FIRST PERSON
The notion gave me pause.
Did I really want to find out that my Irish heritage and stories of my great-grandfather traveling to America on a boat to escape the potato famine weren’t innate forces in my chemistry? The cognitive dissonance battled my desire to see what made me, me.
Friends had done it. They’d taken a DNA test, and the findings were interesting. The validity of the testing and the interpretation of the results have been bantered about by scientists, but my husband and I finally decided to give it a go.
Regardless of what I learned, I could still love a corned-beef sandwich.
My husband had the advantage of an impressively complete family tree tracing one side of his family all the way back to the court of William the Conqueror. My genealogy research was based on the stories about ancestors told around the kitchen table at my grandparents’ house — with, no doubt, some embellishment for entertainment value.
When the kits arrived, though, we were ready.
Each of us used a swab to sweep the inside of a cheek, placed the swabs in small vials, sealed the vials in the company envelopes and sent our chromosomal identities to a far-away lab.
We waited about four weeks for the results, which arrived by email.
We were surprised, to say the least — and delighted, too.
My results showed that I am 69.3 percent We invite readers of all ages to submit a personal essay of musings or reflections for First Person. The guidelines:
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Irish, Scottish and Welsh — which is partially what I thought. The Scottish connection elicited a smile because we have new good friends in Scotland.
I was stunned, though, by the discovery that I’m 15.8 percent Greek!
Our wonderful next-door neighbor in the Beechwold area is jazz drummer Louis Tsamous, who is of Greek ancestry. And his mother, now deceased, was always a favorite person of mine.
Well before the testing, I had a trip to Greece planned for this year. I hope the natives welcome me with open arms — and ouzo.
My final finding made me feel as if I should be swooshing down snowy mountains and maybe even go blond: I am 14.9 percent Scandinavian. I have yet to make any travel plans to that homeland.
My husband’s results, meanwhile, are the ones that compelled us to review them repeatedly and discuss them for days.
We assumed from his family tree that he would be heavy on the British influences, but we also knew that the family went to England from France and that the 1066 Battle of is granted.
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His reading: 48.7 percent northern and western European and 45.9 percent English.
Then we read the other two findings: 3.4 percent Ashkenazi Jewish and 2 percent North African.
Significantly, the findings arrived as we observed the tragedy in Charlottesville, Virginia, where Nazi marchers shouted, “Jews will not replace us” and KKK hate groups talked of the white race as the dominant, pure and superior race.
The present-day Nazis and KKK members need to have their DNA tested before they make their “blood and soil” claims. With their own DNA results, they might learn that they have been screaming about eliminating people of their own kind.
They could learn about those from whom they really descend and the history of those people. With that, a resulting action could occur: trading their hate for a sense of community.
We all have bits of one another in each of us. We are one.