"Turns Out Mom Was Right (And I Never Forgot It)”

The Hook: Why I Did It:

For Christmas my granddaughter gave me a gift, just as she does every year. This time, it was a small, nicely wrapped box with a bow. Not only did I receive this box but my spouse and my daughter received the same square box. For a few days, none of us opened them. I let mine sit by my bed, my mind wandering: Was it jewelry? A gift card? A ”white elephant” prank? One morning, I finally tore back the paper to find a 23andMe kit. I was puzzled but deeply joyful. As a child, I always felt “different” my skin was brown, freckles dusted my cheeks, and my hair turned a distinct reddish-brown in the sun. I knew I was black and born in the south (Louisiana), but I wondered if I was like my favorite dish, Gumbo: a mixture of everything. Was I Creole-a blend of French, Spanish, Native American, and African? I knew the Native American was a gamble; whenever someone accidentally called my mother "Indian," she would explode, turning red and cussing them out-loud, insisting she never be identified that way. I never understood why she got so mad, but the mystery was about to be solved.

The “Goo” Phase: The Logistics (Reading is Fundamental):

Once I opened the kit, a set of instructions and a tube fell out. That was it. I was confused-is this all it takes to submit my DNA? I always tell my kids at work that “reading is fundamental,”  so I took my own advice.

The process was specific:

     1.  Register: Link the 14-digit barcode on the tube to the website.

     2.  Prep: No eating, drinking, brushing, or vaping for 30 minutes. You need a clean specimen!

     3.  The Work: Spit until you hit the line. It takes more effort than you’d think!

     4.  Ship: Seal it, shake it for five minutes, and drop it in the mail. Don’t worry—it’s perfectly legal to mail your spit!

The Reveal: The “What the…?”Moment:

A month later, the results arrived. I didn’t know whether to be shaken or reassured. According to the data, I fit the statistical average: about 74% Sub-Saharan African, 20-30% European, and less than 1% Native American. 

The Family Fallout (The Best Part of Humor):

My mother would have been elated—sporting her classic "I told you so" attitude—to see proof that she was right all along. But while the data cleared up that family myth, it left more questions than answers. Because I never truly knew my grandparents or great-grandparents, my history still feels like a mystery. I’m determined to break that cycle for my daughters and grandchildren. I want to leave behind a legacy that ensures they know I was a person made up of complex, vibrant dimensions.

Conclusion: My New Identity:

Reflecting on this heritage has made two things clear. First, my presence here is no accident. Generations of people felt it was vital to keep our bloodline alive. From the forced passage from Africa to the struggles of slavery and the weight of Jim Crow, my ancestors sacrificed so that I could be here today, writing these words. Second, we are never just "one thing." Whether the labels say African American, Caucasian, Latino, or Asian, we are more complex than a single box can hold. While a shroud of mystery remains, I am closer to the truth than I was a month ago. I come from a great people, and it is my responsibility to stop the cycle of the "absent grandparent" and ensure our story is told. 

Your Turn: What’s Your Story? 

I don’t want our family history to be a mystery for the next generation. To help me build this legacy, I’d love for you to join in: 

Share a Memory: What is one story about me (or our family) that you never want to be forgotten?