Inspired by the PBS program "Finding Your Roots", and trying to resolve an internal debate about some family lore, I simply asked for a DNA kit from Ancestry.com for my birthday this year. A vile full of spit and a few weeks later, my ancestral-origin profile arrived.
My grandfather, sometimes with seriousness, and other times in jest, claimed that we had Native American blood. In my genealogical research, I haven't found that native link-but some lines got blurred in Virginia, so I thought it was possible. When grandpa had us grandkids "on the hook" he'd tell us we were part Blackfoot, to which he'd take off his sock and show us the bottom of his dirty foot. That should have clued me in. More believable was his story that he knew that the first to carry our name in the New World arrived with his brothers from Ireland way back. This didn't add up to what became pretty overwhelming probability that the first of my namesake came from Germany during the Revolution, and dropped the "t" from his name so that it sounded more Anglicized.
|Plight of the Spanish Armada|
|Destruction of the Armada|
|Yup, about as Anglo as they come.|