Frisco Francophile Not Actually French

I had a long conversation with my Dad the other night. He lives up in Bells, TX now. His sister - My Aunt Phyllis - and her husband Ty have been carefully researching the family tree. It turns out that on my father's side we do not have a drop of French blood in us. We had always thought that our grandmother, the matriarch of the family, was decended from French Hugenots who settled in northern Germany after they were ousted from France. Because of the French connection and supposed bloodlines on my mother's side, I always assumed that most of my ethnic history went back through French ancestry. It doesn't. I am Scotch-Irish and a little German.

Of course, I am a self-confessed culture snob who is prone to latch onto whatever would be the most sophisticated aspect of anything - including personal geneology. I naturally went for the phantom French influence and read the history and culture, learned enough of the language to get myself around Paris one day, delved into the cuisine, and bought more than a few fleur-di-lis knick-knacks.

I've been faux-french for nearly ten years but I am in good company. My francophile tastes led me to a biography of Jackie O last Christmas and she too played up the French in her bloodline when in reality she too was mostly Scotch-Irish. That famous "Bouvier" name was about the only thing French about her and the Gaulic moniker translates to cow herd. So there you go. Maybe I should read a new book on the Scotch-Irish influence in the United States next?

My husband - the Slovac-German-Irish boy born and raised a Catholic from Pittsburgh, PA - is already asking me to junk the fleur-di-lis frou-frou nestled into cute little corners around the house. Little does he know I'm putting up my clan's tartan next.