Finding Your Roots

 One of my favorite TV shows is Finding Your Roots with Henry Louis Gates, Jr.  I am constantly amazed at the stories that unfold on the show.  Famous people who had no idea who their ancestors were or where they actually came from.  Grandparents who were not their grandparents and stories told that were never true.

Years ago when I was active in the local Chamber of Commerce, one of our members told us that his wife's parents had died and the children went to clean out the house.  Up in the attic his wife found documents indicating that she had been adopted.  Imagine being in your 50s and discovering that for the first time.  

I do not have any drama so far in my twenty plus years of searching.  But I have discovered so many things I did not know.  I had heard that my father's mother was pregnant when she got married.  Well, that was true.  But she was not pregnant with my father.  Their first child died shortly after birth.

I had no idea that my father's parents came from two totally separate areas in today's Poland.  I think I assumed since my mother's family was all from the same area, so was my father's - and more about that later.

The stories about the numbers running, arrests, and Mafia princess were unfortunately true and I have the old newspaper clippings to prove it.  But hey, they were in-laws, not blood, lol.

One of the things I love about blogging is how comments on posts make me think of things I would not have otherwise considered.  While someone may think they know their heritage, it may sometimes be like that commercial for Ancestry where they guy thinks he is German and finds out he is Irish, or vice versa.

Recently I was contacted by a third cousin living in Carcassonne, France.  His great grandparents left Cordenons in 1913 and settled in Thil, which is outside Toulouse.  They have become very French and run a French restaurant in Carcassonne.  Someday, the children may actually consider they have French heritage and no Italian.  

And that is how Americans seem to think of themselves.  We're Americans.  Everyone who doesn't look like them is an outsider, when in fact we are almost ALL outsiders.  I had one student in my high school class who was native American.  In all my 74 years, I do not think I have ever actually known anyone else who was a native.  And yet all these children of  European immigrants think this is somehow their country and only theirs.  Guess they need to do some looking for their roots.  I am so glad I am finding mine.