Ah...Ah...Ah...Recuse Me!

Gesundheit!

My fellow citizens, I would gladly serve jury duty, but, alas, a mea culpa—Euro-American mutt that I am—may not be fair.

I am a dollop English, with nearly equal tablespoons of Irish, French, and German.

With the long-running aggravations between the Irish and the English—well, duh. Would have to sit out should someone’s ancestors linked to either side be on the docket. A shame, really. I liked London very much, and my mother insists that if I ever visit our Irish cousins, I would never return home.

Just hit me that those of Spanish ancestry will give me cause to step back. An English relative of mine was Lord of the Admiralty when Nelson won—and was mortally wounded—at Trafalgar. Too bad—loved Barcelona.

Which leads me to the French a la Trafalgar, Waterloo, Agincourt, Hastings, and all the rest. Loved Paris. Loved Toulouse. Loved the paella cooked over a flame in Port-Vendres by a retired contractor, who lived and worked in Algeria before returning to his native land. Okay, Algerians, too, just in case.

Oh, and the German connection. Need I even mention my English and French ancestors’ perceptions going back, back, back. Or the other way around. But I loved Bamberg and the Best of the Wurst tour I made in the surrounding region. Twice.

Hmmm, and the Italians allied with the Germans during WWII. Noooo! And the Japanese. Where does it end?

So many continuing hostilities not of my making in the previous generation and during mine, but not all can forgive and forget. And so in the spirit of fairness, Korean- and Vietnamese- and Afghan- and Iraqi-Americans can rest assured I will stand down for the greater good.

There now. May all your trials be swift and justice be served.