So, you got a DNA test for Christmas? Someone thought it would be so much fun for you to find out you’re not really Native American or they just didn’t want to get you socks or a calendar. Again. Well, have a seat. Let me tell you a bit about what CAN happen when you spit into that tube.

First of all, let me start by saying that spitting into the 23andme tube was one of the best things I’ve ever done. And when I say, “one of the best things I’ve ever done” don’t mistake that to mean it was perfect and lovely and beautiful and lacking complications. It wasn’t always lovely or perfect or lacking complications but it was an amazing experience. And the truth, whether you uncover it or not, is there. It’s like the number on the scale or the balance on your 401k; it’s whatever it is whether you choose to look at it or not. So, go ahead. Spit into the tube.

Once you spit into the tube (and it takes more spit than you know), you’ll send it off to the company and then you’ll wait. You’ll wait like you did back in the 80’s when you were waiting for someone to call your house phone. Since it’s the holiday season and you’re not the only one who received a spit kit in a box, you’ll probably wait a bit longer than usual. While waiting, chances are someone will question why you did and why you’re willing to give your DNA to the government to use against you at some point. I swear. Someone will say this to you. At some point, you’ll get an email saying some or all of your results are ready. In my case and in my sister’s, they sent us what I’d call “a trailer”. Just enough to get your juices going (like you wish they had when you had to spit into the tube) but not enough to tell you much. Eventually, all of your results will roll in and you’ll find out who you are (I say with jest in my heart) and from where you came.

In my case, I found out a few biggies. I found out that my sister had been wrong. We weren’t part Native American, but I was. But even bigger than that, I found out that she and I were half sisters which meant my father wasn’t actually my biological father. Let me repeat that. I found out that my dad wasn’t actually the one that helped to create me. At age 47, I found out that the blood coursing through both mine and my children’s was just a bit different than I had thought. My kids weren’t tall because my dad was and I wasn’t lucky to not wear glasses because my dad had since he was two. I had it wrong. Which meant someone was out there that actually had¬†known my mother in the biblical sense at some point in 1967.

Let me be honest. It was shocking and devastating and I was completely thrown for a loop even though I had wondered about it for close to 14 years. It’s one thing to think you’re Italian and find out you’re not. It’s one thing to think you’re Native American and find out you’re not. But I’d argue, it’s really a big deal to find out your dad is not your dad. From that moment on, I was on a mission to find my biological father.

So, spit into the tube. See what happens. It really is quite neat isn’t it?