The Lannisters were an old family, tracing their descent back to Lann the Clever, a trickster from the Age of Heroes who was no doubt as legendary as Bran the Builder, though far more beloved of singers and taletellers. In the songs, Lann was the fellow who winkled the Casterlys out of Casterly Rock with no weapon but his wits, and stole gold from the sun to brighten his curly hair.
I love Ancestry. I’ve wasted so much time leafing through records and tracing my family history back through time and over seas, it’s downright sad. I’ve also discovered how easy it is to abuse the resources provided and look up the families of strangers—celebrities both famous and infamous.
I finally bit the bullet and decided to dig for information on Jeffrey Dahmer’s lineage. (And I’m not the only person who has attempted this, since I found other Dahmer family trees made by other weirdos like me. At least one managed to go back to the 1500’s with the Flints, who are English/Welsh.) Since my Dad also uses the same account, I took some extra precautions and named it “Madell family tree”, a dead-end surname from my mother’s side. If he were to get curious and click on it, he would be in for a bit of a shock.
What have I learned that is of interest? Well, aside from common knowledge (the surname Dahmer is of German origin, obviously) being proven with censuses and birth certificates, there wasn’t much on his father’s side. I couldn’t go very far into his maternal grandmother’s line, (she has some Welsh ancestry, dunno what else) and since our subscription is limited to American records, I was unfortunately unable to chase the Dahmer family back into the Dark Ages.
Everything interesting was on his mother’s side. The Rundbergs, Joyce’s mother’s parents (Jeffrey’s great-grandparents) are listed as immigrants from Norway. I fully expect every Dahmer book written henceforth to refrain from the clipped “German and Welsh” description and add “*also Norwegian”. Either way he’s still white.
To the left we have Joyce’s father, Floyd Flint, who was known to have been an abusive alcoholic. His father, James Ernest Humphrey Flint, spent time in an insane asylum. No, really—the 1920 Federal Census lists him as an inmate of the Wisconsin State Hospital For the Insane, now known as the Mendota Mental Health Institute. Naturally, it doesn’t list why he was there, but I’m sure we can all imagine. Three generations of mental health issues is a hefty inheritance.
Ugh, I don’t know if its Ken Penders’ corny writing or Sally’s portrayal in the main comics alongside this one, but this Queen Sally bugs me. Perhaps its because her only personality traits are her love for Sonic and the Royal Acorn line, you know, the royal thing she once chose not to be a part of? Or that its Penders idea that when women start a family they lose all traces of who they once were.
Have you ever wondered what’s going to happen when our generation dies out?
I mean… everything we are, for most of us, is spread out across various sites on here.
Are great-grandkids going to be able to look up photos from their grandparents’ first kegger party?
Will descendants be able to trace families trees back through Facebook connections?
Can your nude selfie from 2001 inspire people in the future with that body type? Will it become a vintage instagram/snapchat piece that will be sold at auction many decades after your death under ‘anonymous’… a conversation piece on some new-age technohipster’s wall?
Anthromorphic races of the future looking through old internet archives and mistakenly believing that Earth had known about them long in advance… and were open to the idea of interspecies offspring…
This generation being the turning point for many social issues, ancient blog rants are now published in textbooks as ‘proponents of freedom’… though the author’s true names are never known. Their blog titles are immortal…
Archaeologists of the future using social media sites and fandom sites to determine what kind of peoples we were, the millenials?
I have odd thoughts…
…but imagine, one day there will be millions of disembodied, unattached, stagnant FB profiles and blogs floating about the internet… the ones who updated them are gone (to fight in the eternal skeleton war), and their descendants, struggling to find unique usernames to use the interweb.
It will be the last thing left of many, a technological thumbprint that will slowly fade as new technology forces the old into an obsolete format; and then, everything that was will be left floating disembodied as degrading electronic ghosts in the atmosphere… picked up, maybe, by aliens trying to fine-tune their intergalactic GPSs on the way in, as nothing more than static and the faintest hum of ‘Mmm Whatcha Say’.
