I just want you to know that thinking about this post has lead me to a little realisation that I'll go into in a second.
Anyway. My first realisation about myself was a giant lot of 'not' and it was related to ethnicity and religion more than anything else. I was NOT: Irish, Italian, Catholic or Jewish, while just about everyone around me was one or more of the preceeding. (My heritage is, in more or less equal parts, the following: Scottish/Northern British and Cherokee. There's a hint of Blackfoot in there for spice, and probably more than a touch of Scandanavian...as my brother put it when writing a report 'You know how the Vikings used to drag off women? THOSE WERE OUR WOMEN.') For me, this didn't mean much except that I was different, and I'd already known that, thanks. This was probably...oh, before I went to school, I figure. Maybe Kindergarten as a major factor, because of St Patrick's Day and a little quirk my mother had (see end note). I know I knew I was, as I put it back then, 'half Indian' by the first Thanksgiving thing we had in school (mostly because I got tapped to play an Indian despite being blond and blue-eyed because I was and because I actually knew a few words. Completely wrong language, however, which means that there are probably STILL kids from the Fisher Elementary School Kindergarten class of '88 who think that the Pilgrims were greeted with 'Osiyo'.) and there are stories about me when I was little (let's just say they're along the lines of my father thinking the 'Colored' water fountain gave blue water)
The little realisation I'd referred to in the beginning comes up here, though, because I'm pretty certain that my mother is actually racist in an anti-Irish sense. (She doesn't like Catholics, as a rule, she tends to be sneering, and she dressed us in orange every St Patrick's Day, which at first, when I remembered, I was a little snickery about, but after a second I went 'WAIT.' Especially because the Troubles in Northern Ireland is actually a big deal around Boston...see previous statement about the only things most people were. And this was in the late 80's and early 90's, when the Peace Process was still a twinkle in most people's eyes) I'm actually not sure how this might have effected things, but it says something about the fact that my conception of myself STILL has a major factor of 'Not!Irish'.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2005-04-03 05:56 am (UTC)Anyway. My first realisation about myself was a giant lot of 'not' and it was related to ethnicity and religion more than anything else. I was NOT: Irish, Italian, Catholic or Jewish, while just about everyone around me was one or more of the preceeding. (My heritage is, in more or less equal parts, the following: Scottish/Northern British and Cherokee. There's a hint of Blackfoot in there for spice, and probably more than a touch of Scandanavian...as my brother put it when writing a report 'You know how the Vikings used to drag off women? THOSE WERE OUR WOMEN.') For me, this didn't mean much except that I was different, and I'd already known that, thanks. This was probably...oh, before I went to school, I figure. Maybe Kindergarten as a major factor, because of St Patrick's Day and a little quirk my mother had (see end note). I know I knew I was, as I put it back then, 'half Indian' by the first Thanksgiving thing we had in school (mostly because I got tapped to play an Indian despite being blond and blue-eyed because I was and because I actually knew a few words. Completely wrong language, however, which means that there are probably STILL kids from the Fisher Elementary School Kindergarten class of '88 who think that the Pilgrims were greeted with 'Osiyo'.) and there are stories about me when I was little (let's just say they're along the lines of my father thinking the 'Colored' water fountain gave blue water)
The little realisation I'd referred to in the beginning comes up here, though, because I'm pretty certain that my mother is actually racist in an anti-Irish sense. (She doesn't like Catholics, as a rule, she tends to be sneering, and she dressed us in orange every St Patrick's Day, which at first, when I remembered, I was a little snickery about, but after a second I went 'WAIT.' Especially because the Troubles in Northern Ireland is actually a big deal around Boston...see previous statement about the only things most people were. And this was in the late 80's and early 90's, when the Peace Process was still a twinkle in most people's eyes) I'm actually not sure how this might have effected things, but it says something about the fact that my conception of myself STILL has a major factor of 'Not!Irish'.