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| 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.