[…] After four years of related abductions across the county, an entire family disappears without a trace. With local authorities doing little to solve the case, it falls to two high school wannabe-detectives to bring their friend home: Louis Tomlinson, a dauntless city boy thrown headlong into the suburbs, and Zayn Malik, an aspiring journalist with a feel for dirty secrets. There’s also the matter of the Styles next door, who raise more questions than they answer. Case fic, mystery, small town, neighbors | POV: L
What do you do when your best friend asks you and your (now) ex to be the best men at his destination wedding? You can either tell him the truth, tell him you’re not together anymore, and deal with the consequences, or you can pretend you’re still together and roll with it, just pray you don’t spiral. Fake it ‘til you make it. You know, for the sake of the wedding. Harry and Louis choose the latter. Fake relationship, break-up, wedding | POV: H, non-linear | bottom!L
Louis is running out of time to find a summer job. His best friend offers him one that promises early mornings, late nights, long hours, and the best people he’ll ever meet. Lucky for Louis, one of those people is Harry Styles. Famous, musician (H), tour, roadie (L), falling in love | POV: L | bottom!L
here, have some modern non-magical flower of my heart pansy parkinson:
is an only child.
grows up somewhere warm and slow with lots of ghosts and
cypress trees and lace doilies on the dining room table.
freckles in the sun.
attends an exclusive all-girls’ prep school; doesn’t realize
until she’s much older that she hates every second of it.
teaches herself to sew after her mother dies because her
hands haven’t stopped shaking for months and sweet tea isn’t sweet anymore and
it turns out that the looming threat of accidentally stabbing herself with an
extra-sharp needle actually helps her focus.
spends what feels like half her life chasing a boy with
bright blond hair and stormy grey eyes and a family tree he can trace back to plymouth
rock. never quite catches him.
paints her bedroom walls a shadowy plum color the winter she
turns 16. rips off the scotch blue tape a little too early. stains the chair
is deathly allergic to cats.
embroiders her name in pale pink thread on the collar of the
first blouse she makes. it’s ugly and paisley and mauve and the pattern’s
abysmal but it fits her like a fucking glove.
meets daphne greengrass in sixth grade cotillion when there
aren’t enough boys to go around for ballroom dancing and they’re paired up
together to learn the steps. they never do get around to separating, and the
sight of their pastel silk skirts swirling together on the night of their debut
is positively seared into pansy’s memory.
has a marilyn monroe phase.
tie-dyes her corset-waisted alice + olive prom dress in a
baby pool in her backyard. ruins it. wears it anyway.
loses her virginity the summer she’s 17. it happens on a
ratty burgundy alabama football blanket, on the fourth of july, under a
sparkling midnight sky that’s velvet and fireworks and reflected right back at
her in the fractured emerald green of his eyes.
learns to drive in her dad’s pick-up truck. is astonishingly
good at parallel parking.
skips out on SAT prep classes to sketch evening gowns by the
river. hears the faint trickle of the water as it rushes past, peaks and foams
and valleys, but only ever sees sleek columns of persimmon coated satin and
floating fluttering waves of pearl-encrusted lace.
alternates between the same three shades of pink laura
buys her dad a new picture frame every year for his birthday.
watches, impassive, as he only ever uses them to house the one remaining photo
they keep up of her mom.
cuts her own bangs with her sewing scissors.
crosses her fingers and her heart and her ankles and applies
to parsons, fidm, scad, the new school, agonizes over the smudged charcoal
lines in her leather-bound portfolio and the yellow-tinted glare of the camera
flash on her most recent attempt at a sequined fishtail cape, but forgets all
of that—forgets everything—when she’s accepted absolutely everywhere and daphne
tugs at her uniform tie between first and second lunch and twirls her into the empty
sunlit faculty lounge and kisses her so, so gently that the only thing pansy can
think to do is shatter.
If someone is Mexican they are a poc right? Bc I know being Mexican can be the nationality but if your ethnicity is Hispanic and your race is Mexican (even though technically if isn't a race but when people ask my friend what she is she says Mexican)
If you ask me, the answer is yes. Naturally tan/brown is PoC. But to be clear, there is no one definition (that I’m aware of) for what it means to be PoC.
Now, there are lines (however blurred) that exist. For instance, Donald Trump can not trace his family history back thousands of years to Africa and call himself a black man. No.
I would posit, that while there is no one definition of what it means to be PoC, there are markers, or qualifiers that put a person somewhere on the spectrum between not-PoC and PoC. And that makes sense, right? Because PoC is as much alived experience, as it is an political designation. It’s a lot of things rolled into one.
That being said…
In the U.S. (I haven’t looked else where), Mexican is not considered to be a race. And this is political. But it’s also informed by anthropological research.
RACE DOES NOT EXIST. I’ll say that again. Race does NOT exist in a measurable or empirical form. It is a completely social and cultural construction. I can’t take you blood and tell you what race you are. No one can. I can trace your genealogy and your family history, but I can’t tell you what race you are.
And that’s because race does not exist in a measurable scientific way. However…
THE EFFECTS OF RACE DO EXIST. They are tangible and real and act on us and others in scientifically measurable ways.
So, long ago it was decided that an entire continent (South America) as well as the Caribbean should be left of the “What race are you?” options because those areas (which include this thing called Latin America) has been touched by so many different peoples from around that world that it’s essentially a cluster fuck of different races.
