of influence, values, character, and achievement to a few syllables? While names carry cultural and emotional significance, they are not the totality of a person’s impact. To say a daughter cannot carry a legacy forward ignores the multifaceted ways that legacy functions.
Legacy Beyond Lineage: The Intangible Inheritance
Legacy is more than just bloodlines and branding; it’s the transmission of values, dreams, wisdom, and reputation. I learned this firsthand during one of my life’s most formative experiences—it all began the summer before I started 10th grade, when I came under the tutelage of world-renowned coach, Rev. Glen Archer.
Rev. Archer was a gentle giant, a magnanimous man, a true philanthropist at heart who in almost every way seemed larger than life. Coach’s wit could transform the most ordinary moment into a learning experience. Best of all, he had a way of injecting humor into almost everything, from coaching sessions to the occasional check-ins. He wasn’t just our coach—he went above and beyond, often using personal resources, to ensure our team was always well cared for. From getting Neosporin to treat a tiny cut to praying with us and making sure we were mentally prepared for our matches, his presence was indelible.
It was never just about Quiz; he had a way of seeing us beyond just players on a team, and a huge part of the woman I am today was shaped by his legacy. Coach sadly passed a few years ago in 2015, and though he had no biological children, his legacy lives on in the individual and national impact and influence he had. In the time he spent here on earth as a teacher, coach, and theologian, he made it his business to instill discipline, optimism, punctuality, compassion, and an attitude of excellence—values I still hold dear, and will aim to pass to my children.
Likewise, a daughter can teach her father’s work ethic to her children. She can embody his kindness, echo his humor, uphold his name in her stories, and breathe life into his memory long after he’s gone. Sure, her surname may change, but her influence carries his imprint. Ironically, daughters are often the storytellers; the emotional historians of their families—curating albums, telling stories, honoring personal or collective milestones, celebrating birthdays, and transmitting cultural knowledge. In many cases, it is the women who make sure a family’s spiritual and emotional legacy continues, and yet these contributions are frequently overlooked simply because they don’t come with the seal of a shared last name.
In today’s society, legacy takes on a different form. From social media profiles and digital archives to published work, community service, and activism, each now contributes to the lasting imprint one leaves on the world. Sure, DNA and shared history may link us to our ancestors, but as previously iterated, influence and impact are what truly preserve legacy for generations to come. Fortunately, the surname landscape has also undergone a shift; increasingly, more families are choosing to co-create their legacy narratives—incorporating both maternal and paternal lines, and even opting for new family names altogether. Some women have even single-handedly reclaimed the role of name-bearers by passing their own surname to their children. They are doing so, not out of malice, but from a stance of equality, making bold a declaration: My name matters. My legacy is valid.
Shakespeare once wrote, “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” And yet, when it comes to legacy, the name often does matter—at least symbolically. A name can open doors or close them. It can command respect, spark curiosity, or even carry unearned assumptions. I’ve experienced this myself—bearing the last name “Gyles” has often led people to assume I come from privilege, even when they know nothing about me. So, while it’s tempting to say, “A legacy by any other name would be just as impactful,” the truth is more complicated. Legacy isn’t built by the name alone, but names are often the wrapping paper legacy comes in. What matters most is not the syllables we pass down, but the substance we attach to them that endures.
Beyond naming practices, women are founding businesses, building generational wealth, writing books, leading movements, and creating family traditions that have nothing to do with surnames.