I am, I said

When people talk about identity, there are a lot of ways to slice it. More classifications than can be counted, probably. With new ones being created daily.

By city or state, by country, by religious identification, or sexual orientation, or race, or gender, a group, by creed, or ethnicity. A New Yorker, a Frenchmen, a Mason, a Latino, a Nasty Woman. Mulatto, LGBT, Jewish. There are a million labels and I'd say most people associate with more than one.

Which brings me around to DNA testing. A chance to see inside the shaker of that genetic cocktail. See what you're made of (literally).

I know a dozen or so people who've sent off their spit and cash in exchange for a peak behind the ethnicity curtain. A backward glance to gain some insight into their makeup, to fill in any gaps, to answer the age old question of, "Who am I?" So, naturally I was curious and this year for Christmas I got the gift that keeps on giving: a kit to swap my spit to decode my constitution. Due to what is apparently a holiday spike in lab work, I'm still awaiting my results.

The waiting game leaves room to ponder. Does it really matter what the results say? Will that change my perspective of my identity at all?

I can see why it would for some. If you've always proudly touted your Cajun heritage and how that makes you a gumbo expert, and then find out that not one single drop of Cajun blood flows through your veins, well, that'd be really anti-climactic. It's be a real wet blanket on your spicy Cajun parade.

As for me? Well, I've always identified as a mutt, so I don't think there will be anything contrary to that appearing. Based on family surnames, I've got some Irish, German, Dutch and French-Canadian. If there's any truth behind some saucy stories I've heard about various ancestors, there really could be any number of things mixed in there. (We're a fun bunch, whoever we are. Or else just really good story tellers...) Cher was a half-breed, and she turned out fabulous, so I'm not too worried. There were no "purebred" illusions going into this.

Pretty sure my ancestors painted with ALL the colors of the wind...

Is ethnicity really how I identify though? I mean, it's easy to offhandedly remark about being Irish whenever someone comments on my sunburned porcelain skin or freckles (or love for potatoes). And when people balk at attempting to pronounce my last name, hey, blame the German roots! (Or just, say Gina K, really, it's easier for all of us.) But do I go around wearing a proud badge of those identifiers? Should I be?? Am I failing to represent the culture of those who created this fabulous mishmash of DNA?

And really, what difference will knowing my composition make? I'll still identify as a proud member of my direct family lines. Our little clan of fiercely loyal ragamuffins. Regardless of whatever faraway land my forefathers came from, in recent history, we've considered ourselves a bunch of Midwesterners. Nice, hardworking folk. But that's true of my predecessors as well, I'm sure. Immigration isn't for pansies. And neither is Wisconsin.

Which really makes me wonder, what about my descendants? (Should these child-bearing hips happen to prove their point some day.) Several generations from now will some kid put together a family tree talking about their Midwestern roots? Will they point at my name (middle name missing, DOB just a year - because who keeps track of that shit) and say that I was the furthest back they could trace? Or by that point will all this spit be in a master database somewhere an all that kid has to do is click a button to get an image of my face and entire history? (Heaven help us all if those early Facebook feeds become accessible to future generations) It's hard  to say how they'll identify, but hopefully they'll be just as proud as I am to be exactly who they are: a little bit of everything and a whole lot of spunk.

They say birds of a feather, flock together. So, explain this one to me.