Monday, January 14, 2013

I am Oatmeal


            My family is 90% Irish; immigrants that came over during the potato famine. And though America is supposed to be a boiling pot, my ancestors seemed to only marry other Irish.
            I never knew my grandparents, nor my great grandparents, I'm a Caucasian Irish American, boiled down through a culture of no culture to an “American.” An American with the American ideal that family doesn’t have meaning. Being a white American feels like being oat meal: bland, flavorless, only interesting if you add something to it. My family is Irish, as if that means anything, it means I come from a heritage of alcoholics and xenophobes.  It means we raise the parting glass at funerals and play bagpipes at weddings (which are Scottish so that makes sense).
            Asking my family for interesting stories leaves me with a great great great Grandfather who was a shepherded employed by bootleggers and rumrunners to run his sheep over their tire tracks to cover up their trail and a great grandfather who was a rancher and liked sugar on his tomatoes.  
            What is a family history? I wanted to find some great story that I could come from, some legacy that would give generations some potency. A great uncle who was a museum thief or a general or a sea captain. I feel inclined to make some relative up to try and make my blood more interesting then alcohol and sugary tomatoes.
            My family is oatmeal. Our “traditional family dish” is frozen taquitos warmed up in a microwave. My great great great great grandmother farmed potatoes. My culture is the culture of TV dinners, Fords, desk jobs, potlucks, and Alzheimer’s. A culture that reminds me that family doesn’t matter, the only thing that matters is who you are, right now, and that’s it.
            What is a family Heritage? Something to remind me that my ancestors hated their lives and worked hard in order to some how give me a better life?  America is a boiling pot, our culture is a boiling pot, boiling down our dreams into white picket fences and a dog, boiling down our stories into “hard work.” Boiling down my family history into a family without a history.
            And where does that leave me? The leaf at the end of a branch of a family tree that feels like it has already fallen off.

2 comments:

  1. Luke,

    Don't downplay your own background. Oatmeal is really good food. Seriously, I think what comes through in family histories is that there are historical/genetic patterns that we see in ourselves, too.

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  2. Luke, sometimes we all wish we had swashbucklers, pirates and others in our past (Hollywood influence?) - it seems more exciting and certainly great for story telling. But the reality is that our ancestors for the most part - leaving their homeland, all that is familiar, and going off to some unknown country with a new unknown language - that could not have been easy. I hope you will listen gently, without yearning for something 'fantastic' to come forward. I think you will find much to be proud of and know that you come from a long line of survivors. This country could not have been built without the Irish. And the Chinese, and the never ending line of those who leave all that they know to find a better life. Good luck. BTW, I love oatmeal.

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