Enjoying some Tuesday night magic at Hotel Chelsea. Photo by Kat.
Unrelated?
Funny that I would use that word, because actually... this is all about relations. As Madonna once sang, I have a tale to tell. And as she also sang, "Hope I live to tell the secret I have learned, 'til then, it will burn inside of me." Okay, enough with the Madonna. I don't know where that came from. But I do have a long-ass story to relay to whomever wants to read it, and it's about where I came from.
Start at the Start
Yes, that seems wise, but we're going to leave out the identifying information for reasons that will shortly become apparent. In 2019 or thereabouts, my mother took a DNA test through 23andMe. I don't know why she did it. But when her results came in, she was entirely shocked to find that her genetic ancestry was about 50% Ashkenazi Jew. Let it be noted that neither of her parents, to the best of her knowledge, were Jewish. We had often speculated that some of our physical characteristics, like our skin tone and curly hair, possibly came from a far-removed African American relative, but no... we were Jews.
My mom, not being quite as savvy at tech and research as I am, was unable to ever uncover specific information about who her biological father was. And to be honest, I'm not sure she wanted to know, thereby upsetting the apple cart of her familial background. Me? I was totally cool with it; I've been close friends with many Jewish people over the course of my life, and it was fun to let them know the news that I was, at least in part, part of their tribe.
Me and my mom in about 1973. I seem to be around four there.
So I'm 25% Jewish, Right? Right? Wait, What?
This is where things get more weird. If my mom was 50% Ashkenazi Jew and my dad -- who passed away in 2017 and was no longer around to ask -- was a guy with almost 100% German heritage, my own DNA would show about 75% German background and 25% Jew. With me so far?
In 2022, I decided to take my own test, expecting the results per above. But that's not what I got. Instead, my genetics showed me as being almost 80% Ashkenazi Jew, with the remaining 20% being English and smidgens of various Northern European heritage. But there was no specific German DNA at all in my background. But that made no sense at all. I had to sit there thinking through the genetic math as if it were a calculus proof instead of simple arithmetics.
That's when I called my mom, who -- upon finding out that I'd taken a DNA test -- had recently made mention of us having a nice lunch and chatting about various things. That suggestion was odd and out of character for her, but it turned out there was no need for the nice lunch.
My mom and me, Lobsterfest, June 2022.
The Call
I rang up my mom and told her I'd received the results of my DNA test. There was a foreboding silence on the other end of the line, so I continued.
"So," I started. "I am about 80% Ashkenazi Jew."
"Uh huh," said my mom in a very unsurprised voice.
"And the way I figure it, there are really only a few logical possibilities as to why I am 80% Jew and not 25% Jew."
"Such as?" asked Mom, using the voice of a person who doesn't want to be in a conversation.
"Well, Dad could have been Jewish and for some reason never mentioned it. Or, perhaps Dad was adopted, was unaware, and never knew he had Jewish ancestry," I offered.
"Yes, I suppose those are possibilities," said my mom.
I continued, "But Dad didn't look Jewish at all. Nothing about him makes me think of someone who had any Jewish genetics."
Mom was silent on the other end of the call, so I went ahead.
"The third possibility, and the one I find most plausible... is that my dad was not my dad, biologically speaking."
There was a brief silence before my mom replied.
"Do you hate me?" she asked.
"Of course not," I said. "But maybe we can stop this guessing shit and you can just tell me."
The genes don't lie. I went from being not at all Jewish to having a half-Jewish mother and fully Jewish biological father and ending up about 80% Jewish myself. And I promise, a good portion of you aren't exactly who you think you are, either. The odds are too high for it to be any other way.
The Recap
For the first 50 years of my life, I thought I knew my genetic background. It turned out that not only was my material grandfather not my mom's dad, but that my own dad was not, biologically speaking, my dad either. How about that?
And the funny thing is that had my grandmother or my mother simply connected with men who were of a more similar genetic makeup as their spouses, I'd almost certainly never have had reasons to deep-dive into my genetics to determine the truth. But life is funny that way; things happen, and then it's up to you to choose how you react.
In my case, I'm fine with everything. I'm not going to walk around all mad and judgmental about things that people did in their youth, many decades ago. My mom ended up passing away in February 2023. Before she died, she gave me enough information to determine who my biological father was. We'll save that story for another day. For now, I want to talk about a recent connection via my biological grandfather... her dad.
But first, to be clear: my dad, the man who raised me from birth... that is my dad. Nothing about this genetic research changes one iota of how I loved and respected that man. Biology takes a big back seat to the act of parenting, and my dad was a caring and fun person who I'm proud to have had as the male role model in my life. Just wanted everyone to know my feelings in that regard.
