"No, where is your FAMILY from?"

St. Patrick’s Day has never been a four-star event at my house. For starters, we’re not Irish, so besides the basic “you’d better wear green or you’ll get pinched” policy, we don’t really do too much. Actually, I even have a hard time wearing green because it feels a little bit like false advertising (well that and I don’t own any green clothes.) Coulter was very excited, though, about getting to wear green. He came out Wednesday morning in a pair of green linen pants with a green Hulk t-shirt that lights up. Beyond this, though, he knew nothing about St. Patrick’s Day, which I suppose is another good reason to have him in pre-school. Whether it’s Bible stories or learning to spell his last name, Ms. Kim usually makes up for our shortcomings. So it came as no surprise that after a morning with Ms. Kim, he was full-versed in leprechaun folklore. “They’re little stinkers who mess up everything so you can’t find the goooold.” He was so caught up in all the fun that I felt guilty for not having done more to help celebrate.


My guilt started to grow even more when I began to ponder the idea that perhaps we really are Irish and I just don’t know about it. The truth is I have no idea if my ancestors came from Ireland or Germany or England (wait, didn’t they all come from England?) Anyway, I don’t think I’m alone in this. Ask most people from the South where their family is from and they will answer “The South.” Southerners are very proud of their Southern heritage. I remember taking a multicultural music class in grad school and on the first day the professor was, I suppose, looking to set up the multicultural theme when he looked at me as asked, “Where are you from?” I said, “Arkansas.” He said, “No. Where is your FAMILY from” I said, “Arkansas, we’re all from Arkansas.” Sensing he was getting no-where, he moved on to other students and they were quick with their answers. “Sweden, Germany, Norway.” It wouldn’t have mattered though, because even if I had understood the question, the only thing I know about my family is that they are from Arkansas.

My husband, on the other hand knows practically everything about his family history, down to the boat ride that brought one sister to America and left one sister in Sweden. He found his Swedish relatives over 20 years ago and has visited them regularly. Coulter will grow up knowing his Swedish “cousins” and Swedish history and that’s pretty cool even if they don’t have leprechauns.

It’s a little hard to explain because family history is important to me, it’s just that my knowledge of it only goes back to, well, Arkansas. Also important to me are family names. My children are both named after family which is one reason I go all “psycho mom” when someone tries to shorten their names. My Mother’s maiden name is Coulter, not Colt. Emma Claire is named after her Grandfather, Claude Claire and so it doesn’t make sense if you leave out the Claire. (She also had a great, great grandmother named Emma.) I truly don’t know why I did this to myself because for the next, well, forever, I’ll be adding Claire to everyone’s Emma. Seriously, I don’t understand how hard it can be. It’s three syllables….no different really than Emily. (Sorry, I digress.)But why does it make me so crazy? It’s because we named them after our family; after our ancestors and that’s important to me. (My very young and very much alive Mother is probably not going to appreciate being called an ancestor, but you get the idea.)

So, having said all that, I’m not sure why learning more about my ancestors has never been a priority. I do know that my Mammaw’s Grandmother was Native American (and yet to further prove my point about not knowing our history, I cannot find a single relative that knows which tribe. Our best guess is Apache) and I know that my Great, Great Grandfather was a slave owner. I know that when slavery was abolished the slaves that had served on the Coulter farm took our family name. My aunt Ida used to regularly attend the “Black Coulter” family reunions. Do I think my Grandfather was a racist? No. But even if he was, my parents weren’t racist and they didn’t raise me to be one. The truth is, I’ve always wondered if I researched my history and it led back to say, Germany, what would I find? Ancestors that help hide the Jews or ones that help to try and erase them from our history. Helen Keller said, “There is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his”

I am grateful to those who have gone before me and I hope that it some small way I might honor them, if not with historical knowledge, than with the life that I am living now; that I might live with the knowledge that someday someone might study me and I want them to find a legacy of virtues and excellence. So, while it may not be popular or politically correct, the truth is, I’m much less concerned with who my Great, Great Grandfather was than with who his great, great, great grandson and daughter are going to become (which is not exactly a quote, but a “truth” borrowed from Abraham Lincoln.)

Two weeks from today is Easter Sunday. The birth, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ; now THAT is something my family will celebrate. We will be doing it from two different continents, though. Coulter and his Dad are flying to Sweden and, well, you’ll just never guess where Emma Claire and I will be!