...and no, I don't play one of TV. Dad's DNA results came in yesterday. He's just about as upset as my mom was over her results. Possibly more? But I'm thrilled to the moon and back. Here's science laying it all out and I'd rather have the truth than hold onto weird faerie stories about my ancestors. How does that do them any justice? I can't begin to describe how exciting all of this sciencing is. Yet, I'm going to try... So, yes that's dad's chart up there. It's quite different from moms. Here let's take a look see in case you don't want to follow that link up there. So, I'm pretty much British with both of them having almost 50% each. It's not that British people aren't swell or whatever, but eh... that's not why I'm thrilled to the moon and back. Mom's thrilled about that bit; dad, The Sister, and I could take it or leave it, honestly.
So, mom was upset because there was no Indigenous, no Italian, and her Irish was a measly 3%. She couldn't seem to unstick from that to see how awesome it was that she had a large percentage of probably French (or I'm also hoping partly German) and Scandinavian. Or that while the percentages might be low, she's also part Spanish, Eastern European, AND!!! Senegalese! None of that matters apparently. It's Italian/Irish/Indian or bust. She even tried stealing dad's Europe South, since it contains Italy. I feel like she's the Napoleon of family DNA. Tried to say she was Italian too because it came up in dad's results, because they have the same DNA. "I certainly hope y'all don't have the same DNA, mom. That's called inbreeding!" "Yes, everyone's got DNA, but you don't have the same as dad. The Sister and I have the same as dad and we have the same as you (just not the same percentages), because we're your children." She pouted a little. I feel like if a friend of hers gets Italy in the coin toss that is life, she's going to try and take it from them. I think she might try to bargain Iberian Peninsula for European Jewish tomorrow, as if it's some card game she's playing, and desperately must win. It's kind of funny though, as she reminds us of our fussy siamese cat Inky, who is also kind of like Napoleon. So, back to dad. the Scottish/Welsh makes sense with the genealogical paper trail and 24%'s a lot, so that's good. Glad to know I'm really Scottish and Welsh. As for dad's Europe West... I bet he's German and mom's the one who's all French. See they don't tell you exactly with these things, they just give you countries in the circle that match your DNA. So it could be any of those. But I'm going on feelings here, though it could be other things and if there was actual proof I'd acquiesce my feelings for the science. I think it's German, because both dad and I are drawn to Germany, as was his older sister. And Greg the Painter asked my dad, my aunt, and I if we were German. We said no, because at the time we didn't think there was any chance of any country from Europe West being in our DNA. I asked him why and he answered "because y'all are loud." which made me laugh, but apparently Greg the Painter was in the know. Mom and The Sister have always been drawn towards France. And not in that girly way of simply seeing Paris and kissing someone near La Tour Eiffel or some such rubbish. But like real France. Like just this unsuperficial pull to the entirety of the country and culture. Mom said dad was excited about the Viking blood. "I'm a Viking" said like he was a 5 year old boy. That's cute. It is weird that dad ended up with a Scandinavian name (Lover of the Sea) from some random nurse in hospital and that The Sister and I have always been drawn to Norway and Sweden. And we've got that double time, The Sister and I, so that's awesome. Now, Europe South. That's Switzerland, Croatia, Serbia, Bulgaria, Kosovo, Macedonia, Albania, Malta, Italy, and Greece. I'd totally be cool with it being Switzerland, but I'm not feeling it. I'm not feeling Italy either. What did I do when I saw this? "Holy fuck, we're Greek!" I'm not big on Greece. I've never been drawn to visit it like other places, I've never been drawn to learn the language, I've never thought much about Greece except when watching a film pertaining to it or in history class. But that one practically shone off the page. It's not that I never thought it would be cool to be Greek, I just, well, I just suppose I never thought it was even a possibility. I can't explain it though, but I think we're Greek. It just rang out like a bell and seemed to fit. Like I said earlier though, if science told me it was one of the other countries, I'd accept that as the answer. But based on a group of countries within a region and a feeling, I'm gonna have to say Greek for Europe South, man. And this is, apparently, where things got weird for dad. I'm guessing he didn't much like the fact that he's Jewish. It's because he's on this Mormon kick. It ebbs and flows, where he's super Mormon and going to church and trying to bore you to death with The Book of Mormon. Then it's over and he's a proper heathen again. I think with this current Morman kick, well, how can he accept that part of his ancestry killed Baby G. I don't think of Jewish people in this fashion and never did. Although if FamilySearch.org is to be believed then dad is related to King Harrod. The King Harrod that had all the first born sons killed in an effort to rid the world of Baby G. So... if that were evenly remotely true (because seriously, how can records go back that far?) then dad's got a lot more to worry about than 2% European Jewish. Also, if that Morman run genealogy site is to be believed then I'm related to Eleanor d'Aquitaine on mom's side and William The Conqueror on dad's side. Which, yeah, that would be beyond awesome, but I can't rely on the validity of these things, now can I? No, I can not. It's fun to say as a passing fancy, but I don't hold much stock in it. How do I feel about the fact that I'm