|I'm sure you see the resemblance.|
So apparently, I am related to Elvis Presley.
At a family wedding recently, my siblings informed me our dad’s sister’s husband’s first cousin was Elvis Presley’s mother. Guess that explains my hunka-hunka burnin’ personality.
“Well, anybody could say that,” I argued. But they insisted, giving me a look that says, “You ain’t nuthin’ but a hound dog.” How had I remained ignorant of this important piece of trivia when they’d all known it forever?
“Don’t be cruel,” I said.
We all wondered the same thing: when would a piece of the Graceland pie come our way? The cheques must be in the mail.
Pondering what I’ll do with my share when it arrives, it occurred to me that Elvis’s daughter was married to the late Michael Jackson for a couple of years. Imagine the loot accompanying THAT union! When I was thirteen and plastering my bedroom walls with pages torn from Tiger Beat magazine and ruining the fake woodgrain wallpaper by taping up pictures of the Jackson Five (right between Donny Osmond and David Cassidy), it never occurred to me that little Michael and I would one day be kin. But it does explain the uncanny resemblance.
Checking out the branches of Elvis’s family tree on-line, I never did find myself — or even his mom’s cousin who married Dad’s sister. But I did learn some things I didn’t know, probably common knowledge to hard core Elvis fans. Did you know his maternal great-great-great-grandmother, Morning White Dove, was a full-blooded Cherokee Indian? His paternal great-grandmother, Rosella, bore nine children out of wedlock and never once revealed to her children who their fathers were.
His maternal grandparents were first cousins (the inspiration for “Kissin’ Cousins”?) He had an identical twin who was stillborn, named Jesse Garon. Imagine if there had been two of them. Methinks somebody’s blue suede shoes might have been stepped on after all.
Isn’t it interesting how we feel self-important in unearthing a connection to the rich and famous, regardless how all-shook-up their lineage? The truth is, go back far enough and you’ll eventually discover we are all connected. Humbling, ain’t it?
I confess, I’ve never taken much interest in genealogy. I figure it doesn’t really matter when you’ve been adopted by the most famous King of all. The documentation goes back much farther than the internet, too. The Bible tells me things like:
“But to all who believed him and accepted him, he gave the right to become children of God.” (John 1:12)
“For you are all the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:26), and
“See how very much our Father loves us, for he calls us his children, and that is what we are!” (I John 3).
I could go on.
In her hymn, Child of the King, Harriett Buell wrote, “I once was an outcast stranger on earth, a sinner by choice and an alien by birth. But I’ve been adopted, my name’s written down; an heir to a mansion, a robe, and a crown.”
Now that’s an inheritance worth waiting for.