True story. For reals.
If you’ve been reading my blog for long, you know that I am oddly obsessed with St. Patrick’s Day and all things Irish. Of all the different ancestries that make up my genetics, I’ve always just felt…Irish. Now it all makes sense.
Right before Christmas, I had my DNA tested through 23andMe.com. I found out lots of interesting tidbits, like the fact that (on my mom’s side) we are part of a unique group of Assyrians who migrated north to Scandinavia and later became the Vikings.
Because a woman can only trace her maternal side, in order to find out any information about my paternal side, I bought my brother a kit a few weeks later. When the results came back, we were shocked to learn that we are descendant from a “kidnapping Irish maniac” (my son’s words.)
St. Patrick was not Irish, he was born in Scotland but he was kidnapped by a Irish king when he was 16 and taken to Ireland to be sold as a slave. That king was my ancestor. His name was “Niall of the Nine Hostages” and the reason he was called this was because he liked to collect royal hostages.
Yeah, make me proud grandpa. However…I guess if it wasn’t for him, St. Patrick would never have spread Christianity to Ireland.
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