If Pochahontas (D, MA)can claim Indian blood, so can we all, and I’m glad of it. We all have something in common, and something we can all be proud of. We share the same blood, the blood of the Native Americans we took North America from. We’re related, at least in that. So let’s try a little brotherhood. If that’s too much, we can at least treat each other as cousins, which a lot of us are.
I’m an 11th generation American, which means the first American Pettyjohn (James, born in Hungar’s Parish, Virginia in 1635) is responsible for 1/024th of my DNA. My mother, grandmother, great grandmother and so on, all the women Pettyjohns married, are responsible for the rest.
James married a Heath, his son married a Long, and his son married a Steel. I’m a Brennan, a MacNamara, an Achenbach and so on. Ten separate blood lines, and I’m a cousin to them all. I did the math and I’m confident I have millions of cousins in this country.
I hope there’s some Indian blood in there, because there isn’t anything more American than an American Indian.
When I met my Uncle Fritz up in Alaska he swore Pettyjohns had part Indian blood. When he had a little money he had a big portrait of himself painted, all decked out like an Indian. He had it hanging over his fireplace. He said I could claim Indian blood in my application to law school. I thought about it, but after a while I began to question some of the stories my Uncle Fritz used to tell me.
He told me a lot of great stories, which I loved to hear. I think when he ran out of things to tell me he started to make things up. That time I spent with Uncle Fritz turned my life around.