My mother was from Scotland. You might think that would make me part Scottish, but you'd be wrong...according to my mother. Her parents were from Ireland and so, we are Irish. Scotland was just the place where they lived. It's a pretty big deal in my family. Among my cousins, all from Scotland, there is great pride and loyalty in our Irish heritage. Make that the Irish Catholic heritage. I am not excluding myself - I also am very proud and that feeling grows as I age. I picture roots that grow stronger and deeper below the surface of my life as time passes.I have always been a rebel from as far back as I can remember. It's as natural to me as breathing; something I was born with. I don't know exactly where that comes from. My mother was kind of the black sheep of her family. Maybe it came from her. She was the first and only divorcee in her Irish Catholic family in her generation, prompting her to leave Scotland and immigrate, first to Canada and then to the United States/Detroit. It was in Detroit that she met my dad, the second of three husbands.
The persecution of Catholics was one of the main drivers behind the "troubles" that have plagued Ireland and to a significant extent, the Irish in Scotland, and fueled the fury and fighting that has carried on for decades. In my family, discrimination came in the form of jobs. On job applications, they were required to identify their religious affiliation which up until the last decade or so, could cost them the job if they were Catholic. They were also identified by their names. For example, Meehan was known as a Catholic name. One of my cousins used his mother's maiden name one year to get a job because the name was considered a protestant name. Of course, that didn't go over well with the family as you can imagine. So vitriole and rebellion linger beneath the surface for the Irish in Scotland and in my family. Maybe it came from there.
I was raised in the Catholic church and went to Catholic school. I have fond memories of my early years in the church. My mother took me when I was small and made me go by myself when I got older. I had to bring home a church paper every Sunday as evidence that I attended mass. Since she was divorced, she was denied sacraments so she didn't want to go but felt it was important for me to be there. You don't need me to tell you that a teenager will take note of that kind of behavior and rebel. In Scotland, a popular term of endearment was, :Oh ya cheeky wee bitch." I heard that often as a child, but it was not a bad thing. In fact, it was generally said tongue in cheek and with a smile. But one day, I called my mom a cheeky wee bitch intending that same playful spirit. Apparently, being born in the US diluted my Irish/Scott quotient because my mom walloped me a good one. So, at an early age I learned two things; First - what is ok for mom to say is not necessarily ok for me to say, and second; what is ok for mom NOT to do is not ok for me NOT to do (church). Maybe it came from these experiences.
But here's what I think: I think a bit was inherited from my mother who was a rebel in her own right; A little from my father who was kind of eccentric, a free thinker and an unsuccessful entepreneur; and the rest from my own personality, or the stars I was born under, or my instincts and observations while growing up, or all of the above, or whatever. That's my theory - it is who I am, a part of me, and I've used it for good and maybe just a wee bit of evil too. But these days, there is a sense of maturity to my rebellion. Perhaps those rebel instincts have evolved into confidence in who I am and what I believe, or what I don't believe. In any event, I've come to trust those instincts.
