Lamar Howell's Weblog

You know, I hear this everywhere. “I’m part Cherokee.” Dude you’ve got a full beard, light brown hair, low cheekbones, UnderArmour workout shirts, a lower Mississippi drawl, lard-white skin, and a monumental ignorance of history, and . . . you’re part Cherokee?

What is it about Cherokee that is so appealing that everyone wants to be one. Was it the Trail of Tears, and unwarranted pity that you’re trying to evoke? Is it the legacy and longevity of a thousand-year national bloodline, or the silent admiration for your bravado as the descendant of a respected Brave?

I don’t know what it is, but the next person who tells me he is of Cherokee descent, I’m going to tell him I am full-bloodied Apache, and defy him to challenge my assertion.

Let me ask you this: since 100% Native Americans are not held in the highest esteem by many in our culture,  (somewhere above Gypsies), then why is it such a badge of honor to say you are part-Indian?

I’m met so many people who say they are part-this-and-that tribe. It’s become like peanut butter, spread so thin. 1/16 or 1/32 this or that. Why, you can spread peanut butter on so many things: crackers, bread, apples, celery. Yeah, PB  (part-Cherokee) is so widespread (no pun intended), but where are the whole nuts? The full-blooded Indians. I’ve heard of Irish-Cherokee. How about Afro-Crow, Scot-Penobscot, Mexican-Mohican, Dutch-Natchez, Jewish-Ojibwas, and every other Anglo-Micmac. There even may be somewhere out there a Greek-Creek.

I saw a real Apache at my church the other day, and he didn’t have to announce his Native Americanness (indigenousness/indigenuity?)It was written all over him. He was a complete, transparent 24-ounce jar of nuts, not a smack of peanut butter.

It is often said that my mother was part-Indian, but I never use that moniker to push back at these European mixed-up people, to which I also belong.

I admit it – I’m part-Cherokee. 1 in one million parts, but by golly, that’s what I am.