"You Are the Burden of My Generation..."

To whom do I belong? Do I have a heritage? A mother or a father land?

As I slowly progress in age (and I said SLOWLY, dang ya!), a longing grows inside of me to know who I am in reguard to what - or, specifically, whom -- I'm made of.

In a modern world that places so much emphasis on racial tolerance, I'm surprised that so many middle Americans like me have chapters of unwritten family history and identity. (Aside: perhaps this is why our preferences are so dictated by the whims of celebrity, fashion & trend?)
I continuously wonder that if I knew what kind of temperments and tendencies my acestors had, if I would better be able to understand myself. Don't get me wrong -- I understand that each individual is unique and special snowflake... and good Lord knows me folks shouldn't be blamed for a number of my less than endearing quirks!
Maybe it's merely a romantic notion of mine, that it would be so fortifying to belong to a tribe, a people, a centuries-old tradition of love and struggle and music and art and faith in things unseen.....

"Homeless,
Homeless,
Moonlight sleeping on a midnight lake...."

My mother claims that I am blood-related to both Confederate President Jefferson Davis and current American president Barack Obama. No wonder I'm going through an identity crisis.

"...but I've reason to believe
We all will be received
In Graceland...."