I haven't been on here for aaaaaages but it's the only place I can come and freely claim my bragging rights over outwitting my family.
So, almost two years ago I did an Ancestry DNA test. Sounds fun, right? Would have been if it didn't say my grandfather isn't my grandfather. My grandmother spoke of an incident in which she was attacked by men. My "grandfather" let slip that he had somehow wronged a woman called Lizzie Lindsay and she had sent sons, brothers or nephews, or a group of them mixed, to punish him. He says he was in prison when they showed up and they attacked my grandmother instead. My grandmother said he stood aside and told them to take her instead of him. When I asked who Lizzie Lindsay was, he said she was related to his brother's wife's father. When I asked again a month later, he and everyone else claimed not to know of any Lizzie.
Well, tonight I found her on the 1911 census. I know who she is. And who she is, and the men she was related to, fits right into my DNA results. I know. It took nearly two years but I found out. I don't know who my real grandfather is, but I've narrowed it down to a group of men.
My triumph is that I'm one of the few people in this family who has managed to prove they're lying. It's a tough achievement and, despite the horror show involved in it all, I'm taking that as a win, both for me and my grandmother - because they maintained for the last year of her life that she was either confused or lying. She wasn't. I'm not. We can take a small win.
