Ethnic Stew; Or Another Dip In the Gene Pool

Perhaps you recall that at Christmas my sister took a DNA test and sent it to Family Tree, the organization that, in part, sponsors my latest TV addiction, Who Do You Think You Are? It’s not on anymore since it’s summer, so Friday nights lack their former zip around here. But don’t let me get started on how these so-called TV seasons amount to less than a flea-bite out of what used be to a season. What I wanted to tell you is that our family dipped another toe into the gene pool a few weeks ago and, once again, came up with a surprise. Ever since my sister livened up Christmas with the astounding revelation of our Jewish roots my oldest daughter and her husband wanted to have a go at it too. So last month they gave other each other a DNA test for their birthdays.

As you know, we were in Michigan over the weekend. The timing was exquisite, as the test results had just come in, though Moira’s were a tad disappointing since the number of Asians already in the computer was not enough to provide the slew of matches most people get. They assured her that the numbers were growing though and as  new DNA came in she would be notified of any close matches. It sounds like a dud I know, but it wasn’t. In fact, her test results provided the biggest surprise of all! Her husband had always believed his family to be English, Irish and Scotch with one-eighth Native American. The test showed English, Irish , Scotch,  French,  and Italian. But Native American? Nope, just a family story that didn’t pan out.

Moira, on the other hand, was born in Seoul, South Korea and was theoretically  Korean. But it turns out once again that what you think is not necessarily what you are. My Korean daughter is one hundred per cent Japanese with a .01 margin of error! While I’m stunned that the percentage is so high,I wasn’t surprised enough to need resuscitation because of three incidents,  all of which occurred in the first two years of her life. The first was shortly after she arrived in 1975 at age five months. At the time we had sponsored a Vietnamese refugee family with the stipulation that we would find them jobs, a place to live etc. They arrived in April and lived with us about two months, but by September when Moira showed up they were all set up in their own place, fully self-sufficient. So we took her over to their house almost right away where everyone waited expectantly. Of course she was a huge hit, but then all it takes to make the Baby Hit Parade is a toothless grin and a willingness to be passed around like  a box of chocolates. As we were leaving though the Dad took me aside and whispered, “Your baby is not Korean. Does not look Korean. ”

I didn’t pay much attention to it, but then about six months later a Japanese couple approached us at the mall and asked if the baby we were pushing in the stroller was ours. We said she was and that we had adopted her from Korea. Immediately the husband shook his head  emphatically “no”.

 “She came from Korea, yes,” he agreed. “But she is not Korean. This baby is Japanese.”

Again, we pretty much dismissed it, though conceded that since Japan had occupied Korea there was a chance that she was perhaps part Japanese. The subject never came up again until another  six months later when our babysitter’s family sponsored a Japanese foreign exchange student. One evening we hired a different babysitter and took both girls to a dinner theatre to see Fiddler on the Roof. On the way home Noreiko told me how much she loved playing with Moira.

“But I don’t think she’s Korean,” she said.  “I think she’s Japanese like me.”

You would  think that three such instances in rapid-fire succession  would give a parent a new perspective, right?  Well, maybe not so much if those parents are us. We filed the notion away in a mental folder marked Odd Occurrences That May, or May Not, Be True and never gave the subject much credence for the simple reason that it didn’t matter. We not only thought our gorgeous little girl hung the moon, but crayoned in the mysterious Man who supposedly lived there too. Believe it or not, no one ever again from that day forward whispered a word about Moira being Japanese either.

So when I heard the news last week I initially jumped up and hollered “Whaaaaaaaaat?” And then right away sat back down again. On some level I think I knew she was at least part Japanese all along

Once I realized that though my next thought was what about our younger daughter  Catie and Moira’s two little boys, all of whom were also adopted from Korea? Are they entirely Korean, or perhaps a mix? Or could they be 100 per cent something else? For now we don’t know, but I have a hunch we will someday.

What I know right now  is that Moira gave me a coupon for $100 off the price of  testing, so I think I might go ahead and do mine just to see how my percentages match my sister’s.

There won’t be any surprises this time of course. But that’s okay. I think there will be more down the line. The entire family wants to do it now!

P.S. The two little boys above are our grandsons and their mommy is Moira who is at the right in the same line (she no longer has the Polynesian Princess hair). Our Catie is in the middle and Eric and I are on either side. Together we’re a stew of Irish, Portuguese, German, Swiss, Korean, Japanese, (that tiny bit of Bedouin my sister turned up) and who-knows-what-else!