Post by Joy on Jan 31, 2014 1:06:57 GMT -6
My name is Joy. I live in Texas on the family ranch that's been in our family since 1834. We don't own the land. The land owns us. I'm raising my four children here with the hope that my grandchildren will be raised here one day. And one day, their grandchildren. There is something magical about playing with your children in the exact same place the children in your family played 180 years ago.
I'm white. White is a color. And I'm that color. My mother is Hungarian. My father was German and Cherokee. Everyone took him for red Irish, as he was a white man that turned beet red, but I've done the genealogy and we've no Irish to be found. What we DO have is a Cherokee man who married a German immigrant family's daughter back in the day when it was made legal to murder Cherokees in Texas. He passed as white on the census, voted, and owned land. By all written accounts everyone on gods green Earth knew he was Cherokee, and loved him. Though his daughter (in her later years) was known as "that crazy ole woman who wears long skirts with her hair long and unbound and walks around town" smh. (Not a name, *roll eyes* What people thought about her behind her back) Must have been that times version of "the crazy cat lady".
Here's the thing. I didn't know until I was in jr high. My grandmother whispered it to me one day. I laughed because I was a stupid kid who couldn't wrap her head around anyone marrying someone who could be legally murdered at any time, thereby putting yourself and your children in danger. When I said as much, she clammed up and would never speak of it again. All I have from her is a story about her grandmother when she was a kid.
I have done research. I have had the genealogist from the Cherokee tribe who comes down to Huntsville for demos tell me to register. I hesitate. I hesitate because I'm white. I don't look Native. I have HAD Natives who LOOK Native tear me from top to bottom because "Im not Native". It makes me want to hide. Like a stray dog. And I'm NOT a weak person. But this hits my buttons. On top of that there is still a lot of governmental prejudice against Natives. As a single mother of four, I don't need any more prejudices against me. It's hard enough as it is. Why subject myself to treatment I can avoid, from both sides? It sucks. Why can't a person, who is white, be accepted for being Cherokee and not be bashed?
I read a wonderful article about the bull of blood quantum. It asked, "What part of you is Cherokee? Is it your hand? Your knees? Your ears? No. It is all of you." It made me cry. It's right. No one has ever asked me to verify my being Hungarian, or asked me what percentage is my German. I look at my beautiful children, and I want them to learn their culture, a culture I was never taught, but I hesitate to protect them because three of them are as white as I am. And when did you ever see a white kid in regalia? I don't want them being torn apart like I was (so very publicly) so many years ago.
Okay. Stupid, soul opening, whiny rant over. You may now return to your regularly scheduled program.
I'm white. White is a color. And I'm that color. My mother is Hungarian. My father was German and Cherokee. Everyone took him for red Irish, as he was a white man that turned beet red, but I've done the genealogy and we've no Irish to be found. What we DO have is a Cherokee man who married a German immigrant family's daughter back in the day when it was made legal to murder Cherokees in Texas. He passed as white on the census, voted, and owned land. By all written accounts everyone on gods green Earth knew he was Cherokee, and loved him. Though his daughter (in her later years) was known as "that crazy ole woman who wears long skirts with her hair long and unbound and walks around town" smh. (Not a name, *roll eyes* What people thought about her behind her back) Must have been that times version of "the crazy cat lady".
Here's the thing. I didn't know until I was in jr high. My grandmother whispered it to me one day. I laughed because I was a stupid kid who couldn't wrap her head around anyone marrying someone who could be legally murdered at any time, thereby putting yourself and your children in danger. When I said as much, she clammed up and would never speak of it again. All I have from her is a story about her grandmother when she was a kid.
I have done research. I have had the genealogist from the Cherokee tribe who comes down to Huntsville for demos tell me to register. I hesitate. I hesitate because I'm white. I don't look Native. I have HAD Natives who LOOK Native tear me from top to bottom because "Im not Native". It makes me want to hide. Like a stray dog. And I'm NOT a weak person. But this hits my buttons. On top of that there is still a lot of governmental prejudice against Natives. As a single mother of four, I don't need any more prejudices against me. It's hard enough as it is. Why subject myself to treatment I can avoid, from both sides? It sucks. Why can't a person, who is white, be accepted for being Cherokee and not be bashed?
I read a wonderful article about the bull of blood quantum. It asked, "What part of you is Cherokee? Is it your hand? Your knees? Your ears? No. It is all of you." It made me cry. It's right. No one has ever asked me to verify my being Hungarian, or asked me what percentage is my German. I look at my beautiful children, and I want them to learn their culture, a culture I was never taught, but I hesitate to protect them because three of them are as white as I am. And when did you ever see a white kid in regalia? I don't want them being torn apart like I was (so very publicly) so many years ago.
Okay. Stupid, soul opening, whiny rant over. You may now return to your regularly scheduled program.