There are not many times that I succumb to advertising pitches of; buy me and your life will be all butterflies and lollipops. You know the TV ads that show before and after pictures of people who look to be regular neighbor types that have for some reason given into the call of the camera to show their tummy, neck, or other body parts that have been amazingly transformed into what they were twenty or more years ago. Or the radio ads where the guy talks so fast so he can get all 1756 words into a 30 second space trying to convince you that this one lawyer is the one to take on your case pointing the finger of lady justice at some company that may or may not have caused the hair on the left side of your head to fall out because you used their product in a manner that it was not designed to be used for. But this one time I did buy into the advertisement—to get my DNA tested.
Okay, so it was a purely inquisitive thing to do. I have nothing to hide so I really do not have any fears of my DNA being scooped up by some unknown entity and put in some data base. So as per usual, in my fearless, carefree way, I threw caution to the wind and spit into the company provided DNA testing tube to see just where I came from.
To be exact I gave one test to my other half for Christmas and he in turn, unknown to me, gave one to me too. We apparently have been married way too long as we are now giving each other the same gifts. Oh, that is such another discussion for another day!
So I spit in the tube, packaged my spit, mailed my spit and waited for my spit to tell my story. I have heard the advertising tales of the woman who found out she was related to George Washington. Cool I thought. I guess someone has to be related to George and Martha. I have also read about a town somewhere in a Scandinavian country where every resident’s DNA could be traced back to a prehistoric man they found frozen in the ice on a mountain near the town. Every resident? Well they apparently need new blood lines there!
So what in the world could my so very special DNA tell me? Maybe I am a shoot from the tree of—well who knows? It could be that the old family stories are true that my great grandmother ran a boarding house in the Dakotas where Billy the Kid was known to frequent. Maybe I was related to him. Or the fact that my father was adopted in the 20’s in the Midwest brought to mind that my other half’s family was from the Midwest in the 20’s—could we be blood related. Yuck! But again, that throwing caution into the wind put this whole thing in motion.
But maybe by now you are wondering how the DNA testing and summer shoes will come together. Well here’s the path.
With summer just around the corner, hopefully, I took my life in my hands and went into the closet to dig out a pair of slip on and go sandals I have worn for more than a few years now. While I was in there, among the work snow boots and the going to town snow boots, the old dog toys that the dog buried in the pile of old shoes, of course dust bunnies and clothes that have fallen off hangers and are just laying around because there is still no way I will fit into them no matter how long I hold onto them, I got to thinking; my feet really are my foundation.
These two appendages I stand on all day and count on to carry me around from morning to night are really taken for granted. Then I thought about the toes in my family. I inherited my mother’s toes, feet and legs. She had great toes feet and legs. However my father had these long toes that looked like they could have had an extra knuckle on them. My sibling and I called them Kinnie Kabblers. I am very lucky not to have received the Kinnie Kabbler gene. And that is the connection of summer shoes and DNA testing.
It took a few months to get the DNA results back. When they did come back two things were apparent. First, my other half and I are only related by marriage—ours! Whew.
Second. While his family line is traced to a relatively small section of the world, my ancestors were very—well busy around the globe as my DNA comes from like 50 different areas of the world. My family was outgoing and what I will call zippity, which goes along with my zest for life. I have been told that I have never met a stranger. Apparently neither have my relatives!
Trina lives in Eureka, Nevada. Her book ITY BITS can be found on Kindle. Share with her at firstname.lastname@example.org