At 8:05 p.m. last Monday I received 6 miss calls from my family along and at least 30 text messages. I immediately called my sister back, concerned it was an emergency. She answered quickly and said, “we’re opening our 23andMe results!”. I had completely forgotten that we scheduled a phone call date with all 6 of my immediate family members to open our results at the same time. We had waited so long for this moment and it was finally here.
7 weeks prior I had just sent my 23andMe package in the mail. Filled with hope that the results would reveal a diverse background, I eagerly tracked the processes every day. 23andMe, named after the 23 pairs of Chromosomes in a human cell, is a company famous for DNA genetic testing and analysis. These tests reveal one’s ancestry through a thorough examination of DNA from the client’s saliva.
Before getting my results back I was optimistic to find something interesting in my DNA. I so badly wanted to find something that made me different. Coming from the suburbs of Chicago in a town where the average person is either a white Christian or Jew, there was little diversity in language, race, or ethnicity. I always envied my friends who had more diverse backgrounds because I felt mine was too generic. I wished that my 23andMe would somehow reveal some amazingly diverse ancestral background.
About six weeks after I sent in my DNA to be examined, I received an email saying that my results were ready to be viewed on the website. I excitedly texted my family, since my siblings and I had all bought them to compare our results. Considering we all live in different cities, we decided to find a time to open the results together.
At 8:05 p.m. I joined a family conference call where we all gathered on the phone to reveal our results. I could hear the breathing over the phone as my finger hovered over the “results” button on my app. “Three, Two, one, GO!”, I yelled into the phone.
My family history lay before me, lit up on my little phone screen. I felt a strong amount of power in my hand by carrying all that information, but disappointment still filled my chest. The screen revealed exactly what I had expected deep down. I was just as generic as I had assumed.
99.9% European.
My DNA was telling me that I wasn’t different than that of majority in the US. I knew it was naive to think that I would be anything different. Living in DC, being surrounded by friends with more ethnic backgrounds from countries all around the world, I wanted to be different like them. I wanted to have a label to identify with.
After reflecting, I realized that regardless of where my ancestors come from, I should be proud of that identity, because somehow I managed to get to where I am and be alive today and I have them to thank for that.
While many of my friends have great pride in having their ethnicity as part of their identity, I know that identity is so much more than where you and your family is from. It’s what you do with your time here on earth that forms it.
While a DNA test is a wonderful idea to learn about family history, you don’t need one to determine your entire identity. I believe that is something you create as you make your own experiences every day.
