Move over Trump

It’s been a very interesting few weeks when it comes to genealogy. 

  • I got to meet a long-lost cousin;
  • I went to Georgia and visited an ancestor’s home;
  • I am chatting with the descendant of slaves owned by my ancestors in the last century;
  • and I am moving into the White house.

Wait… What?

Yes, I am a descendant of Andrew Jackson.  President #7.  The brains behind the Trail of Tears.  Slave owner.  Overall not a very nice guy according to his biographers.  On a trip down to Florida, he would have frolicked with Great Grandma, got her into trouble, and took off.  After she died, her parents wanted nothing to do with “Junior”.  So they handed him off to their close friends, the Ingles.  Junior had kids, who had kids, and several generations later, here I am. 

I spent an entire day trying to verify this. It’s a story that you find all over the internet.  There is even a guy who claims (with no photographic proof) that the lineage is written on a tombstone.

I have a DNA match to “Junior” but I am not sure where to go from there.  Historians obviously deny the story.  To make matters more complicated, Andrew Jackson had no known biological kids of his own.  I am not sure how to go from here, so I am going to “cheat”.  I am going to track down, legally, through genealogy, the brothers and sisters of the president, and their descendants. 

If I do at some point get a DNA match, then we’ll have a party in the Rose Garden!