Irish American

Sue Gregson,

I’m a dead ringer for my late mother. Auburn hair and freckles. People took one look at me as a child and said, “You’re Barbara Regan’s kid.” Decades later I still look like her. My dad was the Regan, though.

My paternal grandparents were from Ireland; counties Mayo and Cork. Coworkers at the DuPont Experimental Station called my grandfather Cork and my Dad’s nickname was Corky. Dad and his siblings grew up in Wilmington’s 40 Acres, a bastion of Irish Catholic families. Mom was English, French, and Dutch and a protestant.

I was raised Irish Catholic after mom converted. It’s my identity. We attended Mass and CCD (religious education classes) weekly, listened to Irish music, stayed in touch with family still in Ireland, played the Irish lottery, and contributed to the Irish Republican Army. During the ’70s as a tween, I competed in Irish hard shoe dance at feiseanna (dance and Celtic cultural festivals) up and down the East coast. I honeymooned in Ireland and celebrated there with cousins from Cork.

So, imagine my shock when in 2020 at 59 years old, a 23 and Me DNA test revealed I was barely a lick of Irish. In fact, I’m 51% Italian. The rest of my ancestry is English, French, and Dutch with a sprinkling of other ethnicities. Porca miseria!

My first thought was “I’m not Irish?” quickly followed by “Wait, Dad’s not my Dad?” and “Who the hell is my sperm donor then?” Mom died in 2003, but Dad was still alive (he died at 91 in 2024). Dad was sort of taciturn and my mom could do no wrong, so I wasn’t sure how much knowledge I’d get from him.

I did want to let him know that I knew he wasn’t my biological father because I never sensed I was anything but his kid. He’s the parent who took me to Phillies games and attended my school award ceremonies. He also was the parent who attended my college graduation. He helped me get a union scholarship for school (International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers).

After the initial shock wore off, I realized I felt like I was betraying him if I demonstrated any interest in learning information about my biological father. And I was pissed at my mother, but that was wasted anger. I decided to do some discreet digging for info and was able to figure out the circumstances of my birth (before my parents met) and determine my likely biological father. He has family in Wilmington. I have not met them.

I did speak to my Dad and let him know how grateful I was that he adopted me; that he had me fooled because I thought I was his favorite kid growing up. He swore he never asked my mother about my biological father and that she put some paperwork in front of him, he signed on the dotted line, and that was it. He loved my mother, so he loved me. That simple.

So, I’ve decided I’m still Irish. That simple.

Sue Gregson

Sue Gregson is a business writer and kids’ book author who used to work for the Delaware and Maryland state governments in the education, legislative, affordable housing, and community development arenas. She’s volunteered for federal, state, and local political campaigns for nearly 50 years. Sue is not growing old gracefully.

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