“No,” says Ancestry.com. “You’re ice cold.”
“Am I . . . Irish?”
“You’re getting warmer,” Ancestry taunts.
My eyes roam over the map, placing family names on the countries where I know they originated. England . . . Scotland . . . Germany . . . Denmark . . . France . . . Poland.
I don’t have family from Poland. My research goes back to 1800 for most of my lines. All the branches have names that fit the countries where the family originated. There are no Romonovs, Bartollonis, or Kowalskis in my family tree. Not that there is anything wrong with those names or heritages, I just happen to know who is in the family and who isn’t.