My maternal great-grandfather, about 20 generations ago, was a Portuguese converso. I am therefore in my rights to call myself the Apostle Thomas.
Other details:
According to one of the genealogies on which my paternal grandfather blew a whole social security check, I am a direct-male-line-descendant of one of the men who stood with Martel at Tours; or more accurately, the horse-poop-scooper who stood behind him.
According to one of the genealogies on which my paternal grandfather blew a whole social security check, I am a direct-male-line-descendant of one of the men who stood with Martel at Tours; or more accurately, the horse-poop-scooper who stood behind him.
You may thank me for the survival of Christendom.
According to a different genealogy (same procuring agent, half the price), my paternal line on my grandfather's side is actually Jewish; they immigrated through Ellis Island and took a name that ended with -eaux to blend in.
This really does help explain my love of matzoh.
This really does help explain my love of matzoh.
On my paternal grandmother's line, I'm a descendant of a minor noble who used to run around shooting people from horseback in order to protect a mildly-inbred woman and her children.
Call me Aramis.
Call me Aramis.
