Ethnic joke may just be ... on you

You might assume from my name that I have some Irish blood in me. Correct. But let me tell you the rest of the story.

What you probably wouldn’t guess, either from my name or my looks, is that I am of 25 percent Spanish — what some might term Hispanic — heritage. My grandmother, on my mother’s side, was Spanish. She was somewhat darkskinned, whereas I am pasty white. And yet, in my presence, I’ve heard friends and acquaintances make jokes about Hispanics. I suppose they thought I couldn’t possibly have those ethnic roots, so they didn’t fear offending me.

And, since I do have a sense of humor, I didn’t just automatically walk away in a huff. I let the jokes slide. Even non-joking remarks I let slide because I gave the benefit of the doubt that, deep down, these people weren’t just reprehensible bigots with no redeeming value.

I have a nephew, Darian, who is a sweet and intelligent kid. I love him. One of his parents is white, the other black. So, I have black people in my family. And I’ve heard my share of jokes and disparaging remarks about black people, too. Again, I’ve usually let this slide.

Growing up in the neighborhood I did — one that was 99 percent white, mostly Irish and where many of us were not taught any better — I made my share of jokes about every ethnic group of which we were not a part. I like to think I’ve matured past most of that, and that’s a big part of why I let such things from other people go without comment now. I was one of those people before, but I got past it. I like to think these other folks will do so, too, and my getting into their faces with selfrighteousness and anger seems less likely to help that cause.

Now let me tell you what my uncle — my father’s brother — told me the other day.

He did some genealogical research and, as part of it, he decided to get one of those DNA tests that are so popular right now. It’s supposed to tell you what ethnic groups are part of your heritage. You know, you’ve seen those TV ads with the guy in a kilt.

So the test told my uncle what we already knew — we were mostly Irish. There were some other European folks among our ancestors; nothing surprising there. Then he dropped a bombshell.

His results came back as 18.6 percent Ashkenazi Jew. This means that I am, one generation further along, at least 9.3 percent Jewish.

Well, when he told me, I had to laugh. This is because that side of my family were not averse to making jokes about Jews, too, and had shown no restraint about dragging out the usual reprehensible stereotypes. Many of them also had Jewish friends for whom they would have gladly gone to the wall. But they weren’t known for gracious use of the language when it came to them, either. When I was growing up, I heard many a derogatory term for Jewish people but never, in my wildest dreams, did I imagine they were talking about themselves — or me.

The serious point here is that science is proving most of us to be interrelated in ways we might never have imagined. And if you’re the type to indulge in racial slurs or ethnic jokes, you may not only be insulting the guy next to you without knowing it; the joke may also be on you.

So the DNA test told my uncle what we already knew — we were mostly Irish. Nothing surprising there. Then he dropped a bombshell.