Christmas Presents and DNA

Okay, crazy title, I know. But I will explain.

I have received many wonderful gifts over the years, and for those of us who are older, we know it’s not the cost of the present, but the heart of the giver behind it. When I was a kid, though, it was all about the present. I was one of those kids who pretty much was excited and appreciative of anything I received, but now that I’m older, I look back and laugh a bit.

You see, my parents were all about giving me what they thought I needed or should have instead of what I wanted, at least some of the time. For instance, I wanted a Barbie house. When I opened it on Christmas morning and they saw it was made of heavy-duty cardboard instead of plastic (I’m sure they bought it because it was cheaper), they took it back. I don’t know what it was replaced with, but I was nine years old, and they convinced me I didn’t want it. (When I was seven, I received my one and only bicycle I ever had plus a bride doll plus a Midge doll–Barbie’s friend–a banner year for Christmas!). When I was ten, I received a desk and chair that I had never asked for, but somehow they convinced me it was a present I wanted and needed. (I asked for walkie-talkies that year, did not get them. I did get a plastic model horse to go with the desk. By the way, the desk was placed in the living room, not my bedroom.)

When I graduated from high school, I was given a sewing machine because Mom thought I needed one. Not that I sewed much, although I eventually did. But I never thought of asking for one. Or of receiving one. You get the idea.

As an adult, my husband and children (and new daughter-in-law) have given me wonderful gifts, from the homemade to the costly to the cheesy (they have indulged me in my Elvis fan-ship, bless their hearts).

This year, however, I am super-excited about something I’ve wanted for years. I’ve been into the family genealogy stuff, and I want to know more about my ancestors — who they were, where they lived, where they came from. Knowing about them lets me know more about me. I’ve always been told we had Native American blood coursing through our veins, but I’m not convinced. I know I’ve got ancestors from France (on my dad’s maternal side). But what else makes up my DNA? Who am I?

My sons gave me the kit. I’ve sent it off, and now I wait. I wait to find out if what I have been told is true, or if the person I thought I was is actually someone else.

I’m like a kid at Christmas, all over again. Our family Christmas celebration is over, but the actual present has not yet arrived. I can’t wait.