It's a long way to Tipperary

I always hate taking the garbage out, especially on a summer night in New York, when everyone else's detritus has already been sitting out for a few hours. When I brought the last bin to the curb, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen today's mail. I opened the mailbox, sorting through all the mail, until I came to it: a #10 envelope with my own handwriting, from the Office of Vital Records of the City of New York. I tore it open slowly, and like Charlie Bucket finding the Golden Ticket to Wonkaville, jumped up and down when I saw the last document I need.

After spending 2-1/2 months applying for records and almost $200 in fees, I now have all seven documents needed to prove my Irishness by descent (as if my face, name, and drinking and fighting weren't proof enough). I feel like eating a bowl of Lucky Charms (they're magically delicious!) or scrubbing down with a bar of Irish Spring (manly, yes, but I like it too!) in celebration. This morning I got a response from the Irish Consulate General that I do not need the dreaded apostille to apply for Irish citizenship by descent. Now I just have to get a few photos, an affidavit signed by a clergyman or lawyer (I'll opt for the lawyer), and take it all plus a check for $178 to the Consulate General of Ireland in Manhattan and wait 6 to 9 months for processing. If approved, I'll be added to the Foreign Births Registry and officially be an Irish citizen. After that I can apply for an Irish passport.

Just yesterday I got the birth certificate of my great-grandfather, who was born in Donegal but emigrated to Scotland in his 20s. Had he not emigrated, my grandmother would have been born in Ireland and I could have claimed Irish descent from all four grandparents.

My great-grandfather's birthplace in Donegal was listed on his birth record, but unfortunately I couldn't make out the word. It looked a little like Brightness, but the B didn't look quite right. All I could definitely make out were the letters "ght." So I did a little sleuthing, since the district, Dungloe, was listed, and found some old land records from Donegal that listed a ton of people with my ancestor's surname. My great-grandparents had the two most common surnames in Donegal, which has made research difficult. But I ran down the list and searched on the letter "ght." The word "Oughtmeen" came up. I looked at the birth record, and the words matched.

I Google searched "Oughtmeen" and found the 1901 census records for it on a free site maintained by a New Zealander. I scanned the list, and there was my great-grandfather's family--names of people I didn't know existed, with their ages, relationships, occupations, and religions. Two of the residents were grandchildren born in Scotland, ages 6 and 1.5. Those would have been my grandmother's half-brother and -sister. My great-grandfather had married a Scottish woman in 1892, and they had two children before she died of tuberculosis in 1899. He remarried in 1900 and they had four children, including my grandmother.

I surmised that the children were living with their grandparents while the second family settled down in Scotland. I also found out that my grandmother was named after her father's sister, whom I had never heard of before.

I did some more research--all on free sites--and I found the other children in my great-grandfather's family. I found out that he was a twin, and another set of twins had been born right before them.

It's wonderful and amazing watching the branches of my family tree unfold more and more each day. Now I know how Alex Haley felt...Well, maybe not. I now have information going back five generations on both sides, and it's given me a stronger sense of who I am and why I like milk so much (long line of dairy farmers). I hope that by the time I and my sassy Latino partner go to Ireland next year, I will be a dual citizen and experience the land I could have grown up in if things had taken a different turn.