Recently I had some routine medical tests, the kind that become increasingly routine once you enter middle age. The results were okay, mostly "consistent with normal aging"; this isn't as reassuring as it's intended to be, but I'm getting used to it. One finding was a bit peculiar, however. Nothing bad, but it was something typically only found in Asian and Native American populations.
When the doctor (who is Chinese) told me this, my first response was, "Well, my children are Asian," as if that were any kind of explanation. Did I catch Asian-ness from them? Was this some kind of anatomical red thread?
Then I remembered that there were vague rumors of American Indian lineage on my mother's side of the family. I went home and checked the records. Sure enough, my great-great-grandmother on my grandmother's side was American Indian (she died in childbirth, and her tribal affiliation is unknown), and my great-great-great-grandfather on my grandfather's side was full-blooded Choctaw. This makes me something like 3/32 American Indian. You can imagine how disconcerting it is to learn something like this so late in life.
When I mentioned it to the girls, May said, "Mom! That means you're part Asian like me!" I think I had told the kids about the land bridge theory at some point. The idea is a bit of a stretch, but it's interesting that she made the same connection I did.
I don't believe in a red thread that supposedly ties families together. I'm not so sure we were "destined" to be a family. But I do understand the need to make a connection. It's natural for family, friends, and members of a community to look for the things we have in common, the traits and tastes we share. It's that connection -- more accurately, it's our desire to make that connection -- that truly binds us to one another.
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