Put yourself in my shoes for a moment while reading this. You sign up for 23andme.com in an effort to see if you are carrying any aberrant genes that your children should be aware of for their futures. After spitting in a vial, an interesting feat since it is very small, you mail it off and eagerly await news of impending doom from some exotic gene only known to a few Neanderthals. Weeks go by with little news, and when the report does come back, you are negative on all counts of tested variants. Good news. You share this information with your children and all is well. Nothing of interest, a number (last count over 1200) of relatives suddenly appear, of which you know not a one. Perhaps they had no interest in my side of the family or I might have heard of them in the past?
Not really surprised at the lack of knowledge on my part of new relatives, just unsure why they appear to be from the South, specifically Tennessee. After all, my parents of the past 74 years came from Czechoslovakia and Germany. Good basic Germanic stock, salt of the earth. Caused me to live in Germany for thirty years amongst my kin. Became fluent in the language, immersed in the culture, produced three children all of good German stock and felt right at home between North America and Central Europe. I made many trips to Prague, Olmnitz, Dresden among other areas in the Eastern Block in the 70’s and 80’s visiting cemetery’s and homes my parents had lived in and or frequented reviewing a past. Something does not smell right, perhaps errors on the part of the DNA Testing Agency? Why the South connection?
Two years pass with the resultant lack of interest in visiting the website for new, unknown relatives. And then, out of the blue, the world changed. An email from someone claiming to be my half-brother arrived? Who knew? He had also done the 23andme.com and to his dismay, I turned up as a long lost, half-brother. He already had a brother; did he really need another? For that matter, I had a brother and definitely did not want a repeat. DNA testing has created a new paradigm on what is a real family and what is a manufactured one. I use the word ‘manufactured’ advisedly.
On receipt of his email, I began the laborious search for truth. In comparing DNA results, he was correct in reporting our relationship as half-brothers. Now what? An email dialog ensued. The fascinating part here is the wife of my newfound brother was far more interested in this state of affairs then he was. My interest was naturally piqued in finding out at the age of 74 that I was adopted, and add insult to injury, I was the elder brother. The good side to this is, I have now been absolved of responsibility for whom I thought was my brother with him whom I had grown up. For years I had told my mother (I thought she was my mother) that ‘there is no way I am related to that kid’. She would just smile and ignore the comment. That side of the family gone. I have been absolved. New side of the family to be explored. Could absolution be in store for us all?
The new brother brought out an additional half-brother, who was reluctant to accept my existence. This caused some consternation on the part of my children, as their presence assured my existence. Number two claimed our mother would have told him about me. Hell, she didn’t tell me about me!
So, research became a hobby. I now had a: new mother, two new brothers, a myriad of assorted Aunts and Uncles, and over 1000 third to fourth cousins; all unaware. There are positives in the world. My mother’s siblings consisted of seven brothers and sisters. Many have passed away, or were in the process, with a few young enough to speak with when the time was ripe. One of my brothers was not sure whether he wished to meet me or not. The other followed the lead of his wife and decided ‘why not’, an insight to our mother’s life was in the offing. One summer ago, we meet in New Jersey for an interesting dinner. Two brothers, Dickie and Robert, their wives, multiple children with their wives and some children gathered at a local restaurant to satiate curiosity. I of course felt a little bit like a strange amoeba being examined under a microscope. Verdict; neutral. One dinner does not a new family make. We exchanged backgrounds, history, etc. along with pictures and family lore. Very odd to look at old photos of my birth mother. She was very attractive, albeit short; barely 5 feet tall. I am six feet, two inches which would have made me a giant to her. Old newspaper clippings from my grandmother in Tenessee mixed in with clippings of bake sales and other anecdotes from local papers continue to fill in a picture of the late thirties and early forties. Her older sister worked in the Fort Campbell PX just across the river from her hometown of Clarksville. Naturally my mother followed in her footsteps getting the same job towards the early mid-forties during her teenage years. This during the War, must have been a thrilling experience being suddenly exposed to soldiers near her own age that were now training to go off to battle. At some time in 1943 she became pregnant as did so many other women of the period. Uncertainty, a sense of doom, all contributed to searching for that special someone. Time was finite.
I came along in 1944. My birth mother, rather than face local gossip, moved to her sisters in Rochester, New York where she had me (This is an assumption on my part.). I was apparently put up for adoption, this something I only found out at the ripe old age of 74. A sense of humor is paramount in the face of this new information. After all, New York, really? My adoptive family always said I was born on a highway outside of Rochester. Little did I know that that highway ran through Tennessee.
