DNA and Me: Solving Personal Mysteries

By Kait Carson

Last December I opened my email and discovered a message with the subject line ‘cousin’ from a Gmail account I didn’t recognize. Hello, red flags. The only reason I didn’t delete it immediately was the sender included my original family surname. One I hadn’t known existed for years. Still, something about the message arriving so close to the holidays made me think of: 1) the millions of bogus AI marketing emails that clogged my inbox daily, and 2) the bogus inheritance emails seeking either a finder’s fee or bank account numbers. I left it to marinate in my inbox, unopened, for a week or more.

As a bit of background, my family history is convoluted. My mother’s maternal side is well documented. My cousin is a genealogy buff, and she’s taken the family back to the early 1800s. Not much mystery there. Her paternal side is a different story. In a ripped from the headlines moment, my grandfather was U.S. born because my French great-grandmother visited her husband’s Italian family in the states, either because of a miscalculated due date or by design. Who knows.

My paternal grandmother’s heritage is an open book. She maintained contact with her middle-European family throughout her life. My paternal grandfather, the side of the family my ‘cousin’ represented, is an entirely different story. My grandfather never spoke about his life prior to his arrival in the U.S. On census forms he variously styled himself as German, Austrian, or Czech. He spoke German, and that was my father’s cradle tongue, so German made sense, but our family name was Hoyo, and there is no ‘y’ in the German alphabet. There was no record of him coming through Ellis Island or Castle Garden, which could have offered a clue to his origins. The only tidbit he did share was that when he came to the U.S., he went to Wyoming, where he married and had a son named John. The boy was taken from him as an infant when his wife died.

The knowledge of a potential cousin with the original family surname led me to open the mysterious email. Rather than discovering a possible cousin with a connection to the American West, I discovered a possible cousin with a connection to modern Slovakia with an insatiable thirst for genealogy. He’d compiled quite a dossier of facts and newspaper clippings about his extended family, and about my more limited one. His great-grandmother, who would have been my grandfather’s niece,shared some photos she had received from family members in the U.S. before WWII. The collection included photos I had seen in my father’s personal photo collection, and newspaper clippings that were new to me. Including one of my parent’s wedding announcement, complete with a photo of my mother. Gobsmacked doesn’t describe my feelings.

All of this, and a really great sale, encouraged me to have my DNA tested. I’d been on the fence about testing, but I took the plunge. My results have come back, and while I’m still digesting them, there were some surprises right on the first page. My results returned only six regions. As it turns out, I have no German heritage on my father’s side, and no French heritage on my mother’s, but I am 1% ‘Germans in Russia’ on her side. That was a startling development. The testing also turned up a handful of cousins in the American West. Intriguing, but I’m not sure what I’ll do with the information.

 The results were different to what I had been expecting, and exposed many of the stories I grew up with as false. Oddly enough, I think that’s part of the charm of being an American. When our ancestors came to this country, they had a golden opportunity to recreate themselves. Arguably, that was part and parcel of the Great American Dream, and their re-creations became intertwined in the fabric of their descendants' lives until the myths became reality.

Have you taken a DNA test, and did you find any surprises? Would you consider taking one?