Ashton: Origins [Part 1: Lord Macaulay]

3. Ashton: Origins [Part 1: Lord Macaulay]

     While I prefer to stick to my shared ancestry with the ancient cave dwellers of the African plains that we all no doubt descended from, this answer does not often appease those who ask the question, “Where are you from?” I could also say American, which might help me get by and in some countries makes me a prime target for nefarious plots such as, but not limited to: kidnapping, highway robbery, organ stealing, and a clever framing for the murder of a duchess who’s name I can’t pronounce (it wasn’t me, I swear it). So, while being American does bring with it a host of excitement and nastiness beyond belief, and the origin of life in Africa is far more satisfying, I have chosen to identify with the predominant cultures of my parents’ lineage.

     As our society seems to value the quality of possessing male genitals, I will begin with the origin my father (patriarchal societies for 1000). As a child, my father would often go on at great length regarding our kilt wearing, bagpipe blowing, Mel Gibson impersonating ancestors. Yes, on my father’s side I find that I am a member of that noble lineage which values above all else a lack of underwear and the ability to throw large logs great distances. I cannot be sure as to the actual origins of how my people came to this god-blessed land of double fried chicken sandwiches, but if I had to guess, it would be something like this:

Lord Macaulay: Raper, Pillager, and Cultural Philanthropist

     To begin I would like to assert that one of the titles given to my ancestor in the title is false (it’s a not-so fun guessing game). Lord Macaulay was a real person. He was unremarkable and was known for little other than writing a history of Scotland, which no doubt featured many pictures of bleak landscapes and nobility in various poses intended to appear both somber and pensive. One might think that a history of an entire nation is quite the feat, but I can assure you that it is nothing in comparison to the imagination of a wild boy, who wanted with desperate fervor to battle for freedom with multicolored face paints.

     It was in the early 1200s (give or take five-hundred years) that Lord Macaulay grew tired of the old carpets and nude tapestries that adorned the walls of his castle. Most lords were satisfied to be alive (there were some wars at one point or another), and to have the relative assurance that there was a class lower than they were, but Lord Macaulay was not most lords. Rather than sitting to rot of boredom and fierce drink, Lord Macaulay set out in a long boat for America (as was most uncommon of anyone at the time considering they were too busy breeding prized sheep). Most men would have taken a boat with sails or other form of transportation, but Lord Macaulay was on a drunken bender of inspiration and spontaneity. Fortunately, he did not recover from this energizing stupor until he was midway across the Atlantic.  

     Aside from a fearsome battle with a kraken and a few highly sexualized encounters with mer-people (that’s the preferred nomenclature), the journey was not very interesting. I’m not in the business of writing a Game of Thrones fan fiction, so suffice it to say, the journey was a bloody orgy. Many a whale bellowed long mournful cries at the calamities that followed in the wake of Lord Macaulay’s boat, but they were whales, and he was not a man to put much stock in the opinions of oversized, aqueous mammals.

When Lord Macaulay arrived on the American coastline, he found that he was greeted by strict anti-immigration laws. If images of Ellis Island come to mind, think again, as the United States had yet to be founded.  Rather than an aggravated immigration officer in a puffy coat, it was the Native Americans who balked his arrival. They had been burnt by White people before (as have most cultures that we have come into contact with), and weren’t about to let a crazy Scott with a boat full of kraken entrails, settle their lands (I think we can all understand their trepidation). In his rage at being so casually dismissed, Lord Macaulay turned back to the seas, where he drank himself bitter, blacked out, and woke up on the California coast.  

     Rumor has it that he discovered the fabled Northwest Passage. However, two years later it would be destroyed by a heard of bison with unrealistic geological capabilities. In any case, he settled in California, struck gold, and then proceeded to live a life of privilege. It is unclear how he ever found a mate, but some of the legends imply that we are the spawn of mer-people. While I am quite an excellent swimmer, I cannot be sure how much stock to put in this story, as the webs on my fingers don’t seem that much larger than anyone else’s…

     So there you have it. I am one half Scottish/Mer-Person on my father’s side. Don’t believe me? Well then you’re reading the wrong story.