Stories

I mentioned a few days ago that I was going to use a book to help build my story for a legacy for my kids.

That being the case, the first question posed is “if your ancestors emigrated from another country, from where did they come? When? How did they come? Where did they settle and why?

I have absolutely no idea about my ancestors. I don’t know about their emigration statuses. I don’t know about their past countries. I simply know nothing about my ancestors.

Sorry kids! Your dad is ignorant here.

But this really brings up a good question for me. I mean, since I was born in America and my parents were born in America and my grandparents (on both sides) were born in America, am I a native American? I mean, I know for a fact that I’m (at least) a third generation American. At what point does one become a native to the land and culture? And if I’m not a native American, then what am I?

It seems to me that we all want to be so particular and politically correct that we’re willing to throw out logic and sense in our terms. Why can’t we simply come up with something that makes sense. For those of American Indian descent, let’s tag them with ”American Indians.“

Or better yet, let’s throw them out completely and call them human.

Just like me.

And just like you.

Why do we have to classify people by race? or creed? or anything else? I mean, where’s the love in doing that? Why can’t we just all get along?