After 8 years, do I get to call myself a Virginian yet?

When does one become a Virginian?

The question's not a softball setup for a Jeff Foxworthy list, one that starts, "You know you're from Virginia when you have more coffee-table books on Thomas Jefferson than actual coffee tables."

Instead, it is an odd, often unaddressed question of identity, one that surfaces come holiday time when parents and grandparents and nosy out-of-state aunts and uncles ask how long you're going to live in ol' Virginny.

Which raises more questions: When is it OK to claim Virginia as your own? When is it OK to call yourself a Virginian?

A journalist who covers the Peninsula recently told me about people who sit through public meetings, then dutifully introduce themselves as "come-heres," as if the best way to gain immediate credibility is to acknowledge that they weren't born in Virginia.

Yet when he asks the come-heres how new they are to Virginia, many say they've lived in the commonwealth for 10, 15, 20 years - most of their adult lives. Then they turn the questions on him: Did you grow up here? Did you go to college here? What brings you to these parts? How long you been here? From-here or come-here?

Despite all the talk of southern hospitality, the exaggerated perception is that Virginia is still a place where the only way to be somebody is if your daddy knows somebody else's daddy. Even in a highly transient place like Hampton Roads, in the right neighborhoods and at the right establishments, history is as thick as the August humidity.

That narrative isn't entirely fictional. During the last election cycle, Dave Marsden, a senator from northern Virginia, described himself as "a true Virginian." Terry McAuliffe, who ran for governor in 2009, is regularly referred to as a "carpetbagger" despite having lived in Virginia for more than 20 years.

From-here or come-here?

The answer might surprise you. According to a report this month from the Census bureau, most Virginia residents were not born in the commonwealth. In 1990, 54 percent of those living in the state were natives. Now, 49 percent were born within the boundaries. The come--heres have not only come, they have taken over. Veni, vidi, vici, Virginia.

The population is more mobile, especially in the northern part of the state. Generations of families are spread throughout the country. Virginia is for transients.

All of this makes questions, not merely of residency, but of belonging, more difficult. But on this subject, the answers rarely arrive with clarity.

I have lived in Virginia more than eight years. I have voted here more times than in any other state. I have paid more taxes here than in any other state. I own a house here. I've donated to charities here. I've celebrated the holidays here. I will occasionally even do the insufferable and remind someone that Virginia is not a state, but a commonwealth. I might not cheer for the Hokies or the 'Hoos, but I've shared season tickets for the Tides. What other practical measures are needed?

Most importantly, do any of these actions make me, or anyone else, more or less Virginian? Only by the most shallow measures.

If you want to claim Virginia, go ahead. Like me, you live here, you pay taxes here, you've picked up a touch of an accent immediately audible to your nosy aunts and uncles. Call it a temporary place of residency. Call it the location of your domicile. Better yet, be a bit old-fashioned: Call it home.

Less than half of Virginia's residents were born here, but anyone who's been in the commonwealth awhile knows counting yourself as a Virginian has nothing to do with your place of birth.

Instead, the better question to ask is how many Thomas Jefferson coffee-table books you own.

Mike Gruss, (757) 446-2277, mike.gruss@pilotonline.com, PilotOnline.com/gruss