Always living so close to Chicago, I would marvel at the wild revelries of Irish descendants on St. Patrick's Day. In the city one April, I stood in curious wonder at a parade celebrating Polish pride.
I say "marvel" and "wonder" because I've never had a really good sense of my ancestors' origins. Truth to tell, it never made that much difference in my family and for most of my life, I didn't see it as significant. I would look at the above mentioned groups of people and think, "I wonder what it's like to have such a large portion of your identity immersed in origins?" Marrying a woman who is half Greek only furthered this mixture of bewilderment and detached rumination.
Then last Christmas, my wife got me and her parents Ancestry DNA kits. For the uninitiated, it involves spitting into a vial which is then filled with a purple, preservative fluid. You mail off the tube, the folks at corporate process it, and then they send a full report to your Ancestry DNA app (or email, if that's more your speed.) Two weeks ago or so, I received my results, my "DNA story" as it were. My reaction to it was...unexpected.
Here's the breakdown:
-46% of me is from England, Wales, and Scotland.
-40% of me is from Ireland (specifically Connacht) and the western section of Scotland.
-12% of me is from "Germanic Europe".
Based on that DNA "map", the assessment painted a fairly accurate physical portrait of myself without ever having seen me. The report stated, and rightly so, that I have pale skin, blue eyes, and thick, wavy hair. The only part it was askance on was that my hair color was likely light, whereas it's actually a dark brown. Good news? I am unlikely to ever go bald. It also said that I like cilantro...which I do.
Now if you've done the math, you'll notice that 2% still remains in my DNA makeup. That remainder ended up being something of a shock to me.
-2% Viking.
Now anyone who knows me in real life would look at my slender hips, thin wrists, and ant-like arms and think, "Viking. Sure. First thing I think of." That is a point of view I can certainly understand. Just the same however, I have gotten a particular kick out of proclaiming...and I apologize...
"I'm a fucking VIKING!"
It's given me a sort of odd sense of confidence, even to get through normal, day-to-day challenges. Now that is, of course, purely psychological. I am not any different today than I was the day before I received the results. Yet I cannot help but reflect on that 86% of me that comes from the British Isles, particularly it would seem, Scotland.
Throughout my life, I've been an anglophile. Almost all of my favorite music, writers, and much of the film and television I enjoy come from the many cultures of those lands. In my youth I would see pictures of the English countryside, the Irish coast, and the Scottish Highlands and feel an odd sense of connection, like something was reaching out of the photo and yanking me back...home. Could there be something encoded at the DNA level, embedded deep in me somewhere, that instinctively brought about that connection? Then again, is it just because of what was popular during my "coming of age years"? Both, perhaps?
That Scottish aspect though...it has me thinking...
One of my all-time favorite films is Braveheart. Not only do I own the DVD, if I happen to see it's playing on TV, I will stop and watch it no matter where it happens to be in the narrative.
DIGRESSION-
Let me address two things:
1. I am aware of the derision Mel Gibson has received in recent years, and it is not undeserving. Since I like several of his films, I must now place him with others such as H.P. Lovecraft, Roman Polanski, and Bill Cosby: artists and entertainers who despite having said and done terrible things, I still can't help but enjoy their writing. My relationship with their texts is...problematic to say the least.
2. Were I to be teaching a class on medieval history, the only reason I would ever show Braveheart is so that students could pick out all of the historical inaccuracies. This is fraught with issues for a writer like me who takes the phrase "based on a true story" quite seriously, and that's even with the allowances one must accord an nonfiction writer. In summation, I'm never watching this film as a historical text. As for my views on literary nonfiction, in this case I'm afraid I must exercise my right to hypocritize myself.
That said, allow me to proceed...
Braveheart, even if ficitonalized, is the story of a man and a people who stood up and said "NO" to their oppressors. The clans of the Highlands said to tyrants, "You will take no more. You will grind us down no more. We will fight for our land. We will take back what is ours."
As it is with so much in recent years, I cannot help but think of my experience at Saint Joseph's College. I've even alluded to a few of these thoughts and feelings in last year's post, "Lost Causes."
So often during those final months at SJC, my head overruled my heart. Yes, believe it or not. I wanted to say more. I want to take bold and defiant action. Deep inside I wanted to paint half my face cardinal and the other half purple and lead my army of like-minded Pumas to take a stand and cry out "you will not take this from us!"
But I didn't. I was afraid of damaging my chances at getting another job. I was servile and obsequious to people I now have no respect for, fearing that if I did otherwise I might be dismissed on the spot and lose severance and a few months of remaining insurance. I kept tergiversating, moving in a frenzied circle of wanting to act but then retreating. I kept thinking an action of the "manning the barricades" sort would surely result in making matters worse.
That was my brain talking. It was similar to the response from Sir Robert the Bruce's father when The Bruce described the leadership and passion of William Wallace.
"And you wish to rush off and fight with him?" the father responds with condescending laughter. "Uncompromising men are easy to admire. But it is the ability to compromise which makes a man great."
It reminds of responses I received to my own expressions of pain and anger in those awful spring months of 2017. "You're being emotional, not rational. Problem solve. Be positive."
How does one compromise on being treated with human dignity? How does one react to an injustice without emotion? At what point do you take the risk, against all reason if need be, and stand up to say "NO MORE." Sometimes the only reasonable choice is the unreasonable choice.
I keep reflecting on Wallace's famous, perhaps now somewhat trite, speech in the film:
“Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you’ll live — at least a while. And, dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance, to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!! Alba gu bràth!”
Yes. What would I be willing to trade?
I know that I can't help but feel cowardly in retrospect. While I quietly worked to support a resistance, I still wish I would have done more. Much more. What did I learn from it? That may best be expressed by Sir Robert the Bruce in the film: "I will never be on the wrong side of anything ever again."
There may be no scientific evidence for this gut feeling, but I cannot help but feel a deep connection with the Scottish people represented in my DNA mosaic. I know the same can be said of many people and many cultures, but I am the biological product of humans who saw injustice, stood up, and spat back in the faces of their enemy. My physical and emotional reactions in the first half of 2017? They were pre-ordained. They were hard-coded into my biology via the experiences of my Scottish...and maybe even Viking...ancestors, and passed along as epigenetics. They never rolled over and took it. They fought.
Yes, would that I would have done more, but while linked to the past I can only control the now. That brings me to my big announcement.
You no doubt have noticed the decline in the frequency of posts from ESE. That has been due to my teaching five English composition classes, finishing coursework for my terminal degree, and giving my family much-needed attention. If I am to get this SJC book done, I am going to have to knuckle down and just write. After all that's what writers do. They write.
Therefore, we here at ESE have decided to "suspend operations" (heh! Get it?) in order to devote more attention to writing the book. I am not saying I won't pop in now and then for a post if a news development warrants it...you know, aliens land or the Singularity happens...but I really must focus on writing.
So it's goodbye from ESE...for now.
I'm off to buy a Claymore.
Alba gu bràth.
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