Mrs The Stratfordian has played a blinder

the stratfordian
Not my DNA

It’s not often that I praise Mrs The Stratfordian on these pages but on this occasion, I must congratulate her. On this occasion Mrs The Stratfordian has played a blinder.

How so? I hear you ask.

This goes back to Christmas and the buying of a DNA test kit for every member of the Lower Regions i.e. Kids. Mainly Grandkids but also including the more direct bloodlines, I refer to of course, my/our son and two daughters. I must admit my initial reaction was one of horror at the expense of this exercise,  but realising the battle was lost before it had really begun, I retreated (as usual) licking my wounds and relieved that no blood (mine) was spilt.

Anyway. I take it all back.

It was a genius idea (that somewhere along the line I’m sure I actually had a part in).  Well. The results are in and what we are left with is a bunch of interested and surprised grandkids of various ages, to say nothing of my own son & daughters. There’s a sort of new sophistication to their swagger, which to my way of thinking can only come from the smidge of Italian that they carry (or ‘Roman’ as one family member has put it). Other segments reveal that it won’t be long before they take up yodelling or a career in reggae. 

The delight on their faces to discover that somewhere along the long line they/we, had an ancestor who was sexually assaulted by a big hairy Viking is a sight to behold. As is the joy in finding out that another sad relative was taken for slavery from the West Coast of Africa.

The fact of the matter is that these DNA tests are in most cases an eye-opener. You/we are never quite what you/we think you/we are and although not (apparently) 100% they give us all a very good idea of our roots. The main thing to remember is nobody is ‘Pure’ anything. We have all been, somewhere along the line, ‘interfered with’. If by chance you refute this and insist on an ‘uninterrupted bloodline’ then your past family must have spent all their lives in a cave high up on a mountain that they couldn’t leave.  What went on in that cave, I hate to think.

I would go so far as to say that DNA should be taken at birth. No child need ever leave hospital without knowing what stock he or she comes from. What a story he or she could tell. Roots. So important. As Marcus Garvey once said, (I paraphrase) ‘A tree without roots, falls over’.

If everyone took a DNA test kit perhaps this would put a permanent zip on the lips of the racist and the other scum who make it their business to make life miserable for those who are ‘different’. A knowledge of their own DNA make-up would perhaps/maybe (I’m sort of doubtful because underlying it all is a lack of braincells) make them think before they open their rancid gobs.

Peace. the stratfordian

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