My family of origin never had much interest in our ancestry. As far as I knew, their attention went to managing the household, supporting their church, educating their children, and relationships with the immediate family. I took it for granted that, with a name like Schlotterbeck, we were obviously German. This was, of course, before DNA testing and genealogy websites. I knew my mother’s father was of the Irish but never gave it much thought.
When visiting Ireland in the early 1990s, however, it struck me that this was not just my mother’s heritage but mine as well. My grandfather’s surname was all over Ireland. (I felt like the land claimed me, but that’s another story.) My growing interest in Celtic spirituality and Druids brought an increasing focus on my ancestry. Who are we, really? This was my question – or one of many.
Fast forward to this decade and my DNA testing as of September 2021 shows I carry ancestry from Germanic Europe, Ireland, England and Northwestern Europe, Scotland, and Norway.
Over time, I’ve had accounts with genealogy websites and, last night, I went into my Family Search account to follow some lines of my mother’s ancestors through history. If the findings of the website are to be believed, they showed my ancestry going through a couple of kings of France (Henry), a line of Pictish kings, kings of Alba (Scotland) and Dal Riada, and through Julius Caesar to some of his ancestors before reaching a dead end. I was dumbstruck.
Don’t we all imagine we might have descended from royalty, or wish we had? The irony here – perhaps one of many – is that I’m not only descended from the Celtic people I revere, but also the man who did the most to destroy that culture.
None of this changes who I am, of course – or does it? I don’t know what to make of it, if anything at all. The bills still need to be paid. I need to dress in the morning, or at least before going out. And there are endless chores of living and maintenance. Our chickens, cats, and bees care about none of this.
Regardless of who my ancestors were, my destiny is mine.
Regardless of what they have done, my karma is my own.
I make my own choices.
Still, I wonder. . .
I once heard a Celtic speaker talk about how many of us Celtic/Americans come from families that have always been on the move. They were either colonized and moved on or were the ones coming in to colonize. The speaker went on to say that many of us still carry the ancestral memory of not having a homeland – of not “belonging.”