What Am I? Discovering my Ethnicity through AncestryDNA
As a child of a closed adoption there are a lot of unanswered questions circling me. None of them as prevalent as the question: "What are you?" Usually followed up by someone trying to clarify that they aren't questioning my gender or species by specifying "like your nationality." I've been a mystery my whole life.
It's been fun having people take their guesses as to what I am. Over my twenty-three years, I've heard just about everything. One of my friend's mom thought I must be Asian because of my almond-shaped eyes. My lovely boyfriend guessed I was a Unicorn or a Greek goddess (these are my favorite guesses.) Others theorize different Latin cultures I could be from because of my caramel skin. Recently, my boyfriend's dad bet me $20 I was French just because. I've gotten Lebanese, Native American, Arabian, Italian, half Black and half White, and everything in between.
Growing up, I accepted all the options. I have embraced each ethnicity like it could be my own. I enjoyed hearing all the worldly possibilities my face portrayed. I love pretending to be Latin when my favorite Spanish songs would come on at dance parties. I fake a mean Salsa. I would imagine I was a descendant of wolves like some Native American tribes. On St. Patrick's day, I would drink like I was Irish while holding a cup that read "Kiss me, who cares if I'm Irish!" I would cover my spaghetti in Parmesan cheese and blame it on the Italian in me. At Oktoberfest, I would be German like my grandparents; eating potato pancakes and washing them down with beer. When we'd have to register at school, I would check a different ethnicity box every year. One year I'm a North Pacific Islander then the next I'm African American.
I could be anything I want. And I loved that.
Now, don't get me wrong, I've always wanted to know my true ethnicity but I was in no hurry. I always figured one day I'd hire a private investigator to find my biological parents and I'd ask them what I am (along with a ton of other questions.) Then when Ancestry.com came out, I was intrigued by the idea. But that wasn't on the top of my list of things to spend $100 on... I wanted to travel and buy new shoes.
Recently, my grandmother-my father's mother- had her DNA tested via Ancestry.com and couldn't stop talking about her experience. So I started to consider getting my DNA tested too. Originally I thought I'd start a betting pool to raise the money for the kit. People could bet a dollar amount with their guess of my ethnicity then I would use the money I needed for the test and the rest of the pot would go to the better who's guess came closet to my actual ethnicity. Well my grandma thought that was silly. She believes that knowing my ethnicity is very important. So she wrote me a check and labeled it "DNA" so I wouldn't spend it on (less important?) things like rent or utility bills....
I debated it for about a month. At the time, I REALLY needed the money. But I knew if I didn't have ethnicity results to show to my grandma she'd know I used the check for something else so I bought a kit. Luckily they were having a special. I got the kit for $79 and got to put the rest of the money towards my bills. Win, win. The kit came in the mail on April 26th. April 30th, I spit in a tube (yeah that's right) and mailed it back to Ancestry in a prepaid box. Then my "six to eight week" wait began.
May 31st, I got an email: "Great news! Your AncestryDNA results are in!" I froze. Such a simple task, checking my email had just turned into a huge life event. Do I read the results now? On my phone? Should I wait until I get to my computer? Should I wait until Brandon can be here with me? Could I wait that long while my results burned a hole in my inbox? Frozen. I waited all of two minutes debating what to do and then I just clicked the big, green "See My Results" button calling my name. I closed my eyes. I couldn't look. Why was I making such a big deal out of this? Because this is huge news! There's been twenty-three years of anticipation!
I opened my eyes. I have to watch an informational video... Ain't nobody got time for that! This is my ethnicity! I watch... it ends. I'm brought to a profile type page where there was a map of the world with regions highlighted in different colors like a temperature map you see on the news as my "cover photo" if you will. Then as I scrolled there was a pie chart cut into eight colorful, uneven pieces and labeled "Ethnicity Estimate."
Side note: Ancestry is very big on making sure you are aware this is an ESTIMATE. They call it an Ethnicity Estimate for a reason because this isn't an exact science. This isn't like they take a pin prick of your blood, place it on a map, circle a crystal above it and pinpoint your exact origin. It's all comparisons and ranges and probability and migratory patterns. They explain it all to you beforehand in a nice little video just so you know this is just what they call it: and ethnicity estimate.
Now that we got that out of the way... Next to the pie chart is a key. Ah!! My ethnicity (estimate) right there is percentages! Now, the moment you've all been waiting for....
According to AncestryDNA the pie that is me is made up of:
EARTH SHATTERING RIGHT!?
Actually, when I read my results I was disappointed. It's not earth shattering. This information didn't actually change my life. It was so very anti-climatic. After twenty-three years of waiting I just thought I'd feel more. It's not that I'm disappointed with my results themselves; I didn't care what the outcome, I cared more about having an outcome. I read the results and that was it. Sure there is more in depth breakdown (which I'll share with you, don't worry) and history information about each region so I can learn more about the cultures behind my ethnicity. And sure, I could start a "tree" and discover family I never knew existed but I was never interested in that. I just wanted to know my ethnicity. And the funny thing is now that I do, I wish I didn't. I miss being whatever I want. I miss being a mystery.
That's why it's taken me a month to write this post (that and life.) I didn't want everyone to know because then I could still be a mystery. If people asked me I would tell them, I wasn't going to lie about it. I was just withholding information until it was requested.
So now I know what ethnicity I am. So what? What changes? I can check the correct box while filling out papers about myself. No more checking Hispanic, which is the one I assumed would be most accurate. I now check African American and Caucasian? I'm not sure, I haven't filled anything out since getting the results. I now have an excuse to travel to Ireland, London, and Africa. I can actually blame my intoxication levels on St. Patrick's Day on my Irish heritage. I can fake a British accent. I can celebrate Black History month as my own history. I can't Salsa because it's in my blood. I can't howl with the wolves because they're my ancestors. I can't use my love of pasta as proof that I'm Italian like my father. I can no longer accept all ethnicity and nationalities like they are my own because I know they're not. Knowing. Knowing has ruined my mystery. They say "Ignorance is bliss." Well, they were right.
I know this post is not what you all probably expected but it's my experience. I know it's all how I look at it and I could keep on pretending if I wanted to. And I'm sure there are positives to it all. Other people could have wonderful experiences finding out their ethnicity. For them it could very well be earth shattering. But for me it was just, and I quote exactly what I told my mother when I told her my results, "meh."
My advice, if you don't know your ethnicity (and not knowing isn't killing you,) then just keep on living your life not knowing. Life's a little more fun that way.
And for all those interested (and who made it this far.. Sorry I talk a lot,) here's the nitty gritty. All the percentages that make up my pie. The breakdown of my (not so exact) ethnicity estimate:
Here's a link, just in case you want to know EVEN MORE about my ethnicity. Or if you're just curious about how it all works.
The feature image was taken by my good friend Mike Lebowitz. When we were in college, before we'd go out with all our friends, Mike would label our cups with funny names so we wouldn't get them mixed up. On this particular night the label I received was "Biracial?" I thought it was appropriate for this post.
