"Let us dare to read, think, speak, and write."

I got into a really interesting texting discussion with my dad tonight regarding our family's genealogy. I'm watching that Paul Giamatti powdered wig-fest, John Adams, and I texted my dad to ask him how long our family had been in the country. He told me that we were fourth generation (which I assume makes me fifth generation) and that our family came to America from Germany sometime before the birth of my great grandfather, in Cincinnati, in 1880. Near as we can figure, our family came from the Alsace-Lorraine region of Germany when it was still German, and not under French control. However, there's every reason to believe that my forefathers were in the region at the time of the French influence, which means that I could feasibly be more "French" than "German" (yes, the quotes are largely inappropriate, but do service to a technicality).

Todd said that this explains my "Parisian good looks."

I say that Todd is the best man breathing.

None of this is -- or really can be -- confirmed, of course, but it's nice to have something that my dad and I can bloodhound together. I was telling him earlier today that my newly kindled interest in American history has a lot to do with the fact that I believe that I am finally old enough to appreciate where I came from. That trip to Gettysburg doesn't resonate as much with the eighth grade version of myself as it would with, say, the version of myself that now knows I had family members who fought on both sides of the conflict. 'Suppose it's that "quarter-life crisis of identity" thing rearing its ugly head again. Whoever said that youth was wasted on the young clearly never had to contend with student loans at today's interest rates.