A few years ago, my aunt did a DNA test. Her results connected her to all her known family, but then also to some new first cousins. She was skeptical. “We know all of our first cousins.”

But finding secret families through DNA results is a cliche at this point, and it turns out my family is not immune. In the 1950s, for the first time ever, women outnumbered men. Probably a result of so many young men dying in World War II, the prosperity of the 1950s created another phenomenon. Men sometimes decided to take advantage of the situation and have a whole second family. It’s hard to find statistics on exactly how common parallel families were, but every time I mention that my uncle had a secret second family, I’m met with understanding and usually a tale of a similar secret second family in their line.

As soon as we saw the alleged cousins, their features so familiar and so similar to ours, it was clear we had new cousins to meet.

The Ancestors

My Polish family immigrated to New York in 1892. Before New York, they spent some time in Brazil. My great great grandmother was pregnant when they made the journey from Brazil to New York. She had my Aunt Cecilia in October of 1892, but she had my Uncle John and Uncle Walter before making it to New York. I was able to piece together these details through Uncle Walter’s immigration papers. He was the only one who pursued citizenship.

My great grandfather was born in New York in 1896. He had two more siblings after him, Frank and Louise. They grew up in Brooklyn. My great grandfather was exactly the right age to serve in World War I, and he did. One of the only photos we have of him as a young man is in his uniform. I wonder what the Polish family of the first generation American thought of his service in that war even though he only served in the United States. When my family fled Europe, Poland didn’t exist. Documentation lists them as “Polish-speaking Russians” because their part of Poland had been annexed to Russia. I don’t know exactly where in Poland my family lived, but this helps narrow down the region.

My grandfather was born in 1927, and he grew up in the same house in Brooklyn as his father did on Louisiana Avenue. Our Polish name was spelled differently in every census from their arrival until 1940, so that Brooklyn address is how I found my family each year.

My grandfather was a little too young to serve in World War II, but his baby brother Johnny, the link to the new cousins, lied about his age, documented on his draft card. He made himself two years older, which was the same age as my grandfather…and still too young.

Uncle Johnny

I heard stories about Uncle Johnny my whole life. Uncle Johnny was a bit of a troubled soul, from my grandfather’s perspective. He wasn’t motivated in the same way, and I don’t know if we had the vocabulary or societal knowledge about mental health to provide the right support. I’m not sure we have that even now.

The story I remember most vividly was at a funeral. After the ritual portion of the funeral, Uncle Johnny decided to go across the street to a bar to get a drink. They watched him walk away and never saw him again. Uncle Johnny walked off the face of the Earth. It happened before I was born, so I never met Uncle Johnny or knew anything but these stories that were passed down.

But I grew up knowing my dad’s cousin Glen, Uncle Johnny’s son. Cousin Glen is a character who is very fun to be around. He’s gentle and calm now, but I understand that is different than his youth. We always looked forward to any random visit from Cousin Glen, and we’re still just as thrilled when we get to see him today. Like my dad, who moved as far from New York as he could be comfortable, Cousin Glen also moved far away. It took several more states before he got comfortable, and he’s a West Coast resident now.

As recently as 2017, when we decided to get together in Key West (before we knew about the new cousins), Glen was still asking where his father could be.

Potential Relationship: First Cousin

In 2020, my aunt bought DNA tests for Christmas. My grandmother did one and so did she. My grandfather died when I was seven years old, but my aunt’s test would reveal his family. When first cousin matches came up, she thought it was a mistake because she makes it a point to keep up with all of her cousins, even though they are scattered across the country now.

But Cousin Rose, Glen’s half-sister, was looking for us — the family she didn’t know yet.

The Reunion, Florida, 2023

The new cousins live in Florida, so as soon as it was safe enough during the Pandemic, we planned a reunion. The new cousins weren’t the only cousins who live in Florida now, so we also reunited with some of my second cousins on that trip. We drove around the Gulf anticipating our new cousins. Some nerves, but comfort in knowing we’d all be together, excitement at seeing those we hadn’t for awhile, relief at the ending quarantine. Emotions mixing like static, dulling and distracting.

When Rose and Pauline showed up, looking so much like our cousins, the static started clearing. We learned middle names we did not know. They learned about step-parents who seemed like strangers on their Ancestry family trees. We each had pieces to the puzzle needed to see more of the picture.

The campground where we met in Florida was hosting an eagle in a prominent nest with her babies. She embodies the scrappy American spirit of the immigrants seeking better opportunities on stolen land…without which my family doesn’t exist.

After we marveled at our shared physical features, they fell right in with our family like it had always been. And I guess it always had been somewhere even when we didn’t know it yet.

Let’s Do it Again, Long Island, 2025

This summer, we decided to do another reunion, this time on Long Island. My dad grew up on Long Island and two of my aunts, my grandmother, and a slew of my first cousins still live there. One of my aunts generously hosted us at her house where we had planned activities for the whole weekend, including line dancing, an ice cream truck, crafts with my mom (a famous Faceobok crafter), a movie night, and fireworks. We spent time on Long Island during summers when I was growing up, so seeing the lightning bugs and needing a jacket in the evenings (while my family complained about the heat) were very nostalgic for me.

Several of my cousins and my sister decided that we should be ancestors one day too. I’m diligently filing all the family secrets so that I can be the aunt with the stories and backstories everyone needs to know.

One of my favorite activities was a trip to visit the Suffolk County Vanderbilt Mansion, Museum, and Planetarium with a private tour from my step-uncle who is on the board of the museum. This was the summer home of William K. Vanderbilt, the great-grandson of Cornelius the railroad magnate. Cornelius was known for connecting railroads for one continuous journey, a far more convenient way to travel than constantly changing trains and buying tickets in each small town. William spent his days traveling the seas trying to find new species, and many of the specimens he brought back are now on display in the museum.

The mansion, built right on the Northport Bay so that Vanderbilt could park his yacht in the front yard, was nicknamed The Eagle’s Nest. William apparently struggled with his purpose as the descendant of someone with such a prolific biography. None of the species he found were new. His was the third generation of wealth, the generation who tends to lose the wealth.

The Eagle’s Nest now has two giant eagle statues at the entryway from Grand Central Station in New York City, the city that called my ancestors home.

The Luck of Family

There are a few lessons that I’ve learned from the saga of our new family. First, family is the luck of the draw, and we don’t all get a good hand. It seems like I’m among the most lucky, though. Some of us have famous ancestors who created things we still use. Some of us have infamous ancestors whose mistakes we all learn from. Some of us just have ordinary people who traveled three continents to ensure that their descendants could prosper, and it’s up to us to remember them and tell their stories.

A lesson we all have to learn over and over is that this time could be the last. One of my second cousins who we saw on that 2023 trip with the eagle’s nest has passed on. Another story to preserve and cherish. Another ancestor to honor. As we’re reminded every Mardi Gras, it is later than you think. Ash Wednesday gives us another version: remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.

Finally, expanding family, whether by blood or choice, results in more. More people to know, more stories to share, more memories and hugs, more opportunities to love, more souls to eventually grieve.

I often wonder what the ancestors would think of us and how we tell their stories. I wish I had more to remember, and I would love for them to correct my mistakes and misunderstandings. But I have no doubt they would recognize the things they passed down — our dimpled chins, hooded eyes, and insistence on remembering.