My genes say what?!

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Anyone who knows me, or who has read this blog for a while, is aware that I’m adopted. I don’t keep it a secret because it’s a big part of what makes me who I am. I often feel like I'm on the outside of every family interaction in the world looking in. The reactions I get are anywhere from, “Interesting” to “Who cares?” The later response always throws me. A huge chuck of me is unknown and that’s your response? But that’s a rabbit trail for another day. Anyhoo, I was getting tired of being unable to answer certain questions. You know, like those questions on forms at the doctor’s office. ‘Do you have any relatives with…’ and then there is this whole long list of ailments. And there I’d be, sitting staring off into space, going, “Do I have an Uncle John, much less was there something wrong with him? How about an Aunt Jane? Do I have siblings, cousins? Where am I from?” Next thing I know the nurse is calling be back and the stupid form is half filled out. Fine, in this wonderful day and age, there is a way to find out things about your family history without knowing your family. DNA testing. I decided to do the one through a hospital and just get the medical side, not the whole can of worms which might find long lost family members. Great because while one part of me wants to know if I have family out there, another part of me like that mystery to be, well, a mystery. So, I got the results back today. Yeah, turns out I have no scary genes lurking out there. Wonderful. And then I get to the last page of the report. It has basic ancestry info, cool, nice little bonus there. Irish/British. Well, no surprise here, I’m whiter than a ghost, have a hint of red in my hair and my hazel eye lean towards green. However, the last sentence throws me for a loop. I’m a tiny bit Spanish – Basque to be more precise. Uhm, what? Is this for real? Or did someone decide my report was so vanilla it needed to be spiced up a bit? Yeah, throw that in so I have something to discuss at cocktail parties. “You will never believe where my ancestors are from!” Which led me to wonder how accurate the whole DNA testing thing is in the first place. Can we really trust anything that happens after we spit into a test tube? Or spit anywhere for that matter? Or I just being crazy and paranoid because I don't like the results? Well, not exactly don't like. Being Spanish, if it's true, is kinda neat for a variety of reasons. I think this may just be one of those things I'm just going to have to accept at face value. Maybe someday I will get brave enough to do a second round of DNA testing with another company and try to find family. For now this was more than enough info...

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