DNA results are in and I am a mongrel like any other human being

My uncle and World War II hero B.J. Murano, Uncle Rocky and his wife, Helen and B.J.'s wife, Eddie.

My father, Big Al, (left) and my mom, Louise (red shirt) and our neighbor Maureen at a Columbus Day Parade in Revere, Mass.

My father, my son and I stand during a Columbus Day Parade in Revere, Mass., back in 1997.

A proud father with his daughter and son in 1962.

“There is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and no slave who has not had a king among his.”    

                   — Helen Keller

“If you want to understand today, you have to search yesterday.” 

— Pearl S. Buck

                                                                                                     

“We all grow up with the weight of history on us. Our ancestors dwell in attics of our brains, as they do in the spiraling chains of knowledge hidden in every cell of our bodies.”

— Shirley Abbott

AUBURN, Maine — After receiving my DNA results from ancestry.com, my perspicacious son, Anthony, pointed out that all my ancestors exist in my spit that was just tested in a lab.

To me, it was a profound statement from my son. He continues to meticulously chart our family tree and has given me a new appreciation of who I am and how I got here.

When we look back at our biological history, I think we forget that humanity is composite of our ancestors who have given us life — and their traits — for better or worse. 

Evolution (only science works for me) has been kind to us — for the moment.

The saliva test was a Christmas gift from Anthony and it really is the gift that keeps on giving. I found there is an endless parade of fourth and fifth cousins out there and some have contacted me. My son has taken his quest further and reached out to living relatives around the globe.

We are all probably related (although we don’t like to admit it), but these conclusive results haven’t stopped us from killing each other over ancient hatreds, race and pride.

When the findings arrived, Anthony and I reviewed the breakdown of who I am and we found our ancestors come from all over Europe, the Caucuses and the Middle East.

According to Ancestry’s ethnicity estimate, my ancestors are from these regions:

Europe South 50 percent (no surprise there)

Southern Italy

From your regions: Caucasus, Europe South, Middle East

Europe West 24 percent

Caucasus 15 percent

Low Confidence Regions

Great Britain 4 percent

Middle East 2 percent

Scandinavia 2 percent

Finland/Northwest Russia < 1 percent

Ireland/Scotland/Wales < 1 percent

Iberian Peninsula < 1 percent

My ancestors’s biology is tucked away deep inside my DNA. Take the test and you will find we are all mongrels and the thought of being a purebred is absurd.

The DNA results arrived in time for the holidays, which can be a painful time of year for those who continue to grieve for lost loved ones.

I miss my parents and Christmas isn’t the same without them. I was raised on a street where nearly dozen Italian relatives lived and all had a hand in my upbringing. But their life force still courses through my veins and they will be with me this holiday and for all eternity.

Exchanging spirits and cooking enough food to feed a battalion of hungry soldiers was just a few ways my family celebrated the Yuletide. It was a two-day event on McClure Street and it featured a Christmas Eve supper with super-sized servings of fish, and for an encore, there was an afternoon Christmas meal featuring pasta, ham and turkey. You didn’t eat for days after gorging yourself in the afterglow of the holidays. 

But my neighborhood is filled with new faces, and those people I loved and cherished, are now wonderful memories of my past. The holidays resurrect those fond recollections and are a source of joy, pride and sadness for me.

But you have only two choices when confronting the holidays and loss: Close the shades in your room and disappear into an abyss of depression — or go forth and enjoy those special moments with your child and wife that only exist for a brief instance in the universe.

It is not a comfort to me and doesn’t ease my grief, but my DNA made me realize that my parents live on inside me. I begrudgingly accept that life is ephemeral, and if you live long enough, your loved ones and close friends fall away like the passing seasons.

But I made a promise to myself to make every day count, including the holidays.

My DNA test also revealed that I am related to England’s King Richard the III and Edward the I, who was also known as Edward Longshanks.

I sometimes feel like a royal, but my throne is a recliner in my parlor. 

I am also grateful to an ancestor, Middlesex County New Jersey Militia Capt. John Payne, who squared off against King George’s Redcoats. Anthony’s careful research of Payne led to our admittance to the Sons of American Revolution this year. He also went on to prove through our DNA that we are indeed related to Payne.

So I will raise a toast to my ancestors and my family and enjoy another Christmas with all of them.

The kindness of others

“Kindness is a language which the deaf can hear and the blind can see.” 

― Mark Twain

AUBURN — I am seeking revenge against a pair of Samaritans who had the gall to be nice to me.

Can you believe these guys! The nerve of them for being decent and kind people!

I want my pound of flesh (see Shakespeare). And remember, no good deed goes unpunished. 

It was an extraordinary act of generosity committed by two of the finest human beings to walk the planet.

Now I want to pay them back, and the only way I can is to return the favor and be nice to them, too. They won't see it coming, but no doubt they will be looking over their shoulders. They know I am out there, dreaming up some devious plan of my own act of kindness.

