Nurse the Hate: The Ancestry Results

I have received my ancestry.com results.  First off, let me say how relieved I was that my entire idea of heritage didn’t get thrown into chaos by discovering I descended from an area that I have no working knowledge or interest in.  For example, I’m sure Albania has many fine attributes.  They have a great national orchestra and fine park system as I understand it.  Good people...  However, I’m confident that I would not burst with excitement telling everyone about my Albanian roots.   It just doesn’t have any panache.  What is there to get fired up about?  There’s probably some sort of National stew made of turnips and pig offal that all Albanians eat on Hermansitz Day.  Look, that’s not true, but you didn’t know that.  Nobody is going to offer you a high five if you tell them, “I just found out I’m 65% Albanian!”.  Fuck yeah dude!  Up top!  

I consider not coming up as Albanian as a win.  I’m sorry if you are Albanian and are currently wearing the National Head Dress of Albania, the “Kruzett”, while reading this.  (Also made up).  I just did not want to be forced to go through a radical self re-identification process.  Even coming up as Dutch would have been sort of difficult.  Do I need to then start being the guy that wears wooden shoes so I can spark up a conversation about how Dutch I am?  Who has the time or the access to quality wooden shoes?  Good riddance.

As I noted in an earlier post, I had been told I was Irish.  There was some evidence of this as we have a photograph of my descendent that was immediately conscripted into the Union Army after arriving from Ireland to the US and got his arm shot off at Gettysburg.  The Millers have never been great warriors.  I had confidence that Ireland was a big part of the mix.  The results of the ancestry.com test (whatever they are worth) did indeed show 20% Irish.  Here’s the twist...  The other 80% came up as Great Britain.  This is a conundrum.

I have spent the better part of two years being yelled at by English people.  The good people at the WSET finally broke me and had me accept the nuances and foibles of the English education system.  I fought them but they wore me down.  I bought in.  Hell. I even flew over there and had people call me “mate”.  I sort of liked it when a woman called me “Luv”.  If I can be totally honest, most of the people I have met from Jolly Old England do appear to be more educated and well rounded than most Americans,  However, I have mostly interacted with wine professionals and not blokes with 17 pints in them, so perhaps I need to cool my jets on my assessment of “my people” based on this limited sample.

So where do I got from here?  Do I need a stiff upper lip?  Do I need to obsess about the finer details of the Prince Harry and Merkel nuptials?  (She clearly isn’t Royal Family material!). Am I going to have to buy a Mini Cooper with the British Flag on the hood and side view mirrors?  I don’t want to have to start calling cookies “biscuits” godammit!  Yet, what else can I do?  I already drink an abnormal amount of tea.  I live in a rainy sun deprived climate.  I own some Oasis and Kinks records.  I think I’m halfway there...  I suppose I just have to make a total commitment.  

I did consider that these shocking results could mean I am Scottish or Welsh, but I am not pale enough to be Scottish.  I know next to nothing about Wales so I think out of convenience sake I will pretend Wales is  not part of Great Britain.  Isn’t Tom Jones Welsh?  I am sort of the low rent version of an indie rock cow punk Tom Jones I guess, but I am going to pretend i don’t know that.  I’m English dammit!  These are my people.  Give me my gin.  Buy me a Union Jack.  Let’s talk about The Pitch!  God Save the Queen!