Just who do I think I am, anyway?
Family histories are so peculiar.
I received my DNA test results this week. I can’t recall who told me my paternal grandfather was Native American. Comanche, from Oklahoma. I have a very hazy memory of sitting on his lap as a very young girl and hearing him say he grew up on the reservation. That may have been true, as he was raised in OK. But he’s not Native American. Either that, or he isn’t my biological grandfather. (now, there’s a thought…) My DNA analysis and ancestry research confirm I have zero Native American blood- I'm Irish and English with a smattering of German (10%) and Dane (7%).
I’ve spent my entire life with a quiet inner dialogue that told me I was somewhat special because my people had been on ‘this land’ for hundreds or even thousands of years before colonization. I never added it to an application or selected it from a dropdown, but deep down I just knew I was different. It’s amazing how easy it is to internalize unsubstantiated information. I’ve debated myself all week and concluded that it does matter, I obviously do care, and I also feel silly for feeling offended about it all.
Rosalind Franklin’s groundbreaking double-helix DNA image
I’ll admit that my sails have a little less wind in them this week, which is objectively irrational. Nevertheless, I feel more rudderless. (what’s up with the boating metaphors?) I’ve learned so much about my family from my fairly cursory research this week, so I ought to feel more rooted, right? For instance
my dad was named Delbert. Odd name, and I never knew that it’s a family name; he had a great uncle Delbert who lived in Cincinnati at the turn of the 20th century. Who knew.
when my 2x great grandfather on my dad’s side died in Montana in 1940, an LDS service was performed. I don’t think my dad knew about the LDS connection, but he converted to mormonism very late in life. I like coincidences. :)
of all my ancestors who lived in the south (most of my dad’s side), I could only find one who owned a slave. That could be because the family couldn’t afford it, but I like to think it’s because they were good people. I did find another man who fought for the Confederacy and became a prisoner of war. I wonder whether he ever truly regretted fighting for the wrong side.
I lived in Ireland for a year in the early 2000’s, and have always felt a strong affinity toward the Irish. Perhaps that’s because I’m 33% Irish (Scotch Irish, settled in what is now West Virginia). And maybe that’s why I’ve watched Derry Girls at least 10 times. Or perhaps it’s just me rationalizing random facts. :-P
I don’t know how to fully describe this foreign feeling. Hurt, confusion, relief, excitement… all while rolling my eyes at myself. No wonder shows like Who Do You Think You Are? and Finding Your Roots are so popular! Everyone loves a good roller coaster. :)
To bring it back to archaeology… My initial interest in US-based archaeology, spurred on by my purported Native American background, waned when I read my results. But each day new questions pop up for me. Today, I’m wondering whether the Denisovans, or even the Maya, had accurate enough oral traditions to provide a truer picture of their own family trees. I suspect they were mostly concerned about surviving, but without written records, we’ll likely never know. That doesn’t mean we should stop searching though. Imagine discovering a small piece of history that influences an entire society’s identity! There’s no telling what the next ‘find’ will produce, and I’d like to get in on that excitement. Just thinking about it gives me an oddly full sense of satisfaction.