The two conspirators are named Mike and Don - two common names for two uncommon men who exude decency and integrity. These are smart guys who give a damn about the right in things in life. These are guys with common sense and believe in the greater good.

They have their heads on straight, which means they will never have a future in American politics. Their reputations are beyond reproach, and I wouldn't get within 10 feet of them if they weren't such wonderful human beings.

Here's what these guys contrived to trigger my tirade.

Don is my neighbor who offered me the heating oil in his tank at no charge to me. He made the wise choice to switch to natural gas, shaking off the shackles of greedy oil companies. He is a great guy who shares his vast knowledge with me, and I of course, can always use a few pointers as a home owner. 

Anyway, his oil tank needed to be removed as well as the oil in it. That's where Mike, a co-conspirator, comes in.

Mike is an adept plumber and another fine example of humanity. This young man served his country in the United State Air Force as a mechanic repairing the feared B-1 bombers in Saudi Arabia for 10 years. Mike's experiences in the Middle East remind me of T.E. Lawrence, who tried to unite the tribes at the conclusion of World War I.

Don needed a plumber and Mike needed work, and the both of them decided to be nice to me. The two also became friends, and like expatriate Rick Blaine and French inspector Louise Renault in "Casablanca," it just might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Well, after Mike transferred the oil to my tank and removed Don's tank from his cellar, my honest plumber and friend knocked on my door to inform me the job was completed. He had quoted me a ridiculously reasonable price to transfer the oil a couple of weeks ago.

"Hey Mike, how much do I owe you," I asked.

"You are all set," he said with a wide smile.

We looked at each other. "C'mon, what do I owe you," I demanded.

"We settled it between ourselves," Mike explained.

That was it; the deal was sealed - without my say in the matter.

That meant I was on the receiving end of about $440.00 worth of free oil thanks to the kindness of two gentlemen. My tank is nearly full because of these thoughtful jokers.

I offered Mike coffee, paying for lunch, frozen vegetables from my garden and the keys to my car.

OK, well three can play at this game as I figure out how to respond to such kindness.

They better keep looking over their shoulders. I am going to get those guys and it will be pretty.

A walk in the woods and thoughts about an old friend

 

    POLAND, Maine - The weather is absurdly warm, but as long as our oil furnace is silent and I am not contributing to the wealth of greedy speculators and Middle East corporations, I welcome the strong sun and melting snow in March.

    To celebrate this salubrious March day, we ventured into the cool Maine woods at Range Pond State Park - which has 1,000 feet of pristine shoreline and clear, cool water surrounded by miles of hiking trails. Take your bike or stroll the walking paths at Range. It doesn't matter; it is all good for your health.

    This oasis, which lies just 10 miles outside the Twin Cities, is a great way to beat the summer heat. The lake is fine area to try your hand at fishing and check out gawky loons that saunter past you. The hiking trails are shaded by tall pines.

     The ice is just starting to melt, but the sheet of white slushy stuff is quite a contrast against the searing sun. Winter always lingers in this state, and its calling card is stubborn ice and snow that lies in the shady areas of the woods until April.

     The two-mile hike brought us to the sandy shore where we found a vacant bench drenched in shade. We enjoyed the cool breezes off the icy water as we washed away our thirst with a cooler full of water.

     Anthony tossed rocks and dipped his legs in the frigid water to cool off as the mercury reached the 75-degree mark.

    Spring arrives on Tuesday, but New England just might skip that season and move right on to summer with temperatures hovering around 80 degrees during the middle of the week.

     There was a sparse group of Mainers who also thought it would be a pleasant way to spend a hot March afternoon near a lake encased in ice. 

     Just think, in another month and a half, all of us will immerse ourselves in Range's cooling waters to take cover from summer's impending heat.

Blast from the past

     It is amazing how many walk people in and out of our brief lives. 

     Ken Freeland flew right into my airspace at Norwich University nearly 34 years ago. We have been friends ever since and frequently reach out to each other as the decades have rolled past us.

     We became roommates at the Vermont military school for the five months. For some reason, we became friends in the first five minutes. Throw in John Connor and we became the Three Musketeers who had one helluva a time trading barbs and sampling fine booze in our cramped quarters. We were three comedians who gave the Norwich establishment a run for its money.

     Ken is a character, but that could also be said of me. Somehow, we mesh even though we are different. I guess that's why they call it friendship, which has endured for over three decades.

    Marriages don't last that long, and yet, our friendship was forged in less than a year.

     Last week, Ken left Connecticut to travel to Maine to purchase an expensive dog — and grace the Blasi household with a visit.

     I was honored.

    That last time we saw each other was seven years ago, which was far too long gap in our friendship. We have always stayed in touch by email or telephone.

     His visit was important to me. At this stage in my life, when many friends and family have died the past two years, I try to keep my channels open with people who actually give a damn about me and are still above ground.

    Well, his visit did me a world of good, and it was great to share a beer and reminisce about our glorious past.

    I think we will be seeing more of each other because we both understand we are all short-timers in this grand universe.