I’m feeling a little lost. I’ve just lost my heritage. I am not Cherokee like I thought I was my whole life.

It recently occurred to me that I may not be alone in my sorrowed vacuum of emptiness. I’ve heard about some other people that once lost their heritage too. On the plus side, I personally haven’t lost any land, food sources, or contracted a deadly illness. Maybe those guys had it a bit worse than me. Maybe my sad and lonely feeling is almost like payback. A very insignificant payback, but it’s something I guess.

I was proudly told my whole life that I was part Cherokee. A 16th, to be exact. But the other day, I was having a somewhat crude conversation about winning a fight. Not one that I’m particularly proud of in retrospect. I often have my ‘not finest moments’ with my own kids. I don’t know why. My son asked,“Why would you beat anyone in a fight?

I replied kinda cocky, “Because I’m Indian”.

He asked, “What would that matter?

I said, as if imparting some kind of age old wisdom, “By not fighting fair. The object is to win. It’s not to fight with rules”.

Then he crushed me with the matter of fact tone, “You’re not Indian”.

“Whaaaa? How dare…., uhhhhh.”

A few months before, the genealogy topic came up with a family member. The elder cuz. She knows all and will inflict knowledge upon you with a confectionery made of love and comical fury. Actually, she simply stated that we do not have any Cherokee in our blood. I immediately disputed that information. It was the first time I’d heard of this blasphemous untruth. Oh, I denied it. But secretly, I was doubting myself with my own specialty mixture of insecurity and wisdom. So then, brilliantly, I summoned the all knowing Google and discovered that there is a lack of Cherokee DNA available, making it difficult to track lineage with any accuracy in a genealogy test. Vastly proving my point.

And I was right about that. There are limited samples of Cherokee DNA due to a lack of tribal participation. They do not care if you are Indian or not. If it’s speculated that if you are not, there will be a massive financial loss in tourism and the casino economy (I read that on the internet). Cherokee are just fine with everyone thinking they are part Cherokee. As long as you stay away from the private Tribal Ceremonies at the Cherokee Nation headquarters in Tahlequa, Oklahoma.

But for me, I really want to know. Google was so incredibly all knowing that it was bold enough to share my interest with its good buddy, Facebook. Without even asking. Boom! Magic! There it was. An online service to track my genealogy appearing right there in my feed. Algorithmic manifest destiny. No individualistic thought required.

With a little more internet verification, I discovered that this was somehow amazingly not a scam. They didn’t even want dirty money. It is a volunteer based service for the tribal curious. It is a private group with a private link to be accepted. Cherokee Indians- Research/Genealogy (the spider web of Cherokee families). So, away I sent the information required to see if I qualify and get in the queue.

I was confused about how this worked. An assigned, searchable thread. Tags and posts. Comments by others jumping in on our not so private, private family research. It seems kinda clunky. They talk about The Dawes Roll and the government census. I don’t know nuthin about no Dawes Roll.

By the way, the percentage of passed down genetics is surprisingly low. The 4th generation carries only 6.25% of DNA. By the 7th generation, we’ve accumulated 128 grandparents with .78% DNA.

We get 50% DNA from each parent. So if we have one great, great, grandparent that was 100% Native, we only have a maximum possibility of 6.25%. All that DNA also gets distributed unevenly, so there is no way to calculate the actual percentage of DNA. Most people that think they’re Cherokee have no blood connection at all.

Very discouraging since I figured Grandma was half Cherokee. I wouldn’t have enough to claim even a tiny bit of government benefits for my kids.

It was also said that Grandma purposely did not claim her heritage, making it impossible for offspring to become a member of the Cherokee Tribal Nation and claim benefits from the U.S. government. I always assumed I was denied the hope of any college tuition because of Grandma’s stubbornness and social pressures of the times.

I was told the reason she refused her bloodline was that she believed she was “dirty”. A socially unaccepted dirty Indian. I deduced she was brainwashed as a child by White Christians, working for the government, simply to deny her rights to any benefits.

So was it all a lie? Was the proud family surname, Rogers, connected to ‘The Cherokee Cowboy’, Will Rogers also a lie? Well, not necessarily. DNA can be reduced over time, but it doesn’t mean you can’t have a Native cousin without you, yourself having Native American DNA. I am hoping to find that information in the future, but for now I’m adjusting to a new identity. I’m White. Ugh.

I’ve identified as Cherokee most of my life. My bond was solidified, upon learning at a truck stop rest area in Georgia, that our original Tribal land was there. Beautiful Georgia. With trees and mountains and wildlife and streams. In fact those Native lands went across thousands of miles and many States. I was infuriated that my precious family had been removed from this abundance of life supporting geography and plopped down into the desolate, lifeless, dirt fields of Oklahoma. And I was especially angry at President Andrew Jackson for breaking his promises and sending them on the Trail of Tears. Why the Hell is he on the twenty dollar bill?

