Culture Shock

Today, in Times Square, Native American musicians that were performing on the underground passage way smiled at me. I was standing there listening to their music, a bystander along with a few others. But as I was going to walk away and follow along in my friends' path, one of them steps away from their mic and approaches me.

"What tribe is your family from?" He asks me.

At first his words did not register in my mind, and I lamely replied with a simple; "Excuse me?"

He goes on to ask his question once more and adding while pointing to his forehead,, "You have the look of my people." 

Nodding my head I remember somewhere along the line being told I was part Native American but not remembering which tribe it actually was. I don't think anyone in my family still remembers that little bit of information. So I just told him I'm part Native American, but I wasn't sure what tribe.

He smiled and took hold of my hand anyhow, and looking into my eyes he said: "Do not forget your ancestors."

Since that moment I was curious to what race I say I am. For someone like me, a mix breed,

30% Argentinian,

20% Puerto Rican,

20% Native American,

10% Irish,

10% German,

100% Confused and 200% Ignorant,

It becomes a battle to simply know where your grandparents come from or where to put the check in th box.

For it's not only the adopted child that struggles with identity but their following family.

I'm a Latina that knows no lick of Spanish,

A Native America without a tribe,

An Irishman by liver

And German by recessive genes.

We declare ourselves American, but really there is no such things.

We are other cultures held together by one massive piece of land.

And as I road the train home that day, I wished I had asked the man,

"What tribe are you from?"