I Speak Not my Mother's Tongue

I could tell that for a while, my mother was ashamed of our heritage. Many of my family members played a role in the second world war that few people can forgive. And who can blame them? Much of my family was committed for war crimes. Many were executed. I myself, however, took a large interest. Though not one myself, I was always interested in learning about Nazis. The thing I was probably most interested in was their way of organization, their unique look, and their ways of execution. It was so organised, so distinguished. I do not praise them for their ideology, however. I tolerate anyone and everyone, including my ancestors. I cannot, however say the same for my mother; She moved away to France with me for a while. We spent small portion of our life in a place that was the French equivalent to Berchtesgaden, small village called Chartreuse. We found ourselves often visiting Paris. On the weekends, we would head east to Munich to visit my grandparents. It wasn't too far, as Chartreuse was near the border to Germany. I do miss it so, as I spent much of my life there. Then, after a year and a half, we moved to Russia. We spent our time working at a hotel with some Polish friends of ours, who I took a great liking to. They were like a surrogate family, even though my mother had no romantic relationship with any of them. Again, after three years, we moved here to America. We live in yet another small place in the state of Oregon known as Goble. This time, we took our grandparents, and now we live on this farm in the middle of the woods. I have had a great deal of experience of Americans in Europe, and watched many cowboy movies and listen to much country music. I did actually eventually develop a type of country accent, like that of Reba McEntire. With my deep, resonant voice, I actually came to sound nearly exactly like Sam Elliot. At this new school I go to, I am known as the Man in Black, due to my usual attire, which is realize as a reference to Johnny Cash, one of my favorite singers. I can sing like him too. Right now I'm working on making a Barbershop Quartet in school. It seems like fun. But every now and then, my personality splits. Am I a real American Man? Or does German flood my veins? It depends on the situation. Watching a western, I'm a cowboy. Watching this WWII documentary, I am German. Relative situations will trigger a switch it seems, though I am still myself. Maybe someday, whichever is stronger will prevail, and then maybe... just maybe... I'll know who I am.