Except, I shouldn’t be French, that wouldn’t make any sense. Greek. Only Greek. On my dad’s side. Irish on my mom’s. If you know my family, this makes plenty of sense. We are who we are, and it fits.
I love roots. Not the kind in the ground (sorry, plants, don’t come near me, I will only kill you!), the kind I can trace back to where my great-grandfather came in from Velvando, Greece, when our name switched from Tsitsimiklis (still the coolest last name ever in my book), and how the Irish side is late everywhere they go (is that an Irish thing or just a character trait?), to stories of how Greek those ancestors were. My brother went to Greece and it took him a few donkeys and a couple hitchhikes to get to the village we’re from. I say we’re as if I’ve been there. I hope to someday.
I’m convinced my now-love for anything Greek/Mediterranean comes from my dad’s mom, even though sadly when I was little I was far too finicky to have a taste for all the lovelies she concocted in the kitchen.
I love learning about my family, seeing my own when I get the opportunity, and even, getting to see people who resemble the crazy background I come from. This year was the first time I went to the Greek festival in the south. It was different. I didn’t know the people there. But, something was slightly familiar, universal about the roots there too, if you looked hard enough. And, because I couldn’t resist, I think I came home with a few pounds of Greek food J.
Question about roots, because I love learning about YOU too, any interesting facts about where you come from?
Linking up for Five Minute Friday with Lisa-Jo Baker and others - Happy Friday!
me, Irish grandma, brother