Finding me in my past

My mother-in-law gave my husband and I one of the DNA kits. We spit in the box and it returned with a graph of our ancestors and where we came from. I wan’t planning on getting anything unexpected, my mother was pure German and my father was from all over the British Isles. But my graph came back weird. I was thirty five percent Scandinavian.

Wait was I adopted? My siblings would say yes of course your were. Our parents wanted a sixth child so they adopted one from Scandinavia… Okay, that is a stretch.

But I’ve caught the family history bug from Ancestry. When I get notices that they found one of the draft cards from World War I of one of those great grandfathers, or a wedding certificate of a great grandmother, I can’t help but look and then keep searching. These are my relatives; my people. It tells me of my places I originated from. Each has a story to tell; a life they lived. I want to know the stories.

What was their shoe size? What did they like to snack on? What was their biggest worry? If you haven’t opened up a free account on Ancestry, or FamilySearch you need to do it. Get your kids to do it. It is so much fun. Record your grandma telling you stories about your ancestors you don’t know about. She won’t be around forever. And when she goes an entire library closes.

I love the stories. It is part of me.

Take a peek, but beware you will get hooked.

(BTW: I wasn’t adopted. I have my birth certificate as proof. But I am going to learn more about Scandinavia for sure. Whodda Thunk)

Where are you from?

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