I’m a fairly private person. Google my name and the first thing that pops up is my RateMyProfessors.com profile from over a decade ago, then a few things that aren’t about me, then my profile at City’s Counseling website, followed by a bunch of other stuff that also isn’t about me. (Some of the images connect back to the blog posts I wrote a few years ago. I didn’t click through all of the images, but the first couple of screens? Not me.) A friend from high school found me through the blog a while ago (about three years or so, I think). Then a few months ago, I got an e-mail from a stranger that rocked my world.
I need to go back to the science part. (Google is the “technology” part, if you must
know. <grin>)
At some point last summer, after many requests from my
mother, we ordered two DNA kits from Ancestry.com*. We duly spit into the little cups and sent
them away for processing. Sometime in
September, the results got posted on-line in my account^. We oohed and aahed and promptly forgot about
it. (For anyone who’s interested: my
“ethnicity estimate” is 48% Great Britain ,
19% Ireland
In February, I got an e-mail at work entitled “Ancestry
DNA.” It was a busy time, so I actually
didn’t read it until later that day. I
kind of shrugged and thought: Hmm. Maybe I
have a relative at City
College
Now, I’ve always been the baby in my family. My brothers are significantly older than me
(they were 14 & 15 when I was born).
I’m the only grand-daughter. My
entire identity as a member of my family was intertwined between those two
things.
Understand that I’ve always known that my Dad wasn’t my
biological father. Dad died when I was
very young, so I have no idea why he “adopted” me as his own or why the rest of
his family just accepted me as one of them without so much as hiccup. I just know that I have his name even if I
don’t share any of his DNA.
It honestly never occurred to me to care about my biological
father. Thom pretty much waltzed into my mother’s life, hung out for a while, donated some sperm, then left, never to be seen or heard from again. I knew his
name. I knew he was Italian, but
everyone warned me to take that with a grain of salt, because “Thom lied a
lot.”
So, I have a sister.
She’s eight years younger than me, give or take, and she’s always been
the older sister. Our bio-father spent
about a year with her and her mother before he left to go back to his wife(!),
so she actually has pictures#. When he
died, not long after she attempted to reconnect with him, as his only living
relative, she was the executor of his estate (not a job I envy, after doing it
for my aunt), so she went through his stuff.
There was no mention of me or my mother, though there was rumor that he
was “married” to someone with my mom’s name before he married his wife.
Science told me that I actually was Italian (Thom’s mother
was Brooklyn Italian, third generation American) and matched my DNA to my
sister’s. Technology made it possible
for us to reach out and connect. We
talked on the phone for about an hour, though we haven’t yet met
face-to-face.
I can’t say that my life has changed significantly. I’m still the younger sister to my brothers,
even though I’m now an older sister, too.
I’m still me, with all of my own peculiarities (or eccentricities). But, now I know why I talk with my hands and
why I love driving fast+. I’ve been able
to fill in some of the missing pieces that, while I never noticed their lack, make
me who I am.
*Around the Fourth of July, I think, because Ancestry.com has
sales on the big holidays and we had results in September.
^While I can’t claim that no one will ever see the results,
everyone who doesn’t own the account is completely anonymous to everyone other
than the account owner. I know who
belongs to which test, but the DNA testing company only has a number.
#She divorced him. Go
figure!
+Because my grandfather was a race-car driver.
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