Red

My family tree, or what little I know of it, roots mostly in Northern Europe. The only things I've heard have come from family stories. I have a truly impressive compilation of ancestry composed by a relatively distant something-or-another that details her lineage, tracing it all the way back to an Englishman coming across the water in the early 1600s.

Elsewhere in the book she makes a brief mention of the Williams side, which is quite a bit closer to me individually, whose North American founder traveled from Ireland. 

That might be the part I enjoy mentioning the most. I'm not sure why, but there's something about the country that makes you want to belong to it. While the thread I have to tie me to that land is tiny and by no means a well established connection, it is a live nerve. I know very little about Ireland, but I still think of it fondly. I want to embrace probably more of it than I'm actually at liberty to.

I've also been told that there was American Indian added to the melting pot at some point. 

I myself am an American. I would like to take pride in that. I cry when I hear the national anthem and I want to hug every person in uniform I see and I think bald eagles are quite majestic. But it's a strange relationship really because some days the flag makes me weep with pride and appreciation and other days I want to hang my head in shame. I am an American though, for better or worse.

I come from tough people. People who worked the land and people who worked for other people and people who just worked. And I'm very proud of that.

There are multiple Confederate officers in my tree. Many many farmers. A couple people who founded Primitive Baptist churches in southern states. At least one doctor. Too many John's to count. And one guy who killed a bear with his pocket knife. 

I enjoy researching my family tree. I know some people think it's pointless because it's a bunch of dead guys who didn't do anything of major importance to the world and what does it matter now? But it's interesting. I think it's neat to be able to see the census from 1884 that's shows your so many greats grandfather as a little boy. His father couldn't read or write, but he worked as a hired hand or farmer or railroader and kept food on the table for his family.

It makes me proud, and it makes me believe in myself. To know that there were good, smart people mixed in there no matter where they came from. Somebody somewhere down the line is going to point to my name in a book and say there's soandso. She did this and that and she was great.