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Fading of the Drums

  

There have been a few videos that have been on my mind for a while.  One of them at the below link is of a haka from a wedding.  

 

https://youtu.be/lhhedH6wK6I

 

The other is a video of a drum line from a Dia de los Muertos parade found on Ed Calderon’s Instagram page. 

 

https://www.instagram.com/p/CG-hutQBMln/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link

 

Not only is the video really cool, but when I read the post associated with it, something inside of me clicked.  It is the loss of past, of the disconnection to identity.  In the post he writes, 


“…Our tribal songs where taken, our gods renamed, our weapons confiscated and some of us where even put in chains, be it of the mind or of the body.” 

 

It moved me in an unexpected way and feelings of frustrations/curiosities/loneliness that seemed disconnected started to form into some emotional Pangea.  It was as if all of the root cause of my doubt, lack of confidence and unease was starting to become clear.  

 

For much of my life I have always felt as though I am an arm’s length away from everyone else.  I live adjacent but not really connected to those around me and I always attributed it to me being a bit of a lone wolf.  

 

I may play the part of the stoic, but as a kid I was always a bit sensitive.  There was some bullying in middle school, and I was pretty overweight in Jr High; both of which didn’t really help things.  My Jr and Senior High experience were interesting as I went to three different schools between 7th and 11th grade.  The first was the Catholic School that I had been in since Kindergarten, the second was a year spent attending a very upper class suburb school, the third was an inner city school that had us going through metal detectors and the last was back to a Catholic school that all my previous classmates moved on to.   By Junior year I had a core group of friends but fast forward to few months after graduation and I was on my way to Paris Island.

 

Many years have passed since then and friends have come and gone but the one thing that remains is my inability to know the answer to the question of “Who am I?”.  

 

For a long time, I attached my identity to my father’s Hungarian heritage.  It was much more distilled than my mother’s Scotch, Irish, and German.  I had heard stories of my great grandfather’s experience as an immigrant in South Philly where he wasn’t Irish or Italian and so ran into trouble with both.  Then stories of my Grandfather who was a hard man who worked and drank just as hard.  Then 23 and me came along.  I went into it thinking I had to have this connection but low and behold there was nothing.  Apparently my genetic make up is primarily Bavarian.  A fun connection for someone with Gluten issues and a disinterest for sweet white wines.  

 

I am sure by now you are wondering what the hell this died is rambling on about, but here it is.  I don’t know what I am supposed to grab hold of when times get tough and I need that base identity grab hold of.  Even my faith has become shaky.  I have doubt.  Doubt in myself, doubt in my God and I am envious of those that can turn to their heritage.  

 

I have no Haka.  

 

I have no sugar skulls.

 

I have no place.

 

Even the Eagle, Globe, and Anchor and title of United States Marine seems as though it belongs to someone else.     

 

I feel as though my life is passing me by while I react to the day to day needs without any greater direction.  I am a passenger in my own car; a supporting actor in my own movie.  

 

I want to be able to look at my kids and say “We are T's and T's don’t…” or “Remember your ancestors, they were…” but each one ends open and without clarity.

 

I’m not sure what to do about this.  I daydream of trips to Peru or Vision quests in the desert where I meet my ancestors or spirit animal and all of my questions are answered.  I have seen my crest and motto.  I know my totem.   

 

I read a book once where a character was frustrated with another person and little did, he know but the reader learns that he was a descendent of Attila’s huns and his envisioning of filling his antagonist with arrows was a byproduct of his genetic code.  I want that insight. 

 

So how do you get around this?  How do you find “You”?  I don’t have the answer to this but I am guessing that it too involves time alone meditating and focusing on this very question.  Maybe I will hear the sound of beers being poured and the murmured chaos of the Octoberfest tents.

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