International Hug A Norwegian Day

You don’t say? And I almost missed it?

I don’t know how seriously to take anything that starts out as a Facebook group, but as there’s a family myth about a Norwegian able seaman named Michaelsen who jumped ship in New Orleans, headed North and ended up near the Nebraska-Illinois border, changing his name to avoid identification and eventually becoming my great-great-grandfather, I will cheerfully accept hugs. (The great thing about America is that you can poach on so many national identities.)

I submit Exhibit A (there are no surviving pictures of any quality in the Michaelsen generation; this is my great-granduncle Manuel, which is the sort of name that might come down in a Scandihoovian family from seafaring). A subsequent generation of Scots-Irish creamed the pure Nordic strain in the genes, but I own that jaw, all 317 miles of it.

I don’t know if anyone would have ever had the nerve to hug that guy, but I don’t think they make DNA that pigment-deprived anywhere South of the Sixtieth parallel.

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11 thoughts on “International Hug A Norwegian Day

    • I think they must have been pretty flinty on both sides of the family. My great-grandmother, his sister-in-law, I have written about elsewhere: as a teenager she lost an eye in an accident with a bolting horse and never got a glass one — couldn’t see the expense. At eighty-eight she was still baking for the Midwestern part of the family.

  1. Coming back here from your comment over at the MoR. [I looked up *leutensallat* and it took me here; I am in Tuscany now btw].
    Forget the chin. The eyes of that guy are amazing. So sky or baby blue coloured. He doesn’t look menacing or looming, now that I think of it.

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