“German, Bohemian, French, Dutch, Scottish, British, American Indian.”
That was the list my grandmother could rattle off without a second thought when asked about her heritage. It came from her mother, Ruby, though I later learned the “German, Bohemian” part was actually from my grandfather’s side. Ruby herself was half German — something even my mother didn’t know for years because Ruby so strongly identified as an English Benson.
The list was born in a school classroom. My mom was accused of lying about her ancestry, and the teacher even called her mother to inform her. Out of that came the mantra, a neat little summary of who we were — or at least who we thought we were.
For me, it became a kind of internal checklist. I spent years trying to prove every part of that list. I even added “Irish” for a time, believing my biological father was full Irish—only to learn later that he wasn’t, not even a little. The “Scottish” in the mantra? My grandmother had none—I do, but it comes from my father’s side, not hers. And the “French” always nagged at me. My DNA results? Not a trace of French. Not in mine or my grandmother’s. And when I built the family tree, the results skewed heavily German. Still—if 'French' was in the mantra, I was determined to find where.
That’s when I found my 4th great-grandfather, Andrew Ludwig. He emigrated from Europe in the mid-1800s, married a German woman, and settled in a very German area. Every U.S. record I could find — census, death certificate, you name it — listed him as German. Every record except one: the 1880 census, which said he was born in France.
It didn’t fit. If his parents were French, why did he marry into a German-speaking family? Why would every other record call him German? I resisted connecting him to any “French” family until I had more proof.
Then I learned he was from Alsace — a region that has shifted between France and Germany many times in history. Suddenly, it all clicked. Using AI to talk through the history, I learned that being “French” or “German” in Alsace often depended on which flag was flying at the time, not on language or culture. It explained why Andrew might appear French in one record and German in another — and why my grandmother’s “French” roots never showed up in her DNA.
Family stories are a great place to start your research, but they’re rarely the whole truth. If something doesn’t make sense, follow that thread. The contradiction is often where the real story lives.
Of course, there’s always a new mystery waiting. My current DNA results now claim I’m 1% Baltic. I have no idea where that comes from — but you can bet I’m already pulling at that thread, too.
For Your Research Toolbox
Family stories, even when they’re not 100% accurate, can hold clues worth exploring.
Don’t ignore inconsistencies — they can be the thread that unravels a bigger story.
DNA results can confirm or challenge family lore, but remember results shift over time.
Historical context, like shifting borders, can change how you interpret records.
Marriages, neighbors, and community ties often reveal cultural or language clues.
Photo by Julien Verneaut on Unsplash