Ancestry, Interrupted

     This morning I was looking at my stats, which provide a non specific breakdown of who is viewing my blog. The first (and only) foreign country on there is Russia. I find this to be coincidental, since I am of Russian descent.

     For most of my life I believed I was half Polish and half Irish. I understood (from my Mom) that my Polish grandparents met as emigrants en route to America, and married here. I wonder who dreamed up that fairy tale?  The reality is that my grandfather was born in Petrograd, Russia, and my grandmother was born in… Jersey City. The only non fallacy is that they were married in this country.

     On to the Irish side. My mom had indicated to me that no one knew when her ancestors originally immigrated here from Ireland, as it occurred many generations back. Out of curiosity, I looked it up. It was actually her… grandfather.  Someone certainly got their facts mixed up, regarding both sides of the family.  If I want to find out anything about my roots, in most instances, Ancestry.com is the more reliable source.  For example, another misbelief is about my maiden name. Rumor has it that the name originally ended in “ski”, and that it was shortened upon my Grandfather’s arrival in America. A cousin of mine indicated to me that this was merely a joke that her father made up.  I managed to get my hands on the passenger manifest of the ship that my grandfather arrived on, and, you guessed it, his surname originally ended in “ski”. Did you ever hear of so many misconceptions in one family? It makes me wonder if anything I’ve learned about my ancestors has been accurate…It certainly doesn’t appear that way.

     So, upon learning that I am Russian, rather than Polish, I abandoned my imaginary Polish ancestry , as well as  years of traditionally serving Polish food on Easter, and I discarded my Polish cook book, subsequently replacing it with a Russian cook book. However, when I discovered that the main staples in their recipes are cucumbers, beets, and herring, and pickled at that, I retrieved my Polish cook book post-haste. Thankfully, one doesn’t have to be Polish to love kielbasa and pierogis.