Sure, Why Not?

But I can’t say that. I also can’t say I’m white. Instead, I’m Caucasian. Apparently, I spent my early youth hanging out high in the Caucasus Mountains, chilling with Prometheus. Better yet, perhaps I should go by European American, as some literature I’ve seen dictates. I’ve never even been to Europe, let alone lived there, yet I’m a European American. I mean, with such a light complexion, that must be where my ancestors are from, right?

Better yet, screw all this skin color crap. I’m just American, because, well, I was born and have always lived in America. How’s that?

Nope, wait, almost forgot. Native tribes. Can’t forget that they are the real Americans and I’m not. I don’t really see how conceding such in any way, shape, or form makes up for their hardships at the hands of settlers, but I suppose that just means I’m ignorant.

Hang on. No, even the Native Americans, meaning the tribal folks who lived in North and South America before Europeans arrived and not the European settlers’ innocent descendants who live here now, are not truly Native Americans. After all, they wandered over here when the Bering Strait was all land during the Ice Age. So, basically, NOBODY is American!

Okay, I see the name of the game now. It’s all about tracing your ancestry as far back as humanly possible and saying that’s what you are. And if you can’t trace your ancestry any further, read your history and find out where those people really came from. You mean to tell me you think you’re of British descendance? Nah. Your ancestors were probably among those Normans that invaded in 1066. You’re French! Wait, no. Where did the first French people come from? Maybe you’re from a Germanic tribe or the Romans.

Well, since we’re tracing back, let’s skip a lot of steps and say everybody comes from the fertile crescent. Mesopotamia and Sumer. How about that. We’re all Iraqis! The first human fossils were discovered in Africa, actually. There you go. Everyone who has ever lived is African.

I just might put that to use. I’ll start telling people I’m African American. I may even check that box on forms from now on. See what happens. See what kind of weird looks I’d get. To make it even more fun, if I get any kind of questions about my heritage, I’d give a nice long spiel. “Yeah, my father’s side of my family first came to this continent with the English Virginia settlers. Before that, they were in England and Scotland for several hundred years, and further back were part of some Anglo-Saxon populations….” and go on from there.

If I really want to stretch it, I’m Pangaean!

Better yet, anyone asks me about my heritage, just out and say “I’m from the Garden of Eden, bitch!”

Either of those is probably the best bet. Can’t be American, anyway. Not when I’m descended from people who settled on land that was not rightfully theirs and abused, raped, diseased, warred with, and wiped out the people already living there. For that reason, I cannot claim that I have any ideals or kinship with the country in which I was born and lived. I cannot call it my native country. Not with such a shameful history. Because, you know, the United States is the only country with any shameful history at all.