I’m back in the homeland, wandering Indiana while dodging pot-holes the size of a child’s wading pool along the way.Yesterday’s trip to Shelbyville was disappointing, but I did get a couple of new clues on my likely birthmother’s family. They are all still total strangers, but precious“blood” relatives that should bear a resemblance, a physical connection that adopted children like myself never experience. It has captured my curiosity, as I continue to search for pictures, still hoping my information on this “second family” is accurate.

My web search of North Vernon revealed little. I will eventually go to the Jennings County library, but not on this trip. I apparently did miss spotting a picture of my birth mother’s oldest sister in the 1941 Shelbyville High School annual. So, at some point between then and 1949 the family must have moved to North Vernon where her one-year-older twin brothers went to high school. Their father was a farmer known as “Pete,” who only lived to be 61 years old. His wife, Ruby Mae, lived twenty-one years longer but died on her birthday. I was able to find photos of both of them in the Shelby County library file compiled by her great grand daughter Angie.

North Vernon and Shelbyville high schools are now both consolidations, with little history from my birth mother’s era on their respective websites. At least, Shelbyville maintains bragging rights to their 1947 state basketball championship that pales in accomplishment to only Milan’s title in 1954 preserved in the movie, “Hoosiers.” Milan was a school of only 161 students, while Shelbyville featured three black starters in a primarily white school. All-black and Catholic schools were barred from the single-class tournament in that era, that featured 781 high school teams in 1947. North Vernon, now Jennings County, has never had that kind of basketball success, an essential measure in Indiana schools. Supposedly, my birth father was a basketball player in high school, one of the few details I know about him.

I’m not sure where this incessant interest in sports comes from? It must be genetic, since my adopted father was a lefty and couldn’t really teach a right-handed son. He was never much of an athlete, but was at least competitive on ice, something I was never able to master. I seemed to be obsessed with basketball, a sport that remains a favorite, although my shooting and ball-handling skills are long forgotten. I never really played much baseball, but did learn to enjoy watching and arguing sports with my dad. As an adult, I played softball in primarily work-related leagues. I also ran some track in high school, but mostly short dashes and hurtles. Ironically, I always hated running long distances, although it’s the only sport I still do in retirement. I also wrestled in high school at the insistence of a friend. My adopted mom was never a sports fan and my grandparents were not at all sports-minded. Was the birth-father I never knew somehow still an influence, even though my athletic skills were only slightly above average?

I would like to know more about this man known as “The Marine.” However, the only one who knows his identity is my birth mother. It’s just another reason why the clock is ticking. She is presumably still alive, since no record of her death is on file. I’ve seen a recent picture, but don’t know her state of health. She’ll be 85 in a few months, living in Seymour, just 15 miles from North Vernon and 42 miles from Shelbyville, as the basketball bounces. I did see an address from her past in Thorndale, Texas, but otherwise she’s stayed close to home. I’ll be back in four months to do some more research.