I am a REAL American.
Whew! Glad we got that out of the way. For a minute there, I thought I might be considered disloyal. You can't go to jail for that yet, but you will.
And why am I busting with American-ness?
My mother's family, the Munroes, were brought to America in the 1600s, before it was America, back when the English owned every tree in the American forest.
Three Munroes, brothers, were captured in a Scottish rebellion against the British crown, and shipped here in chains, as punishment. As part of their punishment, they became indentured servants, which meant they had to work for someone for a certain period of years.
This is important. The fact that my ancestors were indentured servants means I now have the moral high ground over the descendants of African-American slaves.
"What about the millions of white, Scottish slaves," I can mutter while waving a Confederate flag and picking my teeth with a bayonet. "When it comes to slavery, white people did all the heavy lifting."
It gives me a leg up in all those other European immigrants who came here later, too.
"My Great-Grandfather Silvia came here from Naples," they say. "He wanted to be an American, and he DID everything legally. Not like these people now."