Backyard genetics

Have you ever showed up to a backyard family function where you didn't really know anyone there? Maybe your parents took you to this reunion or cookout where the only people you know are the ones you came with. There are some awesome people at these gatherings. There's the real fly cousin in her early 20s with the short shorts on, gold herringbone necklaces and flat stomach. That must be nice. Next, we have the people who look obviously out of place. These are the in-laws. They don't say too much, they just kind of hover around the family members they married into while their spouse tests the waters and searches for connection bit by bit with people who look like they are the same age as them.

There are the kids who run around all over the place. They just met 5 minutes ago. They showed up in white, but have managed to return to their parents covered in brown mud from rolling around in the grass. There is the person who is in charge of the whole shing-dig. They are the ones collecting the money everyone promised to chip in, the only ones who know where all the food and drinks are, the only ones who know when it's time to eat, the only one who can let you get a taste of anything before it's time. You'll know them because they'll be looking up from doing their tasks and ask "Who's bad kids are those rolling around in the grass?" Maybe because they are in charge for the day, they feel comfortable saying what they want about who they want. They aren't mean, just comfortable.

There are the people who show up who seem to be the most well off. They don't lick their fingers when they eat ribs and they don't really laugh as hard at the family jokes. If you've been to one of these backyard gatherings, you'll know that there are lots and lots of jokes as we reminisce about the old days. Which brings us to the next person... the drunk uncle. Or aunt, I mean... let's be progressive here! They bring their grudges and their gin and you know you'd better steer clear before you get a good old fashioned "That's just how Auntie Choo Choo is" cussing out.

But, there's one person that is vital the gathering. This is the person who makes everything make sense when you have family reunion shirts with two last names on them and nobody knows quite how they fit in since there have been 4 generations since those last names made a baby. The family historian tells you how everyone is connected. They validate (or invalidate) your place in the family tree. If they never questioned who your daddy was (if that's the side you are related on), right away they are telling everyone who you are. It's like an announcer at a fashion show every time a new person comes in the yard. "Here we have Sadie. This is John's oldest daughter, John was Laura's youngest boy. Remember, she had Tommy, then a girl named Sherry, and then she had John. Remember, he fell and tripped over the railroad tracks on his way home from school and got bit by that dog? You know, he had that job at the grocery store over there on 61st. John. This is his daughter, Sadie!" Then, everyone applauds and tries to act like they remember. Everyone except for the smart mouthed aunt who "can't help but to be nobody but herself" and calls into question both you and your dad's position in the family. But, she always has to surrender to the historian until her time comes to be the keeper of the family records.

These people are invaluable. They are family. They are love. But, sometimes... they are wrong. Backyard genetics is great for the family barbecue when we like to hug and be all Kumbaya if we haven't gotten into a "40-ounce induced argument". See, there was a time when it seems like we didn't know how pregnancy worked or people could get away with a lot of stuff and name other people as your parents. To this day, when you are in a hospital giving birth to a child, if there is a man present with you they are not doing a DNA test on him. The only thing that seems to matter is that you are the child of the woman you came out of. You don't need to do a test for that. 

I'm trying to find my "family". Not based on what Uncle So and So said, but based on what my genetics have said. People have questioned the accuracy of DNA tests. I can tell you that no matter what their fail rate is, they are more accurate than the family historian. Sometimes who you want to be your family is not your family and who you don't want to be your family is in fact... your family.

I've always grown up feeling disconnected from the past. Like I was lost in the sauce. Something wasn't adding up in my family history. I blamed it on slavery and chalked it up to families being ripped apart because they were seen as property. There is truth in that. But, it is also true that your genetics do not reside in the backyard. They are not the property of the family historian. The truth lies within your body and blood of your relatives. You can't change it. You can't choose it. When you find it, you can keep it. Finders. Keepers. Some people would prefer to Lose the truth. But to lose the truth is to lose who you are. And who you are is meaningful because there is only one of you. Here's to being 'found'.