Everyone wants to be Irish, now

It seems more likely at that time that an Irish woman, who was of lower social standing, would marry a black man than an English woman would.

I go through this periodic rushes of interest in my genealogy, stifled primarily by life getting in the way. When I was growing up, I was told I was, in addition to being black, American Indian, probably Iroquois, on both sides; having seen my maternal grandmother, it was quite evident at least in her heritage. I was Dutch on my father’s side, though it COULD have really been Pennsylvania Dutch, which was actually German.

On my mother’s mother’s mother’s side, there is a picture – a daguerreotype, I think  – of a white woman who is an ancestor. She came from the British Isles, but was she English, or Irish? I rather fancied the latter, especially after having read the book The Sweeter The Juice, a true story about an Irish woman and a mulatto man marrying after the Civil War. The Irish had not achieved “whiteness” in the United States right away; it took a couple of generations before beginning to assimilate.

So it seems more likely at that time that an Irish woman, who was of lower social standing, would marry a black man than an English woman would. The particulars of my specific past, however, remain a familial mystery until that purported “free time” I seek allows a greater investigation into this matter.

One thing I could easily do is take one of those DNA tests that I got from Ancestry.com several weeks ago. It wouldn’t likely distinguish between German and Dutch, or English and Irish, but it would be broadly informative.

As you may recall, it was discovered that Barack Obama had Irish ancestors; lots of O’Bama jokes ensued at the time.

I’ve always been Roger O. Green, or Roger O’Green, if you will. Some day, maybe I’ll discover whether I come by my faux designation legitimately.