Evening, Guvna'

Above what you're reading now, you will no doubt have seen a British flag. It's a bit odd. None of my previous entries have had pictures. I just want to drive a point home with this one.

I'm British. I didn't choose to be British, but according to the British Embassy in Washington, DC, I was registered as a British citizen on October 3rd, 1991. There's nothing I can do about that, but we'll work through it. Together.

I bring this up because in the past year I've faced resistance to this notion. I've had people tell me that I'm as British as a Bolivian Botfly. That might have been from when I had a really bad trip and met Dr. Seuss, actually.

In any case, people have told me that I'm not British because I was born in Fairfax. I can kind of see some sort of diluted argument in there somewhere, but to defend myself, I'll call the aide of a fellow hockey player.



The large human being above is Robyn Regehr, a defenseman for the Calgary Flames. He was born in the Brazilian city of Recife. That's right. Brazil. Robyn has been a steady defensive defenseman for years on the Calgary blueline. So much so that he got the call for his national team at the 2006 Olympics in Torino.

He got an assist during his 6-game stint with Team Canada.

Wait what? Canada? This guy's Brazilian, right?

No. No he's not. He's Canadian. So is his brother Richie (who was born across the globe in Bundung, Indonesia). Both were born far outside of Canada's borders, but somehow they're still true blood Canadians. Could it be because of their two Canadian parents? What a novel fucking idea.

But for some people, this logic doesn't seem to translate over to my own experience. Both of my parents are British, but the fact that I was born in Fairfax suddenly nullifies any tea-drinking, cricket-playing, crumpet-eating Britishness. Is there a sub-rule to this rule? Do my parents need to be missionaries in countries less-developed than their own in order for me to inherit their nationalities?

I think not.

You might be asking yourself why I care so much. It seems like I'm just clinging to some random personal fact to give me something to brag about to a lot of you, I expect. It's not, though. It's pride; patriotism.

I'm proud that I'm British, just as other people in this country are proud of being American. I'm proud that I was raised to appreciate a brand of humor that is seen as hard to understand and high brow. I'm proud that my country has such a rich history filled with all of the romance and intrigue of a cheap erotic novel. I'm proud that, given enough time to decypher it, I can understand Cockney rhyming slang. And yes, I'm proud that, when called upon, I can speak in and sustain accents from all of the different corners of Britannia.

I haven't really gotten around to it, but I've often meant to ask the people who put my heritage into question why they're so insistent on putting me down. Is it really that annoying to hear me go on about it?

I'll remind you of that next time you mention you're half mexican.