I FOUND OUT ABOUT MY HERITAGE!
And if you're a little insecure with the fact that you aren't exotic or are descended from celebrities, you might want to re-think reading this post.
Because, let's face it, my heritage will most likely put yours to shame :/
So, for those of you daring enough to still be reading this, proceed with severe caution.
I'm going to start at the beginning.
As a small child, I was terribly self-conscious about myself. Probably due to the fact that I literally didn't know who I was. Was I Jewish? Maybe. How about Egyptian? Perhaps. African American? It could happen.
I was just a typical kid, building blocks in kindergarten, learning how to ride a two wheel bike, and getting mauled by some girl at the puppet station during Centers who claimed she had the Kermit the Frog puppet first, but really, we all know that it was rightfully mine and she had no reason whatsoever for pulling my hair and therefore it was totally fair for me to dig my nails into her arm...
...but I digress.
Anyway, I was a very normal American kid. Except for the fact that I was scarred for life because I didn't know whether my ancestors hailed from Newfoundland, New Zealand, or New Jersey.
You see, everyone in my classes throughout elementary school, middle school, and high school seemed to have fabulously wonderful ancestors whom they bragged about at least once a week. I remember one time my friend from 1st grade told me that her great-grandfather invented basketball and was best friends with Steve from Blue's Clues (now, looking back on it, I'm pretty sure this wasn't true). Naturally, she was the most popular person in our grade once this information was revealed. Everyone wanted to rub elbows with the man who could get them tickets to a Lakers game or invite Steve and Blue to their birthday party. So, because of her fascinating background, said girl shot to the top of the heap with little to no effort on her part. She was picked first in gym, had the best mat during naptime, and was even handed extra snacks during our midday snack break black-market-style. She was the envy of every 1st grader in Ms. Gardener's class. After that, everyone in our grade was disclosing their awesome heritages in the hopes of winning extra juice boxes, animal crackers, and friends.
But poor little first-grade-me had nothing to reveal. My mom didn't really know much about her side of the family and showed little interest in the subject even when I dramatically insisted that having super stellar ancestors would boost my social life. And I was completely out of luck on my paternal side as well. I never wanted to ask my real Dad about his heritage (I mean, who knows what I would have found out there). So I just sat friendless and snackless in my classroom, accepting my fate as the loser with regular boring parents and grandparents.
One day I got so fed up with the fact that I simply wasn't exciting that I lied and told everyone that I was part alien. In my little first-grade mind, this was a sure-fire way to get everyone's attention.
And of course, I was right.
But instead of having everyone bow down to me because of my blatantly awesome alien descendants, the kids in my class decided that I was a freak.
No one wanted to come to my house because they were scared that I would take them away to the Mothership and eat them for dinner. It wasn't much help that I lived about 45 minutes out of town in the country, so my classmates had never even heard of my town at all. At recess, children ran in fear from me. They began playing games like "Kill the Alien", which involved pelting me with dodgeballs.
So I grew up just assuming that I was plain old "American". Which is really so boring that I might as well just have died from unexoticness. I mean, my friend Mary was Czechoslovakian (which, by the way, is pretty much the epitome of exotic. I mean, I can't even pronounce that.), Cara was Irish, Danielle and Nicole were Italian, Anja was German, and Alice was South freaking African. I mean, COME ON. How could I compete with that?
WELL I CAN NOW!
Turns out, all this time I was way cooler than I thought I was. I pestered my Mom to ask around about our background, and come to find out I'm NATIVE AMERICAN! One whole eighth! Legit Native American!
But wait...there's more!
I'm also...now, get this...I'm also descended from pirates!!!
Okay, so we aren't really sure if we're descended from pirates, but we're almost positive. My mom called one of my great-aunts who is apparently really into the whole genealogy thing, and her exact words were this:
"Well, your great-great-great-grandfather owned a ship. We have no idea what his occupation was...we only know that he transported money from continent to continent. The exact amount of money is unknown. Also, the documentation I have of him states that he changed his name five different times, and lived on almost every continent at one time or another. He didn't have many relatives or friends, and he never stayed in one place very long, but he was very wealthy."
It's sooooooooooooo obvious he was a pirate. I mean, really. He transported money from place to place...they didn't know what he did for a living...he changed his name a bunch of times...he was rich...
...Either he was a pirate or he was just really sketch.
No, he was most definitely a pirate.
I mean how do you think he got all that money when they don't even have a record of his job? He STOLE IT. There's no other explanation. My great-great-great-grandfather was a thief and an outlaw.
I'm descended from the most B.A. man ever.
EDIT: So for all of you who doubted me and threw dodgeballs at me in elementary school, I suggest you reevaluate my coolness level :)
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