Muddy Bloody Buddy OR Don't Bleed Me, Jive Turkey!

In honor of Thanksgiving, our fascination today takes us to a different sort of place...

...For this week we adventure inside my blood!

No, not like that!

For those who don't know, I am almost half Mexican (like 7/16 or something). And, I'm going to be honest, I'm a bad Mexican.

No, not like that, either!

Actually, in ¡Three Amigos! I'm far, far more likely to be this sort of guy:

Marking the first time I have ever compared myself to Chevy Chase.

Why is that? Because I'm a Bad Mexican as in, "Not very good at being Mexican." I don't speak Spanish, don't really know how to cook any actual Mexican food (filling pre-made taco shells doesn't count), and to me Cinco de Mayo is a day other people get drunk.

But in my defense: Just because Mexican's the most popular blood kind doesn't mean there's no competition.

Here's where I get to tie things into Thanksgiving (topical!):

On my father's side, the line goes back some ways. Which is a ridiculous phrase when I think of it. Of COURSE both lines go back some ways.

But my father's kept better records.

Because after building something this awesome,
the last thing you're gonna do is write down who your father was.

And in these records there are many fascinating familial gems. Such as my great-grandmother (or something like that) claiming we go back directly to King Ethelred the Unready, Last Saxon King of England. Which would make me some sort of deposed, poorer, less dashing, more Mexican version of Prince Harry.

I thought of trying to make a photo for this...
...but everything was so offense I pre-emptively censored it.

But the more interesting (and more readily provable) connection for the family is to various early settlers of Virginia (FFVs, for those in the know).

A lot of that family has various mixes of German, Scottish, Irish, English, etc.

But it also has a large part of Native American.

In particular, the direct descent of my family from Pocahontas.

The one on the right.
...we did not descend from a drawing.

I don't say this to brag (well, not entirely, anyway), but rather to point something out that has always fascinated me about my lineage:

It's so thoroughly muddled I get lost halfway down a census form.

Man... Why do they always ask the tough questions?

I'm not even kidding. While applying for college we had to come up with some concise way to write my race in the tiny affirmative action box without resorting to "Mutt."

But I love my mixed race background. You know why? Because it's up to me. I've got several different cultures from which to take a grab bag of goodies, and they're fun cultures:

Irish, Scottish, English, French, German, Viking, Powhatan, Mexican Indian, Spanish, a couple other random tribes...

...And they all ended up here. In the United States of America.

Cue the music!

I have ancestors who came over in the 1600s, 1700s, and 1800s. And a healthy spattering who were here loooooong before that. (My grandmother actually came to the US in the 1900s, but I don't count that as "coming over" since she was Mexican and therefore already here...)

And I have a confession:

There has been a disturbing trend for a little while to equate the phrase "I'm proud to be American" with all sorts of political, religious, scholarly, and cooking views.

Not sure why being American
means I eat things like this three meals a day...

I don't like this trend. One bit.

Because as I look at Thanksgiving, and the traditional celebration of my people meeting, well, my people, I always think this:

I am proud to be American. And not just "A citizen of the United States" (Cool in it's own right!), but "one who is of the descent of people of the Americas."

Because sometimes, you can look at yourself and say, "Dammit, I'm fascinating enough as it is!"

...Oh, and the music I cued up there? That was totally "Born in the USA."