Must ... Keep ... Fighting

As a kid, my dad got me interested in genealogy.  By the time I was in 6th grade, I had already done reports on the state of Oklahoma, the Sooners (no, the actual  Sooners!!  You know, the land-jumpers … not the University of Oklahoma mascot.) and the Trail of Tears.  Since I had no other immediate relatives living to answer all of my “Why’s”, I researched the events at the library … in books … actual books.   Also at an early age,  I heard stories translated from a Swedish family bible.  I learned a few Swedish words, prayers and hymns, how to hate lutefisk (from experience), and how to balance a ring of candles on my head while delivering coffee and rusks to all of the sleepers on Christmas morning (Santa Lucia). I discovered that I had a passion for research and history (as long as it pertains to something I care about).  I also found hope and strength in the pages of those books and hymnbooks and bibles.  However, it would take me until my mid-thirties, when I was bedridden and desperate, to be able to understand how to derive the particular hope and strength that I needed to fight the beast, RSD.

 My mom’s parents were 1st generation Americans born to Swedish and Norwegian immigrants who came to America on boats with nothing more that the clothes on their backs.  My dad’s parents had American roots that ran quite a bit deeper.  My paternal grandmother was of English and French descent and can be traced to a few of America’s most brilliant forefathers.  She married into one of the oldest establishments in “new world” history … The Cherokee Nation (who liked to mix it up with the Scots back in the day).  For all intents and purposes, I refer to myself as a Swedish/Cherokee because those are the ancestral traditions to which I adhere.  Whereas in reality, ima mutt!!  But I am the offspring of some the toughest, strongest, most persevering sum’bitches that ever walked the earth!!

The Cherokee … survivors of the Trail of Tears, Indian Lawmen appointed to the new US Marshal’s Service.  Homesteaders trying to gain equality while the white man suppressed their efforts, all the while still gaining the respect of law abiders and criminals alike.  (My great-great-great grandfather, had to register his fists as deadly weapons … true story … I have the documentation to prove it.)  The Swedes … refugees of terrible economic conditions, looking for work and better living conditions.  They had to change their last name upon arriving (I’m guessing it was a pronunciation thing) and became loggers and farmers.  They built churches and homes for themselves and other Swedish immigrants, never having forgotten their own generous and peaceful heritage.

This is the DNA that courses through my veins.  These are the stories that fuel my desire to fight.  I read about the hardships they all had to endure … and since I’m alive today, they must have triumphed over those hardships.  I owe it to them to continue that stalwart legacy.  I owe it to my niece and nephew and all other future generations of my family to keep fighting so that, God forbid, anything should happen to them, they can say, “I remember the stories that my Aunt Jenn told me and I watched her fight.  I know I can fight too.”  I have already started telling them stories.  Yeah yeah yeah … I know.  They are WAY too young right now to know what I’m talking about … but as they get older, they will remember that they come from a very, very, VERY long line of fighters and survivors.  We can’t help but be that way, it’s in our DNA!!

I strongly encourage you to do some research of your own.  These days, we have the luxury of being able to use the internet to do most of the work for us … and you never have to get out of your jammies to do it!!  Just try it.  Find out what forces joined together to make you who you are.  Draw from their legacy … and then leave one of your own!!