Identify Yourself Tuesday, Apr 29 2014 

The ladies are yammering about identity. Too many of the seemingly random readings I’m coming across raise slant questions to a perennial one my own mother frequently asked: Who do you think you are?

With mom (Aurore Orise Brunelle, grand-daughter of Parmelie Ledoux), the question was really more about a child acting with hubris, something that would challenge the gods of the French to rain down corrective lessons. That wasn’t something one wanted to invite into one’s life.

It’s a different question now, this Who do you think you are?

Are you what the dominant culture defines you as or are you what you feel inside? Or both? Or more? Or none of the above? Do you have to have a certain genome, untainted by epigenetic transformations or come from a certain place or be descended from certain people? Or be born someplace, or live there for some amount of years, or generations?

Did Marie-Reine Charpentier become Canadienne when she left Paris at age 13 to come to New France to marry? Was Marie Vigneau (born in Beaubassin, Acadie, and married on Iles St. Pierre et Miquelon, France) always Acadienne? Was Anne Pastourel (born in Boucherville, wet-nurse in Detroit, married in Montreal, and died in Trois Rivieres) always Canadienne? Was Parmelie Ledoux a French-Canadian because of where she was born (St. Octave in Rimouski) or a Franco-American because of where she died (Worcester MA)?

I imagine these women sitting around an old wood farm table in a French Nanog where they enjoy a grand chuckle at the confusion and questions they raise in their offspring – some French-French and some French-Other. “Just when you think you know us, here’s something else to think about: you can’t believe everything you read or think. You’ll get to know some things about us, some of which will even be true. Tee hee hee.”

What provoked this meandering of mind was a snippet in the September 27, 2013 The Week (p. 6) — okay, I am a bit behind in reading — in which Kashmir Singh, a Sikh community leader points out that he’s lived in Quebec for 40 years then asks “Am I Québecois, or not?”

I know that if he were the husband of my third cousin’s sister-in-law’s aunt, I’d say ‘yes’ without thinking. And thank him for diversifying the gene pool. But I’m not so sure that living in a place for 40 years is a priori proof of identity. I wonder next: does that make me provincial/narrow-minded/bigoted/limited? For heaven’s sake, do you have to belong to people rooted in a geographic place for hundreds of years to wear a tribal moniker? And if one or more of your generations leave that geographic homeland, do you lose your tribalness? When do you belong? When do you un-belong?

I’ve lived in Orange, Massachusetts for 28 years and am still considered an outsider by people born here, even more so by people whose parents and grandparents were born here. Though I’ve been going to Cape Cod for more than 50 years and have some deep emotional ties and one-week of property there, I’m there considered a “wash ashore,” a person who doesn’t really understand “Cape-ness.” This does give me an inkling of and kinship with Mr. Singh’s frustration.

Even plants have to struggle to be considered resident in the U.S culture. Plantain came to Massachusetts with the English colonists hundreds of years ago, and, yet, though this “white-man’s footprint” is ubiquitous in lawns and sidewalk cracks, it’s still an “introduced species.”

Well, isn’t everything? It’s not like we’re still stewing in some primordial soup waiting for life to emerge or watching pterodactyls sore across the horizon in our early primate forms.

Which thought then reminds me of a conversation I had with my Cape Cod pal Valerie Lane one August retreat. (Marie Vigneau was yammering for mental attention then.) We were wondering why we have affinities and affiliations for some places and people and not for others within our own families. What is it about the stories of some lives that rivet attention while others at best disinterest and at worst remain invisible?

Each question leads to more questions to revisions of thought and knowing to more questions and more revisions. Each step seems to reveal more about the “not known” than the “known.”

I can hear the ladies now: Aah. Now, you’re finally listening. Tee, hee, hee.

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World Acadian Congress Aug. 8 to 24, 2014 Sunday, Jul 8 2012 

Just a quick post to let you know that plans are well underway for the next World Acadian Congress. Imagine 600,000 cousins, many of whom look familiar — though you’ve never met them and though your ancestral tree branched hundreds of years ago —  gathering on Aug. 15 (National Acadian Day) at 17:55 (5:55 pm) to make a great noise (tintamarre) as a show of solidarity for our culture.

Heck, grab a pot and a spoon this August 15 and celebrate on your own. Just in case you don’t know, 1755 is the year of the Grand Derangement that sent Acadians on the great diaspora that resulted in some of us starting a Cajun culture in Louisiana. Others of us ended up in New England, and when hostilities settled down, walked 700 miles back to New Brunswick and Nova Scotia only to find our homes appropriated by British loyalists.

Ah well, you do with what you’ve got.

My youngest brother Glenn and I learned about the Congress when we went to Bouctouche and Beaubassin in 2010. While we were at an archeological dig run by Parks Canada in Beaubassin (where some of our ancestors may have lived), one of the locals told Glenn he looked like a Gallant. The Gallant ancestor is our many times great-grandparent. Then we went to Le Pays de La Sagouine, where so many people at the 1755 Concert looked familiar that we played the “who’s that look like?” game. We saw people who looked like our brothers, sister, uncles, aunts, cousins, and neighbors. And they treated us like family members. Made the decision then and there that we would go back for the Grand Rendezvous.

From the sound of things, this next Congress aims to make the whole world Acadian for a time. Can’t wait.

Here’s the announcement — en francais!