When I hear someone tell me that their “great, great, great, great grandmother was a Cherokee princess” I tend to feel a bit offended, mainly because anyone that actually takes the time to research about indigenous peoples, particularly the American Indians, would know that there were no kings, queens, or princesses.

The long answer is I care because of my roots. I was adopted the from the Spirit Lake Nation near Devils Lake, N.D.

A couple summers ago, I took a genetic test that clarified my genetic percentage of Native Ancestry. I am 1/4 Native American. However, due to a closed adoption, certain things cannot be traced and the struggle with legal documents makes it difficult to enroll in a tribe.

That may be something I will do someday if that is where my journey takes me. But right now I know where my path is leading.

As a person who has what’s called “passing privilege” —having the privilege to be seen and “pass” as white and not experience the systematic, institutionalized oppression — it is my responsibility to honor my roots.