my mother's history

The Poet will publish my poem, “My Mother’s History” in an upcoming anthology on Cultural Identity.  My ethnic background is a bit complicated.  Depending upon how I look at it, I have 18 to 20 nationalities in my tangled family DNA. 

From my father’s side of the family, I inherited a German family name, Scandinavian blue eyes, with ancestors coming from France, Germany,  Finland, Denmark, Lapland, Norway, Netherlands, Russia, Sweden, Ukraine, and somehow the Basque region.  I also have some Jewish ancestry and a trace of Mongolian ancestry as do most people of Eastern European background.  And my DNA test also claims that there is some Italian ancestry somewhere and perhaps Spanish ancestry.
From my mother’s side of the family, I am part Scot, part Irish, part French, part Dutch, part Cherokee and part Nigerian.  Since she was part of the lost tribe of the Cherokee Indians, her story is particularly complicated as her ancestors fled before being enrolled in a tribe and lived in the Ozarks intermarrying with other Indian tribes, Scot and Irish settlers, and escaped slaves.  In any event, there are so few people in her ethnic group -perhaps 25,000 that they don’t show in DNA tests.  Since her parents show Cherokee that means I am anywhere from 1/8 to 1/8 Cherokee.  I met my uncle once and he looked Cherokee to me.

The following are my poems exploring my ethnic history.  Enjoy.

My Mother’s History

One day many a year ago
My mother spoke to me
About her family’s tangled history,

She spoke to me
Of lies, half-truths, and myths
Some of which may have been true
And throughout the evening
Her history came alive.

She was born in the hills
of North Little Rock
The 10th of 11 children
Of an ancient dying race.

The Cherokees
who had run away
Refusniks
Refugees who fled in the hills.

Part of the lost tribe of the Cherokee nation
Part Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek, Seminole
and African Americans
Who fled to the mountains
To avoid the trail of tears.

Rather than join the rest
In the promised land
Of Oklahoma.

They did not exist
I did not exist.

The BIA told us
No Indian scholarship
For you

Since you can’t prove
You are in fact
Of Native American ancestry,

I asked my mother
What does this mean?
She said

No BIA money for you,
My non-Indian son.

Her family and Bill Clinton family
Were related
Bill Clinton and I are distant cousins

When I met him
I related my family history
He concluded that we were indeed cousins
Said I could call him Cousin Bill
And he would call me Cousin Jake

And he too was part Cherokee
Irish, Scotch, French 
And African American
Part of the lost tribe
Of the Cherokee nation

I told my mom
This story
She said
It was true

She was a distant cousin
Of Bill Clinton
Still did not like
The lying SOB

Her people disappeared
From history’s eyes
And DNA data banks

My history was over
As was hers

And so,
 I learned at last
The painful truth

That due to the genocidal crimes
of politicians so long ago
My mother’s people

Lost their land, their culture,
and their hope
And became
downtrodden forgotten people

Hillbillies they were called
Living in the hills and mountain dales
Clinging to the dim fading memories
Of their once glorious past
As proud Cherokees

Now no one knew their name
The old ways were forgotten
And the new world never forgave them

And they never forgave the new world
As they lived on
In the margins of society
Forgotten people

And I vowed that as long as I lived
Their history would not die
As I knew the truth

And I would become a proud
Cherokee
And make my mother proud of me
And my accomplishments

When I am down and out
I recall her stories and her warnings
And realize it is up to me

To live my life
To let the Cherokee in me
Live his life

And in so doing
My mother’s history does not die

It lives on in me
Until the day I die

Long live the Cherokee nation
Long live my mother

DNA Does Not Like or Does it? 

I sent way  
For one of those DNA tests 
That promises to reveal 
Your ethnic heritage 
 
The only problem is that claim 
Is not yet true 
The results were surprising  
To say the least 
 
Family lore would have it 
That I have 18 nationalities  
In my tangled family history 
Mostly Northern European  
 
Part German, Norwegian, Swedish, Finish, Danish, Dutch, Laplander, Russian, Scottish, Basque, Mongolian, Jewish, Spanish, and French from my father 
Part Cherokee, Dutch, Irish, Scottish, English, Italian, Nigerian, and French from my mother 
100 percent born and raised in Berkeley 
 
The DNA results showed  
that I am 68% northern European  
with trace elements of Jewish, Basque. Italian
Mongolian and Nigerian stock, 
 
No native American at all 
And my Germanic last name 
For some reason  
Did not register at all 
 
Go figure I said 
And I read the fine print 
The state of the art is such 
That claims that they can tell  
 
Your ethnic background  
Are exaggerated 
The fine print read 
Explaining why it is often inaccurate 
 
The Cherokee background  
Disappeared  
Because my branch of the Cherokees 
Disappeared into the mist of time  

Part of the lost tribe of the Cherokee nation
Part Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek, Seminole
and African Americans
Who fled to the mountains
To avoid the trail of trees
 
The German background  
Got swept up into the northern European thing 
And at the end of the day 
I remained as much a mongrel 
the breed as anything else

