Last Wednesday was St. Patrick’s Day, which usually can be relied on for at least one person asking, “Are you Irish?”
My confusion in answering first begins with the tremendous localness of my ancestors. My grandmother on my dad’s side has done extensive genealogy research on our family and as far back as she has traced, most of my ancestors were born right here in the United States.
In the 1780s, one of my ancestors was born in Ireland before coming to America and marrying. That’s it. Just one. Everyone else in that genealogical study was born here, some even fighting in the Revolutionary War.
For those, like me, not so great with remembering historic dates, that war began in 1775 and ended in 1783. That’s a long time to have been in this relatively new country.
On my mom’s side of the family, we have no history with which to answer this question. She was adopted when she was a baby and we don’t know her background at all.
If I have to answer the origins question, I guess my answer is that I’m pretty much plain American with the tiniest percentage of Irish and a whole lot of mystery.
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