American or American’t
The year before COVID, I took part in a monthly book club/potluck with a handful of friends here in the East Bay of California. One of the first books we read was There There, a novel by Oakland-born, and Native American author, Tommy Orange. There There weaves the story of twelve indigenous people from Oakland through their contemporary lives and how they ultimately come together at the annual powwow held at the Oakland Coliseum. The story is a stunner. As this group of women of various ages, backgrounds and ethnicity discussed the book, I brought up how my Dad, a white man from the Deep South, claimed that we had Native American blood coursing through our veins. To our mutual surprise, the other women in my group said that their parents or grandparents had made that same claim. (One woman for sure has indigenous roots.) We wondered aloud how that myth came about? Could it be true? We had varying opinions about Elizabeth Warren’s indigenous claims and DNA test. Later, I thought that maybe the desire for native blood proves we belong here. That we can blamelessly lay claim to the land.
During the book club gatherings, the way we spoke about our families, even within the brief context of discussing one book, was like a song - each story told, a new verse. Each ancestor, a letter that bonded with another and made up a word. The chorus of this story-telling was the shared swell of spirit that comes with camaraderie. And the bridge! It’s our humanity and what connects us rather than separates us.
There were few distractions from the deeply disturbing events unfolding in this country in the summer of 2020 before the COVID vaccines were available. We watched George Floyd murdered by a public servant, the video of his death recorded by a brave bystander. Then some of us marched. And at the border, immigrant children were still being separated from their parents and put into cages. We called our congress members or marched and yelled at the news. All the while that deadly pandemic was keeping us jumpy and afraid of contact. During this strange time, I was compelled to look more closely at my own actions and place in a democracy that continued to become undemocratic. I want to be an American not an American’t. Since I wouldn’t look away I dug deeper into why I continue to fail even though the temptation to bitch and prostrate outrage at others had me in its grip.
With another group of women, I held myself accountable. I took a hard look at our country and its shortcomings and what I could do something about. Our small Zoom group learned that we drag our history with us whether we know our history or not. It made me curious about my ancestors and my own immigrant story. Since I am not a descendant of slaves and my family is not indigenous regardless of what my father said, at some point, the people whose genes I carry arrived on these shores and they were immigrants. Sort of. Back then, people moved from place to place as conquerors, explorers, settlers and missionaries.
We come from the land of the ice and snow
From the midnight sun where the hot springs flow
The hammer of the gods
Will drive our ships to new lands
To fight the horde, sing and cry
Valhalla, I am coming
Older versions of my DNA may have claimed and colonized the land, and enslaved or indoctrinated the people already inhabiting it wherever we ventured. But mostly, I bet we farmed and made babies. Because what I know for sure about my family is that we love to eat and procreate. I don’t yet know why my people left England and Ireland, Germany and Scandinavia, Spain and Portugal. I imagine it was for the usual reasons: we were broke, drunk and pregnant, and badly needed a new start. Desperate enough to crowd into the hulls of big ships huddled together and swaying for weeks on end up to our ankles in piss and vomit. I hope we sang.
I imagine my kin stumbling onto docks, stinking to high heaven and dazed by the bright sun.
“We made it! Now what?”
Today, this grateful American is looking at her 23andMe results:
93.7% - Northwestern European
5.3% - Spanish or Portuguese
.4% - Nigerian
.4% - Indigenous American!
I want to hear from you. I want you to submit posts via email with personal stories about your family’s immigration story. How did you become an American? How do you feel about your roots? How does your family paw through its myths? My hope for this blog series is that many verses, many voices and many angles will be explored here. Let’s talk about food, music, culture, invasive species, and even family trees if you can make that interesting in 500 -1000 words.
