Recently David and I have been looking into our family histories to see what we/the kids are… genetically speaking.
David’s is really straight forward; Irish, Scottish, and a few British guys thrown in for good measure. Mine gets a little trickier though… I don’t know who my biological father is but according to family legend the best guess based on a compilation of incomplete accounts (did I mention my family is super weird and complicated?) is that his name was Plunkett Beaumont, so that’s where I started. An afternoon of cyber research led me to the conclusion however that either A)he’s been dead for the majority of my life, B)he’s been living completely off the grid for the majority of his life, or more likely C)that’s not really his name.
Although on the upside, “Plunkett Beaumont” is basically the best name ever for a mythical father figure.
I decided “Meh, I’ll just learn everything about my mom’s side. That’s half of my DNA, and half is probably plenty. I’ll figure out where my ancestors come from on that side!” No, no I won’t. With the except of a great grandpa who came here from France every branch of my family tree on that side is snapped off in some weird, untraceable way… mostly of the baby-in-a-basket-left-on-the-steps variety.
So it’s become a running joke that David’s family history is Irish and my family history is abandoning our young. Although, if you look at it the other way maybe my family history is just bringing home strays… and that explanation makes all sorts of things make sense.
I figured everything beyond that 1/16th French would forever remain a mystery. That is until this afternoon when a giant storm rolled in and (instead of doing all the productive things I was planning to do) I spent most of the kids nap sitting on the porch and watching it while I smoked a pipe. And it hit me… who sits on porches and smokes pipes? Hobbits… Hobbits are the only people who do crap like that. Need more evidence? My feet are pretty big compared to the rest of me (and somewhat hairy, but don’t tell anybody), and that whole idea of second breakfast is right up my alley. We don’t need to wonder about my heritage anymore… I’m obviously a Hobbit.