I have to say I'm proud of my cultural identity. It's not that I don't appreciate Kentucky, but it matters a little less to me than my roots.
I had to trace back my family tree for at least three generations, and while my dad's side is a mystery, I made it all the way back to my maternal great great grandparents.
That's a lot of Greek, y'all.
I traced ethnic roots, marriages, affairs, love triangles, secrets. legacies, and the abandonment of customs. It is for this abandonment especially that I hold the women in my family in high esteem. My great grandmother, Archontoula Zuganelli, insulted her high-society parents by marrying a poor fisherman from Mykonos. My great grandfather, Francescos Koutsoukos, was a World War II hero. They made enough money from their fishing business to sustain their village, and they were selfless about it! Archontoula wanted to care for as many children as she could because, bless her heart, almost half of her pregnancies ended in either stillbirth or did not survive beyond childhood.
I regret that I could not have known her... or Francescos... they were, and still are in my heart, phenomenal people whose richness and warmth and compassion I could only hope to live up to.
My mother, another Archontoula, was such a strong and powerful girl, even at 13 when she was fed up and decided to move on her own. I couldn't imagine. At 13 I was still watching "Doug" on Nickeolodeon. She, on the other hand, worked as a cobbler, supported herself in a small apartment, and came to America when she was 17. She was married, of course, but she only knew a shred of English before hitting these shores.
And while I'm thinking about it: Why the hell do grocery stores want to tamper with the feta by adding sun dried tomato and basil and all that crap? MAN. Give me the good ol' ripened and un-fucked with, hard, salty, powerful feta any day!
So, though I highly doubt Mom will stumble across this site to hear the praise, when she let me interview her for my genogram project, that opened up a whole new world of understanding for me. It put me in touch with relatives I faintly knew. It made me laugh to try to piece together what my great aunt was trying to tell me... limited Greek know-how and all... and it made me smile when my great uncle Theonikos spoke with pride about his roots. That pride became my pride, too.
Sagapopouli.