Typical American 
I suppose  
All in all 
A fascinating experiment  
  

Family History Revealed

The DNA results 
Revealed some aspects 
Of whom I am 
Where I am from 
 
But not everything 
Was revealed 
And much of my history 
Remains hidden 
 
My father was from Yakima 
Ran away to the Bay Area 
Where he became a college professor 
Taught the dismal science economics 
 
Along the way  
He met my mother 
And after a whirlwind romance 
had four children 
 
My older brother, 
Me 
Younger brother 
And sister 
 
She was a refugee 
From the dust bowl 
Fled Arkansas 
In the late ’30s  
 
Never looked back 
Settled down  
In the Bay Area 
Yet the south lingered on  
 
She trained herself  
To speak without an accent 
The only time the southern came out 
Was when she was talking to her sisters 
 
She was the 10th of 11th children 
Father was a moonshiner 
A Cherokee medicine man to boot 
Lived life in the Ozark mountains 
 
She had two sons 
From a prior relationship 
That went south 
We never really knew them  
 
My father was an atheist 
And a morning person 
And a man with a  plan 
For everything 
 
My mother 
More make it up 
As she went along 
And a night owl 
 
How and why 
They met and stayed together 
Is beyond me 
They had a stormy relationship 
 
My mother always said 
Germans and Irish 
Don’t mix  
And never should marry 
 
She also said 
The world is divided into morning people 
And night owls 
And they are doomed to marry each other 
 
Yet I suppose 
There was real love 
Beneath all the drama 
And bluster 
 
 

 Thoughts on Visiting the Holocaust Memorial Museum in DC 
 
Sam Adams  
Had never been  
To the Holocaust Museum,  
 
Despite the fact  
He had lived  
And worked in DC for decades  
 
One day after he retired 
He said to himself 
It was long past time  
To finally see the holocaust museum 
 
He went the week  
After Charleston,  
When the mob had chanted, 
 Jews will not replace us.  
 
The museum affected him deeply 
He had just confirmed  
Through DNA  
 
That he had at least 10 percent 
Jewish ancestry 
Among the 18 other nationalities 
Swirling among these bloodlines 
 
Sam Adams was concerned  
Those elements of antisemitism  
We’re emerging among  
The MAGA crowd. 
  
But he dismissed 
 The fears that Trump  
Was another Hitler  
As liberal hyperbole 
 
It could not happen here 
A new holocaust  
Would never happen 
But now he was not so sure 

The Poet will publish my poem, “My Mother’s History” in an upcoming anthology on Cultural Identity.  My ethnic background is a bit complicated.  Depending upon how I look at it, I have 18 to 20 nationalities in my tangled family DNA. 

From my father’s side of the family, I inherited a German family name, Scandinavian blue eyes, with ancestors coming from France, Germany,  Finland, Denmark, Lapland, Norway, Netherlands, Russia, Sweden, Ukraine, and somehow the Basque region.  I also have some Jewish ancestry and a trace of Mongolian ancestry as do most people of Eastern European background.  And my DNA test also claims that there is some Italian ancestry somewhere and perhaps Spanish ancestry.
From my mother’s side of the family, I am part Scot, part Irish, part French, part Dutch, part Cherokee and part Nigerian.  Since she was part of the lost tribe of the Cherokee Indians, her story is particularly complicated as her ancestors fled before being enrolled in a tribe and lived in the Ozarks intermarrying with other Indian tribes, Scot and Irish settlers, and escaped slaves.  In any event, there are so few people in her ethnic group -perhaps 25,000 that they don’t show in DNA tests.  Since her parents show Cherokee that means I am anywhere from 1/8 to 1/8 Cherokee.  I met my uncle once and he looked Cherokee to me.

The following are my poems exploring my ethnic history.  Enjoy.

My Mother’s History

One day many a year ago
My mother spoke to me
About her family’s tangled history,

She spoke to me
Of lies, half-truths, and myths
Some of which may have been true
And throughout the evening
Her history came alive.

She was born in the hills
of North Little Rock
The 10th of 11 children
Of an ancient dying race.

The Cherokees
who had run away
Refusniks
Refugees who fled in the hills.

Part of the lost tribe of the Cherokee nation
Part Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek, Seminole
and African Americans
Who fled to the mountains
To avoid the trail of tears.

Rather than join the rest
In the promised land
Of Oklahoma.

They did not exist
I did not exist.

The BIA told us
No Indian scholarship
For you

Since you can’t prove
You are in fact
Of Native American ancestry,

I asked my mother
What does this mean?
She said

No BIA money for you,
My non-Indian son.

