Sticks and stones hurt, but names can be worse. Really.

Nicknames can be amusing. Or not.

President Trump, among his many other accomplishments, has established himself as the chief name caller. One of his targets is a U.S. senator from Massachusetts.

Elizabeth Warren is no wallflower. The Democrat uses some of the over-the-top techniques favored by our president. The two have clashed on just about every issue imaginable.

Somewhere along the line, Senator Warren made reference to her Native American heritage. Trump seized the opportunity to belittle her, dubbing her, for future reference, as "Pocahontas."

Pocahontas is something of an enigmatic figure in our colonial history, especially if we leave such matters to the Longfellows. On the one hand she legendarily saved the life of an English invader. She underwent a transformation into British customs and beliefs. She died far removed, emotionally and physically, from her own ancestral roots. It's hard to say whether she was as proud of being Native American as Elizabeth Warren appears to be.

Not that it matters. So what if the senator is less than a thousandth Native American? What special attributes, other than interesting conversation, come with being part anything?

All of us, I suspect, are part something. If I'm Irish, for example, I probably also have a connection to Scotland. The family lore is that one of my 18th century ancestors -- very likely a Scot -- fled his native land to Ireland because of a certain unclear matter involving a stolen pig. Thus, when this McClard fellow came to America in the late 1700s, he was identified as Irish, not Scottish.

Confusing? You bet it is. And it is a muddle for just about everyone, no matter our ancestral background.

For example, my paternal grandmother's side of the family has been traced -- and duly recorded on various websites -- to 17th century Devonshire in England.

It was on the Internet, so it must be true.

That's what they used to say about newspapers. Remember?

My maternal grandfather's ancestry also reaches back to the 16th and 17th centuries when some Swiss relatives fled to Holland to avoid religious persecution. They were Anabaptists and soon discovered Holland wasn't Eden. Or Utopia. So they trundled off to America, winding up in Pennsylvania as part of William Penn's experiment in brotherly love called Philadelphia.

As it turns out, my Wirtmiller ancestors ran into some tough situations because of their beliefs, and one of the family leaders asked Penn for permission to establish a suburban colony of like believers. Penn said yes, and the Germantown area of Philadelphia is still there, although my guess is that its inhabitants, the newer ones, know little of this history.

So, if President Trump and I were to get into a spat -- which will not happen because I don't have a Twitter account and don't intend to open one, what would he call me?

Would he mix up his religious groups, all of which found in America the freedom, eventually, to worship as they pleased? Would he refer to me as "that Mormon," even though the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints has no connection to Anabaptists?

Or would I become "King Joe," a reference to the fact that most Americans, including the current president, presume the biggest export from Great Britain to be royalty, particularly the kind that swamp the Internet with every detail about royal weddings and breathlessly anticipated pregnancies, not to mention the occasional smarmy divorce.

Or would the president call me "Pope Joe" in another confused religious reference that is completely implausible, since there is no wider gulf that I can imagine than the one between Anabaptists and Roman Catholics. That's not a putdown of either belief system. Just a fact.

If the president needs any guidance in the matter of labels to hang on folks he doesn't like -- and he certainly doesn't appear to need any assistance whatsoever, I would suggest that fewer ad hominem slams aimed at his detractors would go a long way to shore up his reasons for taking certain stands on certain issues.

That's just me, of course. Maybe I could be of more help if I could find a drop or two of Native American blood in my family tree.

Joe Sullivan is the retired editor of the Southeast Missourian.