Of Finding my Heritage

March 17, 2017 

So today is St. Patrick’s Day and everyone is getting their green on. Now I am actually Irish, my mother was, and that’s all I know of my heritage for sure. The idea of my heritage and where I come from has always been an important unknown to me. For the longest time I was the darkest person in my white bread home town. So I clung to the only ancestry I knew. 

You see I was adopted and thatdefined a large part of who I was growing up. I always knew I was different but I didn’t know how. I cultivated a love of mythology and eventually that led me to the Celts. Stores of selkies and the fae drew me in but never fascinated me like Greek mythos. They just felt normal, felt familiar, felt right. My birth mother was Irish and Irish folklore has always felt natural to me, felt like mine. I love cornbeef and cabbage meals, cornbread is fantastic and I recently found out how great Irish soda bread is dispite not liking raisens.

I am very Irish but I don’t look it. I  look like the Native American we think my father gave me, but we can’t be sure. I’ve always felt a disconnect between me and that side of my heritage. Almost like  I have no right to claim it as my own when I have never felt the hardship it has brought others. 

But that’s just me, my long winded explanation for tagging along on Laz’s cross country family reunion. Because for Laz this trip is finding her heritage, this trip is seeing who she comes from. I’m just very lucky that she wants me to come along


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