part Jewish? I'm weirded out, but only because of all weird stuff in my life which makes this result make perfect sense. It's a lot to process what you really are, as opposed to what you had been told that you are, much less coupled with the synchronicity of it all. I'm excited, but I won't deny it's not strange. There are weird things in my life that I can't explain. Sudden fears, knowledge, rationales, feelings. I've had them for lots of things, and a lot of those things have shown up to be part of my ancestral history. As for as Jewish goes, I was captivated by concentration camps as a kid. I remember hearing the word and feeling like I knew that. The little that I learned felt too real. There was a lady at my church when I was growing up, who was Slavic, but whose family, including her were put into one. I hadn't heard interviews by survivors, and I didn't know much except the names of a few camps and gas chambers and that it was like prison for Jewish people and other people. Yet, I felt instinctively drawn to her, like she had all of the answers I couldn't put my finger on. I never asked her about her time in the camp, because somehow I knew this was a thing not to be talked about unless the survivor wanted to do the talking. She disliked everyone and most people didn't like her because they didn't understand her. We got on really, really well. I remember one time at a Christmas party I was talking to her and she was going to refresh her drink. I said I'd get it and for some reason she asked what I was drinking. "Vodka with cherry 7-up." She blinked in surprise and said that was her drink and she thought she was the only person who drank that. I don't even know why I ordered it that night. I saw they had cherry 7-up and I like vodka and well, actually that is the type of drink that's right up my alley, but I'm not a big drinker and never thought to pair the two. I'm not saying I'm her family (that'd be the double dose of Europe East I've got goin' on), but it's just weird. Other people thought it was weird that the peculiar girl and the peculiar woman drank the same drink. Prior to that though, when I was in middle school, I was talking with her and I don't remember what we were talking about, but it wasn't anything that I would have thought might have skirted the subject of Nazi abuse, but she suddenly looked far off and said something about her time in the camps (like, "That's what it was like in the camps" or something). I instinctively replied in a sombre tone, "I know..." which surprised me, because Sarah K Roberts doesn't know. She looked at me to challenge that statement, but looked into my eyes, and said, "Yes... you know." It kind of weirded me out. Perhaps she was just batty. But she didn't tell people they knew. Ever. She also didn't bring up her time, except to me on that one occasion. But, when she said it, it did feel like I knew what it was like to really be there and she hadn't said anything about what happened. In high school they built this huge building to be the cafeteria which they called the multi-purpose center. I remember walking in there and there were bars on all of the windows and it really freaked me out. It didn't freak anyone else out, just me. It felt unsettling. I get in line and they tell us that we'll be using numbers now and I actually freaked out. "The hell you are! I'm not giving up my name for a goddamn number in this building fixed with bars! I feel like I'm in fucking Auschwitz! It's not right. It's not right at all! Isn't this freaking you out? Can't you not see how wrong this is?!?!" Here's the thing to note here. I wouldn't learn for another year that anyone was tattooed with a number on their arms in any of these camps. I also pronounced it as OwschVitz, not OwschWitz. I had only ever heard it as the latter, the American way. No one else saw anything amiss with bars on the windows, what this Auschwitz was, or the thing about numbers for names. After I got out of there and calmed down I was confused. "Where the hell did all of that come from?" I felt like it was true, it was creepy to use numbers and have bars on the windows, and I rarely went to lunch in there after that if I could help it. And I never used the number. But, where did all of the anger and fear come from? Sarah K Roberts doesn't have anger or fear about concentration camps. There's sorrow and great disgust now that I've learned all about them, but I don't have fear or anger because I didn't live it. Somehow though it's there, coursing through my veins and I never could figure it out. I thought perhaps it was a past life thing, because what else could explain that. Does ancestral blood make a more logical explanation? Not really, but it's all I've got. Before I learned about the crematoriums, I wanted to be cremated when I died. Because in my mind it was done the Viking/Hindi/Jedi way. Funeral Pyres, whether floating on water or not. When I found out that they shove you in a special oven in a little room, I actually went cold. It's like I could see it happening in concentration camps, Jewish and other prisoners forced to burn the bodies of their fellow mates by the hundreds. "Are you fucking kidding me?!? They burn you like Nazi's? It's just not right!" It was the same emotions all over again. My friends didn't understand why I was talking about Nazi's or why I was so upset and angry over it. I really didn't know that even psychiatric hospitals here in America cremated people in the same fashion as Nazi's in death camps or funeral directors. And I didn't even know Nazi's did that at that time. I'd only heard of the gas chambers at this point. But, how did I see that flash of "memory" and where did the fear and anger and sick disgusted feeling come from... from something I wasn't supposed to know at that point in my life? I can't explain it. Was I a prisoner who had to burn bodies? Was I burned? Was I a Nazi who actually thought