DNA Tests... The Gift That Keeps On Giving
One thing you may find if you take a DNA test... the information you get initially isn't the end of the story, especially in situations like mine where you have surprises in your genetic background. Other people choose to take their own tests as time goes by, and one day, you may receive a notification that you have a relative of whom you were previously unaware. Typically, this might be the child of a cousin, or a more distant relative that you'd not known before.
But in my case, about a month ago, I got contacted by a person via the Ancestry site, where I'd also submitted DNA for testing. Looking at her DNA match to mine, it was apparent that she was a rather close relation; we shared 966 cM, or about 14% shared DNA.
Have I been successful at researching my lineage? Yeah, you could say that. I've traced some lines back close to 1,500 years. I have an interesting family.
In genetics, a centimorgan (abbreviated cM) is a unit for measuring genetic linkage. Without getting too geeky about it, one centimorgan represents a 1% chance that a recombination event will occur between two places along the length of the chromosome. So simply put, the higher the number, the closer the relative. After chatting with this person -- and seeing that we were connected through my maternal line -- I felt sure that she was likely a child of the same man who'd fathered my mother.
Test Twice To be Nice
I didn't want to leave this up to speculation, so I advised her to try a test on 23andMe, where my mom's genes had been tested. And that leads us up to this very morning, when her results came back.
She is indeed my mom's half sister, making her my half aunt. They share the same father. It's proven and unquestionable. The DNA leaves no room for interpretation. Funnily enough, the way she initially discovered that her own genetics were different than she'd been led to believe was exactly the same as my mom's... by seeing that she was about 50% Ashkenazi Jew, and wondering why that was the case.
I should note here that while she and her family are complete strangers to me, they seem very nice -- today, I was also introduced to one of her daughters (my new half cousin), and we chatted a bit via messaging on social media.
On this coming Sunday, we've set up a Zoom call so I can try to explain my aunt's genetic background. She expressed regret that my mom had passed away before they'd had a chance to meet, and that's understandable; it would have been a close relation (a half sister) with similar stories, and with whom she could have compared information and so on. But she also said that she was very happy to have a new nephew, and I absolutely will welcome her as a relative of mine.
All of my immediate family I had growing up -- my father, my mother, and my younger sister -- are dead and gone. And of course, I have my own family and some scattered extended relatives here and there, as do most of us. But getting to know my new aunt and helping her understand her own genetic background is a pleasure. I'm very much looking forward to it, and that's where things stand as of now.
Um... the Show, Though?
Oh yeah! I knew there was a more specific reason I started writing all this shit.
So yes, on the first Tuesday of each month, I do a show at Hotel Chelsea, and this one went particularly well. We had a decent-sized crowd show up, and I couldn't tell you why, but from the get-go, everything was just working. My voice. My guitar. My fucking broadcast stream, which had failed me at my previous SL show.
It's nice when things work. Photo by Kat.
One notable moment that I wanted to mention. I started into the chord progression of Nirvana's "Polly," and at that moment remembered the bonkers story about the daughter of Kurt Cobain -- Francis Bean Cobain -- and the song of skateboard king Tony Hawk -- Riley Hawk -- who had met, married last year, and just had a son in September. And I told that story while strumming through those four chords, and ended it by opining, "If your grandparents were Kurt Cobain and Tony Hawk, you're automatically the coolest fucking child that was ever born."
It was just by happenstance that I pulled out a bunch of tunes that I hadn't done in a good long while, some harkening back to my shows of 10+ years ago, because...
I got a surprise visit from my friend Triana Caldera, who was present for many of my shows back in the late '00 and '10s. Photos by Kat.
I wanted to mention that my set list at this show was full of tunes that a) I hadn't played in awhile and b) were among those that I was doing quite a long time ago, having performed in SL going back to 2006, and having done live shows in real life since I was a high school student in the '80s. Several of the songs I did last night at Hotel Chelsea hadn't seen the light of day in my set list for about a decade. That's the nice thing about music; it doesn't go away. It just takes a vacation every so often.
Hotel Chelsea set list...
Pink Moon (Nick Drake)
Help Me (Joni Mitchell)
The Needle and the Damage Done (Neil Young)
Mad World (Tears for Fears)
Walk On the Wild Side (Lou Reed)
This Afternoon (Zak Claxton)
For What It's Worth (Buffalo Springfield)
Polly (Nirvana)
Things Under Trees (They Stole My Crayon)
Never Run Away (Kurt Vile)
Bertha (Grateful Dead)
Psycho Killer (Talking Heads)
Big thanks to everyone who came out to the show, with super big extra huge thanks to the following folks who helped support it!
Triana Caldera, Persephone Phoenix, Katya Kaestner, cristoofarr Resident, Richy Nervous, Cactusboss Resident, Kat Claxton, Clemoff Independent, my terrific manager Maali Beck, Hotel Chelsea manager Shyla the Super Gecko, and Chelsea's great staff!
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