As an adopted person, I have always been curious about my DNA. I am six feet four inches tall and have size 15 feet. Was I small for my family, or some sort of giant, mutant freak? I am all-art-side-of-the-brain. Is this something that runs in my bloodline? Don’t get me wrong, I love my adoptive family, and I have no complaints about my life, but now I know that my love of all things English is not just because my adoptive family has British roots. Maybe this explains why I felt so at home in England, and was so excited when we saw the Queen and the Royal Family.

So what, if anything, do all these strips of blue tell me about myself? Well, a lot of it was stuff I already knew. I don’t have a propensity for having a cleft chin, and I don’t. I probably shouldn’t have dimples, but I do.

The best news is that I have no genetic tendency towards Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s disease or a couple other genetic disorders that I can’t pronounce. I am also not a genetic carrier for some 40 plus other diseases and afflictions. Now my kids, when filling out medical forms, don’t have to guess… and also it means that anything wrong with my daughter’s is totally my wife’s fault. HA!

Oh, and I have a first cousin that I have never met… or even been aware of… and we are exchanging messages… so… uh… yeah. I may have a chance to shoot down my own theory that my parents were a high-priced Vegas hooker and a wandering European prince.

I am proud to be able to call myself mostly English and/or Irish, not only by inclination and indoctrination, but by genetics as well. We live in a crazy world of science and technology that can let us look inside ourselves at a molecular and cellular level. How cool is that?

Anyway, in for a penny, in for a pound… or ten… as I always say.