More Than A Test

For a few years I've been working on family history, on both sides of my family.  It started because Kevin's mom's memories were slipping and she was failing in health. I seized the opportunity before it was too late.  Then I had time on my hands unexpectedly and I started it for my mother too.

It has unearthed some interesting things, like my dad being illegitimate and the appearance of my grandma and grandpa eloping.

I've culled through and scanned hundreds of photos until I couldn't see straight.  I've spend endless hours hovered over the family tree database.  It feels like the more one learns, the more you need to learn.  It's a good kind of addiction.

So, then I decided that I was going to get my dna tested.  Just to get origins, not for any deeper details.  I made the joke to my eldest brother at his wedding shower about "We'll see what secrets that brings out. maybe we have siblings."

Dude did not laugh.

I mean, I've said before that I would not be surprised for one moment if someone introduced themselves as a long lost sibling.  Making a joke is on one level, having a brother not laugh and not confirm or deny is A Whole Other Level.

Because I am literally a slow learner, I made a similar statement to my mother.  She said something like "Well, you never know."

*RECORD SCRATCH SOUND EFFECT*

What the actual hell, family?

I know I've said I've been raised by wolves before and this is the perfect hands-gesturing-in-a-Ta! Dah!-fashion example.

About a month ago I finally did it.  I signed up for the dna info sharing so, indeed, we will find out who all exists out there.  So far it's one cousin that we share a grandma and a BUNCH of second and third cousins. No one terribly interesting.

As predicted, I am so much Caucasian that I should be clear.  Not one speck of any sort of interesting shade in my dna.  English, Scottish, Irish, some more English.  The most interesting part is another shade of white from Norway that I didn't know about.

One side of my family were farmers in the deep south so I wondered if that would bring anything interesting/horrifying out.  I've looked at census records through my hands over my eyes, hoping that there was no slave ownership.  So far, so good.

Another side owned orange groves in Southern California so that would bring the possibility of some Hispanic in the family line.  Nope.

Finally, family lore was that there was Native American in my mother's family.  I confirmed that there was via uncles, generations removed, but it appears there were no offspring so no Native American dna.

So at risk of daring the Universe to eff with me, that turned out boring.

Now one of the kids is working on their family tree.  They have a different father than their siblings so it has created kind of a weird vacuum.  The intention is pure, they just want to know where they came from.

Kevin and I debated it a little bit.  I explained that it's not about WHO these people are or even making in-person connections. It is not demeaning who raised someone versus who provided genetic material.  It's learning details that make you say "Oh, THAT'S why."  It's having a little glimpse of how we all got here.

I learned that my interest in all things racecar is from my maternal grandpa who owned a machine shop and raced motorcycles with his brother.  When I discovered that, it was a like a light was turned on.  My maternal grandma was a bit of a wild child, so now I know that's where the rebel trait comes from.  My other grandma had a very interesting romantic life and in the strangest way, it made me feel better.  She just kept trying and neither grandma gave up on love, even with epic heartbreak.

This is the kind of thing that a person can discover about their family history and about yourself. In some ways, it's healing something that you might even know needs mending.  It's seeing something come full circle throughout the generations.

And who knows?  in the future maybe our family will grow in ways one never predicted.