DNA is a Life-Changer

Who am I? I thought I knew. Then I got my DNA results and realized I was clueless. It opened up an entirely new world for me.

Whenever someone would ask me what my ethnicity was, I’d say I was German, Swedish and Native American, Mohawk to be exact, because that’s what I’d always been told. My mother’s side of the family swore they were German and Native American and who was I to question that?

My father’s side of the family was Swedish. I knew that was true because I have relatives in Sweden. I could trace my ancestry back many generations, I knew where they were from, what parish they were in, where their church records were located. It was a no-brainer on that side of the family.

But was it really?

My story began when I got my DNA results from Ancestry. The first thing I noticed was that there was no Native American, so that meant my mother’s side of the family was either misinformed or just made it up. Knowing I wasn’t part Native American explained why, no matter how extensively I searched, I found no records for my Native ancestors in upstate New York.

Then I notice that, in addition to the lack of Native American DNA, there was also no Scandinavian DNA. I mean none. Not even a trace. Now that had me really confused because how could that possibly be? I knew my relatives in Sweden, I had to have Scandinavian DNA somewhere. Maybe it was a mistake?

To make sure, I did the DNA test through Family Search, and got the same results. No Scandinavian DNA. I was truly puzzled.

So, that’s what was absent from my expected DNA. But what was present had me even more perplexed. Both Ancestry and Family Search showed I was half Italian, the other half being mostly English with a tiny bit of German.

Italian? Where did that come from? I had no Italians in my background that I knew of.

So, life being what it was, I got busy and forgot about it for a while. Then one day I logged on to the Ancestry DNA site and scrolled to my matches. They had matched me up with a woman named Angela Colabella*. We were, it seems, first cousins.

I wouldn’t have thought twice about it, except that my mother’s best friend was named Vincenzo Colabella and those Colabellas and my family were very close when I was growing up. In addition, my mother had told me that if I had been a boy, she would have named me Vincent after her best friend.

The plot thickens….

So, I got in touch with Angela through the Ancestry website and realized that she was Uncle Vinnie’s granddaughter. They were, indeed, the Colabellas I knew from childhood. I also found out that Ancestry had matched Angela up with me as a first cousin. Turns out, she was just as puzzled, especially when her mother said she remembered me.

Uncle Vinnie had three daughters and I clearly remember going to their house to visit and them coming to our house. We played together, grew up together.

I emailed a friend of mine who is really into genealogy and DNA and told her the odd news. I’d mentioned that Angela and I were listed as first cousins, then I told her about my DNA results. Her response nearly knocked me off my chair. She said that in DNA terms, first cousin could also mean half-sister.

Now that would explain everything, but could it be true?

About a month later I got back in touch with Angela, and she put me in touch with her mother and aunts. We had a long call via Zoom and reminisced about visiting each other. Then the subject of the DNA came up.

Talking as diplomatically as possible, we danced around the elephant in the room, the obvious solution to Angela’s and my DNA puzzle. I mean, no one wants to be told that their mother or father cheated on their spouse.

Finally, I decided to take the plunge. “Could we be half-sisters?” I tentatively asked.

“Oh my God!” one of the sisters exclaimed. “I was thinking that but didn’t want to say it!”

Whew! What a relief. Now we could discuss what happened and not beat around the bush.

We came to the conclusion that my mother and their father must have gotten together (at least once) and I was the result. The only one who may have suspected that Uncle Vinnie was my biological father was my mother and she’s long dead so I can’t even ask her. And even if I could, how does one broach that kind of subject?

The conclusive proof, at least as far as I was concerned, was when they send me a photo of Uncle Vinnie taken when he was around 55-60 years old. I look very much like him, and I resemble my half-sisters, too.

The upshot is that I now have an extended Italian family: three half-sisters, nieces, nephews, uncles, aunts. I’m loving the fact that my ancestors came from Italy.

Now when people ask me about my ethnic background, I proudly say “I’m Italian!”

* All names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.