This writer’s family tree has shallow roots

The big political kerfuffle this week has been whether Elizabeth Warren is partially Native American or merely a Native American wannabe. The Democratic senator insists DNA testing proves she may have had Native American ancestors six or 10 generations ago. President Trump says it’s fake science and the claim that he promised to pay $1 million if she could prove her indigenous ancestry was based on fake video.

All of which must be vital to the well-being of our nation because, otherwise, why would our political leaders be arguing about it? Still, I’m having trouble understanding why genealogy is so important to so many people.

I realize DNA testing could be helpful in detecting hereditary diseases. In an effort to educate myself about that I even researched some articles online. But I gave up somewhere between the description of polynucleotides and how the hydrolysis of phosphodiester bonds can be catalyzed by the action of phosphodiesterases.

For a lot of people, though, DNA testing has become trendy — sort of this decade’s version of six degrees of Kevin Bacon — and they’re paying hundreds of dollars to find out who their ancestors were. But I have no interest in that, even though I know hardly anything about my forebears.

My maternal grandfather supposedly came from Romania, but I’m not positive about that. The only proof seems to be that his sister had a parakeet that spoke Romanian. I don’t know anything at all about my biological father, but my stepfather was Scotch-Irish, so perhaps he was descended from Mary Queen of Scots, who was beheaded in 1587. Which is what she deserved for not knowing that the proper spelling of the name is Stewart, not Stuart.

According to a report in National Geographic, if we trace our ancestor back to the very beginning, we’ll find we all came from Africa, which probably would be terrible news to David Duke. But that could be debated, too; most of the paintings of Adam and Eve depict them with light skin and blondish hair, which would seem to indicate that the Garden of Eden probably was located in Sweden.

Some people say DNA research is important so you can take pride in your heritage, but that doesn’t interest me, either. Taking pride in one’s heritage all too often seems to mean destroying someone else’s.

So I’m content to go through life knowing nothing about my ancestry, feeling neither pride nor shame for who my ancestors may or may not have been and what they may or may not have done. I’m a great deal more interested in who my descendants may or may not be and what they may or may not do.