My native blood was boiling with distrust, defiance, and anger, at the injustice our Country had inflicted upon me and my people.

American history is disgusting towards the Indians. From coast to coast. The killing of bison to starve them into submission and take their lands. The integration schools. The abuse. The deaths. The Reservations. It never ends.

But suddenly, overnight, now I am on the wrong side of the bloodline in this terrorism. My side was the bad guys. Full of greed with no sense of morality. Murderers and rapists. (Ironically, much like the Apache and Comanche were also said to behave from time to time).

So now I’m sad, and a little mad, I’m not Cherokee. All my life I’ve seen myself as someone in touch with nature. I can hear the trees speak. I’ve been spiritual. Arrogantly better than just being religious. My God is the wind and sky. I feel what the animals feel. My identity is native-born, not some mythical fable occurring far, far away in the Middle East desert with a White baby from a woman that never had intercourse. I have darker skin than, say, the Irish or British.

In a way, this is a good thing. It means that feathers and long hair aren’t the only things that make someone a decent human. Maybe White people can actually be decent humans. Who’d a thunk it? There might even be a few Indians that are total jerks too. Anybody ever think of that? Anybody not raised on an Indian Reservation?

Oh yeah, strangely unrelated that my Dad chose to raise his family on the Navajo Reservation for a good, long ten years. We definitely identified as White. And I definitely paid the price for it. No John Ford, Hollywood history, or even actual factual American history was bestowed upon me, so I was confused as to why a White kid wearing a cowboy hat would continuously get beat up by Indians on the bus and at school. Amazingly, I didn’t really figure that out until late in life. It was a,”oh yeah, I get it now” moment.

The line from the movie, Smoke Signals might’ve awakened that part of my traumatized brain. “The only thing more pathetic than Indians on TV is Indians watching Indians on TV” -Thomas Builds-the-Fire

I don’t know if I can actually accept this. I will always feel like the stereotypical Indian on TV, with a single tear slowly leaking out, dramatically distraught over a piece of highway trash destroying the sanctity of the roadside. You know, where all the road scum oil and antifreeze and dead animals are.

Maybe I’ll adjust. Maybe I’ll maintain my own spiritual, kind soul. I’ll keep my long hair which I partially attributed to the Native American stereotype over time. It didn’t start that way. I just never liked haircuts. Probably more of an ADHD thing.

Wait a gol-dang second!…. Do I even have ADHD?————————————-

For anyone that is interested, here is the breakdown on my Grandma’s side.

The starting point is Grandma and Grandpa Stephens. Both born in Gracemont, Oklahoma. Grandpa’s birthplace is not confirmed as his certificate was lost in a fire.

Grandma’s parents were

John Franklin Rogers (born in Texas 1873 to 1950) and Margaret Emily Shepherd (born in Kansas September 1885 to 1959) Married Oct 22, 1905 Ridgeport, Caddo county, Oklahoma

Both buried in Gracemont, Oklahoma

Margaret Emily Rogers (her name at the time of the Guion Miller payment. 1906-1911) She did not apply for the Payment. She would’ve if she’d been Cherokee.

Their children were

*Irma May Rogers April 30,1906-January 4,1986 (Grandma)

William Rogers 1908 –

Rachel Rogers 1910-

John Richard Rogers 1912-

Roland Euphrates Rogers 1914-1985

Robert Vance Rogers 1921-1979

Jack Claude Rogers 1925-2001

*spouse of Irma May

John Richard Stephens

October 10,1900-August 31,1986 (Grandpa)

Children of John and Irma Stephens

James Richard Stephens 1925-2016

Clyde Rogers Stephens 1926-1992

Elizabeth ‘Betty’ Stephens 1928-2013

William Roland ‘Bill’ Stephens 1932-2022

Emily Louis Stephens 1933-2015

Raymond Vance Stephens 1935-1995

In 1910 Federal Census (not the special Indian Census where Irma May would’ve been found if her mother had been Cherokee) from The U.S. National Archives and Records Administration (NARA)

Irma May was 4 years old, listed as White, living in Caddo county Oklahoma. Not in the Cherokee Nation

1917 at 10 years old, Irma May was in Gracemont, Oklahoma. Not in the Cherokee Nation.

In 1900, her mother, Emily Shepherd was 14 living in Kingfisher, Oklahoma. Not on the Cherokee Nation. Listed as White on the Census

Concluded there is no Cherokee connection on the maternal Stephens/Rogers genealogy