I remember learning to write my name in Kindergarten and a little bit before. Early on, I realized that my last name wasn’t like those of my friends. I had been taught how to say my last name although I still say it slightly differently than my Dad because it was challenging for my little self. The funniest and most frustrating part of having a unique last name is trying to spell it over the phone. I can just hear my mom spelling it out repetitively, using other words to makes sure they got the right letter, “Z like Zebra, C like Charlie”. Realizing that I didn’t have a simple name wasn’t always easy to understand. Why during attendance would the teacher have a conversation with just me midway through to try to figure out how to say my last name? It got to the point where I would pay attention so hard during attendance so I could say “here” before we had to do the awkward routine and explanation.

 I wondered where this piece of me was from. I asked my Dad to explain it to me and he told me that our family is from Slovenia. But honestly this seemed like some far off place where certain family traditions came from like Polka dancing, Potica, and Stertza (festivities and hallmarks of our family reunions and weddings) 

 For a while now my Dad has taken me to see the gravesites of his parents, uncle and other family members in Colorado. What’s particularly interesting about this is that some spelled the last name with an “h”, as I do, but my grandfather’s brother is written without it. This is interesting because that  means that the change occurred fairly recently. I have been so curious to see if my spelling was correct or incorrect, and my research has taken me in many directions.

During my first English class in high school one of the first projects was a report on our names and the meanings of them. This was rather challenging because as mine is fairly rare, there wasn’t much information readily available. I found some records at Ellis Island and a map showing that we probably have family in Illinois (who are probably related to us). But if I were to simply google my last name essentially all that comes up is my father and myself. It felt a little isolating, like maybe I am the last Kozlevchar out there, but it also made me feel special, like a hidden gem. 

This Slovenian identity was kind of mysterious for me. I had never met any of the family in Slovenia although my Dad and his uncle and cousin had gone back to stay in contact with their part of the family.  I’ve always wanted to go and connect with my family across the pond, and just this past summer, this dream became reality. We talked with one of my Dad’s cousin’s who had never been to Slovenia but her parents had gone frequently and stayed in touch. 

We contacted a tour agency and gave them the names of the relatives whom my Dad had met 30 years ago, hoping that they might at least be able to give us updated contact information. Low and behold, not only did our guide help us with this pseudo-investigation, he also arranged for us to meet them. While my Dad had just met his cousin and his children when my Dad visited last time, this time there were like 10 more people because that cousin was now a grandfather of many. My Dad brought old pictures from his last trip and they helped him write captions of who was in the photos. My Dad’s Slovenian cousin spoke through one of his grandkids as an interpreter from Slovenian to English and vice versa. 

My Dad’s Colorado cousin who he grew up with and went on this trip with us tried to find information on their mutual family (which is on my Dad’s maternal side). She was able to bring more info to the table, and even secured an address and image of a picture where her parents (my Dad’s aunt and uncle) had visited. Our guide took us to that location just so we can look around and sure enough, it was just like how it looked in the picture. We tried talking to the people who owned the seemingly abandoned house and they didn’t know of any of the names that we had and thought had lived there. Our guide translated for us but it seemed to be a dead end. That was until they redirected us to a local neighbor who was like the local historian and might know more. So we drove up the street and met this woman and arranged a time to meet. She told us that other people had come from America before. This caught our attention because the year that she said was in fact the year that my Dad’s Aunt and Uncle had made a trip. She brought out Grappa and a box full of photos. Immediately we recognized images of my Dad’s Aunt and Uncle at their house in CO. After some digging there was even a picture of my Dad when he was a bit younger! As it turns out we were related to this woman and her family (by way of my father’s maternal side a ways back)! Which is why my Dad’s aunt and uncle had given her pictures throughout the years and even sent Christmas cards and pictures that I’d seen before. 

Our Slovenian family took us to a cemetery where we found my last name, spelled without the h, but with an accent on the c that makes a “ch” sound, which is what our guide had previously mentioned to us.  After more research and discussion with my Dad, his father’s passport and Ellis Island record shows it spelled without the h, which makes it probable that he changed it for phonetic spelling. Now I personally know the connection to the family in Slovenia, and I know why my last name is 10 letters long.