Ok, we are up to date on my birth mother’s side. Two brothers, a myriad of nephews and their kids, two new in-laws, undoubtedly a dog mixed in there somewhere. What about the unknown father? Think of this as a hobby. Back to 23andme.com to review over 1000 relatives. Most could be traced to my mother’s side. Is it possible that no relatives on the paternal side were ever curious about their DNA connection’s?
Little to go on. My new brothers (an improvement on my old brother in my adoptive family) were kind enough to share some newspaper articles naming my birth mother along with the town where she was brought up. Also, with that material came a class yearbook with a cryptic note about a boyfriend she had dated throughout high school. I smelled a trail; of this, hobbies are made. I looked through the yearbooks of her graduation year as well as one behind and one forward of 1943. Because of multiple references to Fort Campbell and environs surrounding the Fort I checked anyone that had passed away in the war from her town and the adjacent Kentucky one. This took some time. A little like running down a rabbit hole without a candle. Result, no joy. Help appeared from my daughter-in-law who suggested my focus was too narrow. I should join Ancestry.com, a much larger service and redo the DNA testing for possible matches. Now that was an interesting thought.
Ancestry indeed produced a huge additional slew of relatives; did I really need more? Many third and fourth cousins, along with a few 2nd cousins. The problem was the second cousins were all Canadians; with a few Americans exceptions. The Canadians seemed a bit of a reach for a seventeen-year old from semi-rural Tennessee. The Americans were fairly easily traced to my mother’s family. The Canadian connection seemed a real reach.
Then of course, a first cousin turns up. I reached out and received an odd email claiming the DNA was actually the wife’s, not the listed participant. He had wanted to protect her from scammers etc. He wrote that he would check with his wife if she was aware on any connection to Tennessee. Naturally she was unaware, as they lived in Minnesota. But, there is always a but, she would check with her mother in Michigan to see if there was a connection. The conversation went back and forth, with my first cousin berating her husband for her being readily accessible online. The short answer is her husband came back with the email address of her mom.
Her mom’s reaction was immediate, as I had mentioned that my birth father may have been in Kentucky, she reported her brother might indeed be my father. He had been stationed at Fort Campbell for bomber training in 1943. My mother had worked with her sister at the base PX during the time he was there. He must have been a good talker, or bit of a rake (makes me proud). It would appear that after one and a half years I had found my father. While the story is short, the amount of time spent online looking at: ancestry.com, 23andme. Myheritage and Gen.genesis, was not. Who appeared to be my aunt, was amused that her elder brother had dallied in Tennessee. He was only there for three weeks. Mom was indeed naughty; however, it is important to understand the pressures of a waging war, the young men gone overseas, and the women left behind to cope. Any respite was welcomed.
We began exchanging information online. Quite a few pictures were sent by her to me and in a few of the early ones the similarities were very great indeed. In other’s less so. The disparity in likeness in some of the pictures made the connection questionable; however, in others the likeness was uncanny. Most of the pictures that matched mine were from his 17 – to 20 years old age group. Others, his countenance changed as he aged. Still, the DNA connection was real, and undeniable. His name was Dickie. My half-brothers name is Dickie. Did cause some concern on my new brothers’ part. Obviously my birth mother still had feelings.
The journey had ended. I had assumed that the process of finding out who he was might never have concluded, and yet this short-lived hobby took only one and a half years. I acquired a new sister based on my father’s new wife who loves in the San Diego area. So, three siblings later, a cornucopia of nieces and nephews, the family has grown. Everyone has a designated black sheep in the family and I am it!
Post script. My birth mother died in 1997 only fifty miles from where I was brought up. She lived a long life, somewhat religious, and certainly secretive vis-à-vis her new family relative to the past. We all have our skeletons. My father on the other hand, had a short life. Considering he was a gunner on a flying fortress, one would have expected him to have died during the war. In actuality, he passed away in 1952, at the age of 26 years old in upstate Michigan. The story goes that after divorcing his wife, my sister’s mother, he lived in Michigan. He and is current girlfriend went to the Traverse City area to visit friends. They left Detroit late in the evening and arrived at their destination in the early morning in a snowstorm. Rather than wake their friends they decided to sleep in the car until a decent hour. Carbon monoxide got them both. Seems ironic that the Germans missed, but a snowstorm did not. A sad ending to a life indeed!
So, the only questions left is whether I sired someone in my youth. I still look at the different genetic testing sites, but as yet no surprises. A good thing, as I am sure my children would not be thrilled to go through the same process. No news is good news. I now have enough new relatives and request only for that onslaught to end. No new relatives, please.
Are the genetic testing agencies a good thing or a disaster? Depends on your point of view. If you were me, a sense of humor is paramount…………….
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