I was born in New York City to a very matrifocal family. My great-grandmother — my Nana — left Scotland after her parents died to start over. At least, this is the story I have figured out on my own because I cannot ask her or my grandmother anymore. She married a first generation Irish-American man, a wee bit older than her (hah, see what I did there?), and sadly lost him when my grandmother was only seven. She had to be a strong single-mother during an era when that simply wasn’t the norm. However, her neighbors helped from what it would seem, and my grandmother (Grammy) would meet her future husband. This is where the German enters….
My grandfather’s lineage looks messy on census records. Bohemia? Austria? Czech? Germany? Several ancestors are from the general region, but wars and empires complicate borders. The “scorched Earth” policy likely didn’t help matters either. A few definitive records remain to indicate specific villages bordering the Black Forest, though, and my grandfather cherishes that side of himself in his own stoic way. Ah, but there was some bickering — he loves sauerbraten whereas Grammy refused to touch “sour rotten.” I do believe they both agreed that haggis was… not for either of them (also not for me, thanks). And let us not forget how excited he was to try a restaurant in Pennsylvania called the Old Heidelberg — but we do not talk about my gluttonous indiscretions as a ten year old. I can only tell you I enjoyed the food until I didn’t. Learn from my fail, as my generation says.
Unfortunately, a dark cloud hung over my German ancestry for the majority of my childhood. You see, people of a certain disposition appropriated that culture post World War II and essentially made it seem as though even the language was inherently evil. The Lost Highway soundtrack introduced us to Rammstein, and — of course — people assumed some far-right agenda was at play. (Imagine my horror when learning the translation of Heirate Mich because it took a couple of years before I could listen to it again without feeling disgusted — no, they’re not really doing THAT, it’s for the “lulz,” it’s for shits and giggles, it’s for shock value.) It was depressing. It was akin to the old “Irish need not apply” or whatever other typical stereotypes you’d see when immigrants came here to escape famine, oppression, and poverty.
Well, that stops now. German does not mean what you think it means. It means so much more than just two decades of a minority faction that terrorized their nation, continent, and world. Ancestors from both of my parents lived in that region, and they brought with them strong work ethic, good food, and a refusal to give up even when their crops failed. They built communities here and proved that you can, in fact, start over. I watch students come back to my classroom day after day doing exactly the same thing, whether they waited until all their children left home and went the traditional route to college or found themselves at a point in life needing to change direction. I look back, and I see the courage to keep going. I know some people think that the history of 1930s and 1940s Germany somehow mars the overall culture, but it really isn’t about guilt — it’s about learning from our mistakens, right from wrong, and making the conscious after to do better and be better.
Yes, I’m part Scots-Irish — but I’m also part German, and I love that part of me, too.
[…] (read: I got some masochistic desire to try veterinary medicine again). If you recall I mentioned reclaiming my German heritage recently, I decided it was finally time to learn German well enough to speak it, read, and write […]