To put it a different way, area of the world is the poster child for why assigning a racial designation to ANYONE is problematic. BUT, it doesn’t negate the fact that not assigning a race to 1/7th of the planet (really more than that because no one lives in Antarctica) is a complete and utter erasure of an entire spectrum of skin colors.
Colonialism likes things to be diametrically opposed. It feeds us this horribly false narrative of history that reduces race to either “black” or “white” — leaving the tan and brown people of the world sitting here twiddling our thumbs like, “well I guess we don’t exist enough to be part of the race debate.”
I wrote this post the other day on how the U.S. Census says anyone ethnically identifying as “hispanic” or “latina” is legally allowed to choose whatever race they want, regardless of the rules applied to other people.
I also found this article the that can be helpful (and funny) at explaining this conundrum of race.
So the takeaway from this long digression is that the dialogue on race in America needs to change to incorporate the people who (as far as the race debate goes) are so marginalized that they don’t even get a seat at the race table. And for that to happen, we need to update our understanding of what race is, how it works, and what—at the end of the day—it means. We need to be upfront about colonialized views of history so that we can stop thinking about things as being diametrically opposed, or as the choice between one or the other, and start seeing things for how they actually exist—on spectrums.
The Blacks are known for there pure blood, they can trace their family tree way back into European history, only marrying the wealthiest European purebloods that money could buy. Sirius and Regulus on the other hand can trace their line back to Japan and on Sirius it shows. With his jaw structure and eyes most people can guess that he’s at least a little Asian. This is from Wilburga’s side of the family. And she hates it. You couldn’t tell with her and regulus or her parents but of course it shows in Sirius. And that’s part of the reason why she so easily cast him out. Not only was he friends with blood traitors half bloods and mud bloods but he was proof of her family’s “impurity.” And it disgusts her.
James is half Indian on his fathers side. His mother coming from the French side of the Black family. He has dark skin and wild hair and even some freckles if you look closely. His mother hadn’t cared that his father wasn’t European and that’s part of the reason why he falls in love with the redheaded muggleborn known as Lily Evans. He grew up thinking that everyone was equal no matter where they came from so why would it matter if Lily wasn’t a pureblood?
Peter isn’t really sure where his family is from, his parents and their parents grew up in Britain so for all intents and purposes he’s simply British and he’s ok with that.
Remus’s family is from all around. His dad grew up in Britain but his parents were from Egypt and further back there was a grandmother from Ireland and a great great grandfather from who knows where.. His mother was Latina with ties to Spain and Costa Rica. Her father was from Wales and her mother was a Latina. This all shows in Remus in a variety of different ways. His lightly tanned skin his honey brown hair that curls wildly when grown out long enough. His slender but tall physique and his rich brown eyes.
The marauders were a hodgepodge of different cultures each of them growning up differently but they all enjoyed learning everything they could about each other. Sirius loved listening to Remus when he started muttering in Spanish or Egyptian or any of the other dozens of languages he knew and Remus loved watching the way Sirius’s eyes crinkled when he laughed. Peter thought it was hilarious watching the two because they were so obviously in love with each and the only people that didn’t realize was them. It was almost as funny as watching James try and talk to Lily and accidentally speaking in Hindi instead of English. And okay maybe Pete knows that his grandma was Irish and his grandfather German so he knew a bit of Gaelic and German from Summer’s spent with them but it was just enough to speak to the half Irish Lily Evans in Gaelic about how much of a bunch of dorks his friends are. And he’s the first to know that she likes James because no one else knows Gaelic and Peter could keep a secret if needed. When it comes time for James and Lily to plan there wedding they are confused about what traditions to follow so they end up asking Dumbledore to marry them and only invite close friends and family and there are so many different people there and Sirius loves it because he grew up with these racist twats that didn’t except different things but he’s learned so much from his friends and he’s content with his Moony and in that moment he realizes he has everything and everyone he will ever need.
Millions of African Americans will soon be able to trace their families through the era of slavery, some to the countries from which their ancestors were snatched, thanks to a new and free online service that is digitizing a huge cache of federal records for the first time.
Handwritten records collecting information on newly freed slaves that were compiled just after the civil war will be available for easy searches through a new website, it was announced on Friday.
The records belong to the Freedmen’s Bureau, an administrative body created by Congress in 1865 to assist slaves in 15 states and the District of Columbia transition into free citizenship.
Before that time, slaves were legally regarded as property in the US and their names were not officially documented. They often appeared only as dash marks – even on their owners’ records.
African Americans trying to trace family history today regularly hit the research equivalent of a brick wall prior to 1870, when black people were included in the US census for the first time.