it was all sick and sad, but went along with it? Is it just in my blood and isn't a past life? Or the fact that I felt this big Jewish pull a few years ago. I decided that we'd celebrate Chanukah. Not because we'd get presents, though I did have us exchange small trinkets on each night, but because I felt this great need to celebrate a Jewish holiday and felt this was the one that would be alright for someone who isn't Jewish. It was a fiasco. I did it all right and correctly. I had a Chanukiah and Chanukah candles, because this place called Dirt Cheap would buy stock from other stores across the country, which is how I obtained the candles. I'd say the appropriate prayers in Hebrew (and after hearing them later, the pronunciation was pretty damn spot on) for the appropriate nights and I'd have us start at sundown, and I made food like latkes. Only my sister never wanted to light the candles, say the prayers, or hang out. She would put it off and then open her gift that night and say "see ya!" basically. That's not the point of Chanukah at all, so after a few years, I stopped it. It wasn't right if we weren't going to do it right. Even though it's not a High Holiday and we were told by Jewish friends that yeah, Chanukah was totally OK for us to do. I also later called up the local Rabbi and went to talk to him. I felt completely comfortable talking to him rather than our Catholic Priest. We had a really great talk. I wasn't going to be Jewish, but he talked about his life growing up in Israel and how much cigarettes were back then (because he asked if I was a smoker), and he was surprised how much I knew about Judaism. "Is that not correct? Did I mistake that?" "No, no, that's right, it's just... how do you know that?" That is a good question Rabbi Yuri. A very good question, indeed! There's more, but this post is already ridiculously long. And now we make it to Africa North. This result my dad didn't even want to acknowledge according to my mother. He's of the stupid opinion that Muslims and Middle Easterners (whether actually from the Middle East or Arabia, or are instead the Caucasus or North African regions that are lumped into the category of Middle East) are of the Devil. I've tried to remind him that his own son, Rusty, was part this (Armenian of the Caucasus region). That's different, apparently. So, Africa North encompasses Morocco, Algeria, Western Sahara, Tunisia, Libya, and Egypt. With terms such as Arabs, Berbers, and Muslims in the write up. I have no idea which country, but I'm leaning towards either Morocco or Egypt since those are the two that I've always been drawn to and are what I'm feeling. Absolutely crazy of Ancient Egypt (who isn't though, right?), and always thinking this or that is wrong until one time they CGI built it up in a documentary and finally I was like, "Now, that's right." and it brought up all of these weird emotions. I have no idea if I was an Ancient Egyptian, but what the hell? How would I know if something's right or not compared to an Egyptologist? And I'm not a delusional person who is always thinking I'm right and everyone else is wrong. It's just certain instances when it just jumps out of me and I'm like, "Where did that even come from?" But I have a pull for Egypt in all it's life times, even to the present day. And I can't decide if I'm drawn to Morocco because I'm drawn to Morocco, or because my Aunt and Grandmother went there and sent postcards and told us about it after their trip. So, I'm undecided over what my actual feelings are, but it's one of the two for whatever reasons. And I've always gotten that I'm accepting of Middle Eastern/Arabian people or Muslims because of my Aunt. But that's not true, considering that she's not any of that. She's Armenian who was born and raised in Mississippi. She knows Arabic now, but she has a southern accent and listens to country music and says "Y'all." And when she was religious she was Presbyterian and then Episcopalian. They also say that my love of Persian carpets is because of her, which I could buy, considering she was a world renowned expert on them and gave them to us as gifts. However, perhaps it was always in my blood? Which leads us to why my dad didn't take any of this well at all. He saw that science was making a liar of his daddy. The story of Native ancestry had been passed down and well, it's simply not there. But my grandpa saying it doesn't make him a liar. He didn't know. I'm not a liar when I told people that I was Osage and Cherokee on dad's side. It's what I was told. It's what we thought. It's what the paper trail said. Not that I knew my grandfather as a young man, but what I did know of him, I can tell you he wasn't a liar. These results don't say to me that my grandfather was a liar. But dad has been pretty emotionally lately, even before these results, so I'm sure since that was heightened it blew all of this out of proportion. I feel a little bad since Father's Day is next Sunday and this was his Father's Day gift. Since he was so overly upset about it, it's almost like we said, "Oh by the way, fuck you and Happy Father's Day." and then laughed. Almost. I'm not going to feel bad about it because I'm not the one that coupled together throughout history to get to Paul. It's not my fault he's not Indigenous or that he's Jewish or North African. He wanted a DNA kit just like mom, so that's what he got. Of course I'm being nice about it to him and I'm not bringing it up or rubbing it in his face. I'm not mean like that. But, I'm super thrilled by the results. And if you know that I'm still awesomely processing that I'm Senegalese/Scandinavian/Eastern European/French on my mothers side, then you know I'm still processing all of this.
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AuthorA girl from South Mississippi who finds herself in exploration. Archives
November 2019
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