I can’t change the fact that my Native American great-great-grandmother married a White man. The half-breed son stereotypically became the Injun who couldn’t hold his liquor and the reason why many subsequent generations avoided alcohol. I can choose what I drink, but I can’t change my ancestry.

In this era, I’m the hated White man to elitist such as Amy Boggs of the Donald Maass Literary agency. Bogg’s Twitter account makes it sound like literary merit has nothing to with literary acceptance, skin color matters. Should I declare I’m Hispanic; in reality, I claim the oldest Hispanic ancestry in the Continental US, but I’ve always preferred success from merit.

Seminoles steal my ancestor’s bones because my Native American ancestor was clearly in Florida before the Seminoles arrived., they get their casino money, I get nothing, but harassment for my White skin while visiting a Walmart to get groceries. My ancestors are in the census and in history books, but apparently more native means more cursed.


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