In 3rd grade, I remember bringing Swedish meatballs to school. It was a potluck lunch, in which each student had to sign up to bring a dish that represented their heritage. I honestly don't think I'm Swedish, but I think the meatballs filled a culinary void...and were also kind of easy for my mom to make.
For practically my whole life, I've been asked "what are you?" And, people’s guesses would range from Italian to Spanish to Asian. I guess I'm pretty ambiguous. I should have gotten into commercials.
Truthfully, all I (sort of) know is that we're some sort of Slavic and possibly Austrian, from my maternal grandfather's side. However, my maternal grandmother is very olive-skinned, and since her father passed when she was very young (and I was told my great grandmother could rarely bring herself to speak of him), we don't know what her background truly is. And, to make things even more questionable for me, I don't know anything about my father's side, because he's never been a part of my life. However, my mom thinks maybe Irish or Welsh, but I think she had once mentioned to me that my father's father was adopted. So....where does that leave me?
With a big ol' question mark, that's where. I don’t know about you, but throughout a good portion of my life, I found myself getting a little jealous of people here and there who know for sure what their heritage is. They’d be like, “I’m a proud _____!” “Well, I AM ______, you know.” Of course, I don’t know how they know. Often, a last name can be a dead giveaway. But, when your last name/maiden name isn’t an obvious indicator, like my maiden name, it’s even more of a puzzle. I was even told once by a random man that my maiden name is Armenian. Am I a Kardashian, after all?
So — and I’ve obviously wanted to do this for a while — I enlisted the help of Ancestry.com, and finally did the whole DNA test thing. I ordered my kit and followed the saliva-collecting instructions it came with. I popped that puppy back in the mail and now...I wait for the results. It can take 6-8 weeks. I must think about it at least once a day because I'm so excited!
And I will never stop laughing if it says I am, in fact, a little Swedish meatball.