Her family and Bill Clinton family
Were related
Bill Clinton and I are distant cousins

When I met him
I related my family history
He concluded that we were indeed cousins
Said I could call him Cousin Bill
And he would call me Cousin Jake

And he too was part Cherokee
Irish, Scotch, French 
And African American
Part of the lost tribe
Of the Cherokee nation

I told my mom
This story
She said
It was true

She was a distant cousin
Of Bill Clinton
Still did not like
The lying SOB

Her people disappeared
From history’s eyes
And DNA data banks

My history was over
As was hers

And so,
 I learned at last
The painful truth

That due to the genocidal crimes
of politicians so long ago
My mother’s people

Lost their land, their culture,
and their hope
And became
downtrodden forgotten people

Hillbillies they were called
Living in the hills and mountain dales
Clinging to the dim fading memories
Of their once glorious past
As proud Cherokees

Now no one knew their name
The old ways were forgotten
And the new world never forgave them

And they never forgave the new world
As they lived on
In the margins of society
Forgotten people

And I vowed that as long as I lived
Their history would not die
As I knew the truth

And I would become a proud
Cherokee
And make my mother proud of me
And my accomplishments

When I am down and out
I recall her stories and her warnings
And realize it is up to me

To live my life
To let the Cherokee in me
Live his life

And in so doing
My mother’s history does not die

It lives on in me
Until the day I die

Long live the Cherokee nation
Long live my mother

DNA Does Not Like or Does it? 

I sent way  
For one of those DNA tests 
That promises to reveal 
Your ethnic heritage 
 
The only problem is that claim 
Is not yet true 
The results were surprising  
To say the least 
 
Family lore would have it 
That I have 18 nationalities  
In my tangled family history 
Mostly Northern European  
 
Part German, Norwegian, Swedish, Finish, Danish, Dutch, Laplander, Russian, Scottish, Basque, Mongolian, Jewish, Spanish, and French from my father 
Part Cherokee, Dutch, Irish, Scottish, English, Italian, Nigerian, and French from my mother 
100 percent born and raised in Berkeley 
 
The DNA results showed  
that I am 68% northern European  
with trace elements of Jewish, Basque. Italian
Mongolian and Nigerian stock, 
 
No native American at all 
And my Germanic last name 
For some reason  
Did not register at all 
 
Go figure I said 
And I read the fine print 
The state of the art is such 
That claims that they can tell  
 
Your ethnic background  
Are exaggerated 
The fine print read 
Explaining why it is often inaccurate 
 
The Cherokee background  
Disappeared  
Because my branch of the Cherokees 
Disappeared into the mist of time  

Part of the lost tribe of the Cherokee nation
Part Cherokee, Choctaw, Creek, Seminole
and African Americans
Who fled to the mountains
To avoid the trail of trees
 
The German background  
Got swept up into the northern European thing 
And at the end of the day 
I remained as much a mongrel 
the breed as anything else

Typical American 
I suppose  
All in all 
A fascinating experiment  
  

Family History Revealed

The DNA results 
Revealed some aspects 
Of whom I am 
Where I am from 
 
But not everything 
Was revealed 
And much of my history 
Remains hidden 
 
My father was from Yakima 
Ran away to the Bay Area 
Where he became a college professor 
Taught the dismal science economics 
 
Along the way  
He met my mother 
And after a whirlwind romance 
had four children 
 
My older brother, 
Me 
Younger brother 
And sister 
 
She was a refugee 
From the dust bowl 
Fled Arkansas 
In the late ’30s  
 
Never looked back 
Settled down  
In the Bay Area 
Yet the south lingered on  
 
She trained herself  
To speak without an accent 
The only time the southern came out 
Was when she was talking to her sisters 
 
She was the 10th of 11th children 
Father was a moonshiner 
A Cherokee medicine man to boot 
Lived life in the Ozark mountains 
 
She had two sons 
From a prior relationship 
That went south 
We never really knew them  
 
My father was an atheist 
And a morning person 
And a man with a  plan 
For everything 
 
My mother 
More make it up 
As she went along 
And a night owl 
 
How and why 
They met and stayed together 
Is beyond me 
They had a stormy relationship 
 
My mother always said 
Germans and Irish 
Don’t mix  
And never should marry 
 
She also said 
The world is divided into morning people 
And night owls 
And they are doomed to marry each other 
 
Yet I suppose 
There was real love 
Beneath all the drama 
And bluster 
 
 

 Thoughts on Visiting the Holocaust Memorial Museum in DC 
 
Sam Adams  
Had never been  
To the Holocaust Museum,  
 
Despite the fact  
He had lived  
And worked in DC for decades  
 
One day after he retired 
He said to himself 
It was long past time  
To finally see the holocaust museum 
 
He went the week  
After Charleston,  
When the mob had chanted, 
 Jews will not replace us.  
 
The museum affected him deeply 
He had just confirmed  
Through DNA  
 
That he had at least 10 percent 
Jewish ancestry 
Among the 18 other nationalities 
Swirling among these bloodlines 
 
Sam Adams was concerned  
Those elements of antisemitism  
We’re emerging among  
The MAGA crowd. 
  
But he dismissed 
 The fears that Trump  
Was another Hitler  
As liberal hyperbole 
 
It could not happen here 
A new holocaust  
Would never happen 
But now he was not so sure 

 

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