I was eyeballing a tattoo of a family crest, and it got me thinking about my own genealogy. Yes, my family has a crest, and no, I'm not going to have it tattooed on my butt.
Shockingly, my family crest doesn't have a beer can on it. Milwaukee's Best. And probably a crapped-out liver.
On my dad's side, the genealogy has been traced back pretty far. There's a book out there (that I'm trying to locate) that has the entire family tree way back in the day when each family had 12 kids. Way back before the Constitution.
I had always thought that my family's origins were based in Switzerland. You know, those neutral people. It wasn't until I dug further that I discovered that my family is, gulp, Dutch. They started there, and made their way to Switzerland, Germany, and England. Ultimately, some arrived here with their litters of children in tow, where we procreated even more and are peppered throughout the country. If you know someone with my last name, chances are pretty good we're related, and I can probably find the proof in this journal. It is that comprehensive...and current.
(Incidentally, some guy with the same last name was busted for masturbating in a parking lot at some wedding reception a few years back. Indy was nice enough to tell me about it. Yup. Related to that one, too.)
To make things worse, my last name used to have a "von" in front of it. Like my last name isn't long enough already!!!
No wonder my family history is so boring. I remember in my history classes, I would routinely fall asleep when they talked about the Dutch. The only things the Dutch have going are tulips, windmills, and clogs.
Okay, I like clogs.