Category: DIARY OF AN ADOPTEE (Page 11 of 18)

As an adopted child, my thoughts and research.

Diary of an Adoptee: Half-Sisters? #786

December 27, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

A DNA match does not necessarily mean an instant relationship, and branches of a family tree do not guarantee a strong personal connection. It’s magical though when you actually meet a stranger that was once only a square on your Ancestry chart – let alone five at one time.

I have spent hours with newspaper obituaries, Facebook, Linkedin, Find-A-Grave, and other genealogical resources trying to make sense of the Jerry Lee Banister family tree that I created. There are now over 7,800 names on that chart, with few recent personal get-together’s. The goal of this tedious work was to pinpoint DNA matches in hope of finding patterns that might lead to the identity of my biological parents – the mysterious pair that brought me life. I’m getting closer to their identity with each step I take.

Finding the birth mother required some amateur detective work and the help of some friends, as documented in previous posts on this site. Ultimately, the combination of adoption records and census reports led me to her whereabouts. She is still alive and living in Seymour, Indiana, close by her son named Jerry Lee. For some unknown reason, on my birth certificate she also named me Jerry Lee. This is perhaps an indication that she might have regretted giving me up for adoption 67 years ago. On the paperwork, she identified the father as a Marine, two years older and an athlete in high school. These were my only clues as to his identity.

In my efforts to contact both her and her son, they continue to disavow any knowledge of my existence – a dead-end that I reached nearly a year ago. In that time span, I have identified and met other DNA matches that have been high school acquaintances and close relatives to each of them. These “partners in crime” have tried to help verify my credibility in being who I say I am – the son and brother who was left in custody of the Indianapolis-based Suemma Coleman Adoption Agency for reasons still yet to be determined.

I have gone on to live an envious life without them, and grateful to the loving couple that ultimately took me into their home and gave me every opportunity in the world. However, my life is somehow not complete without solving the mystery of my conception. Unfortunately, the woman that gave birth to me does not “remember” this seemingly unforgettable detail. My initial hope was to find out from her directly who the father was and why was I no longer part of their lives? I ask these questions not out of bitterness but rather because of simple curiosity – closure on a missing piece of life’s puzzle.

It was perhaps destiny that led me to taking a DNA test at the suggestion of my boss. I have since retired, but she stirred enough of my inquisitive nature to encourage me to submit a saliva test to 23andMe. This in turn generated an inquiry by a stranger, claiming to be a distant cousin. He helped me find the birth certificate and 1940 Census report that uncovered my birth mother’s family. This was the first discovery of gold in the mines of my past. It inspired me to add the first branches of my Jerry Banister Family Tree to the Ancestry.com site. Eventually, I decided to spend another $59 to take their DNA test, as well, a fateful step that resulted in a “close family” match with a woman named Julianna. I just yesterday learned that she was only in that data-base because her son, Gabriel, gifted her the test for Mother’s Day. He happens to be my second closest DNA match.

We met for the first time yesterday after several e-mails, text messages, and a conversation this past year. Remarkably, Ancestry charts show us to be related as “half-siblings,” sharing 1719 centimorgans of DNA, well within the 1450 to 2050 range of this “close family” classification. Her son shows to be 894 centimorgans, a “first cousin.” Despite giving his mother this test as a gift, he was one of the biggest skeptics of the results, cautioning her of a potential scam on my part.

Julianna has five sisters and a brother who sadly passed away as a teenager. My wife and I met her mother, Marilyn, and four of these sisters at their home in Scipio, Indiana. Their unique residence was designed and built by her husband, who presumably would be my birth father, Cecil. It’s an octagonal cabin surrounded by a deck and acres of woods. A sign over the front door reads “Rock Bottom.” Mirrors are built-in to the deck and trees that gave him a 360-degree perspective of the creek-side property. I was about to step inside a window of what my life could have been like had the circumstances been different. However, he married Marilyn at about the same time that I was adopted. He died tragically seven years ago, so I will never get the chance to meet him.

Julianne had warned me that her mother was somewhat reluctant to welcome me into their home. Instead, she was very gracious as we presented her with flowers, but I could feel some tension. After all, no one in the family was aware of my existence until just recently, and the Ancestry DNA data did not define us as “close family” until the last couple of months. I was not even aware that Julianne was familiar with the scientific genetic measurements that were recently released. She revealed that she too believed us to be half-siblings, but we approached the subject cautiously with her mother and sisters.

The oldest sister Janet was born in 1954, and had taken a DNA test through National Geographic long before any of us. She was focused on my personal notebook of Banister family connections, and was by far the most interested in tree connections, busily adding information to her charts. Sister Nancy arrived late and left early for work responsibilities but added a lot of personality to the discussion. My head moved back and forth like watching a ping-pong match as I tried to engage with each family member. I was also looking for physical characteristics that I might have in common with each sister present. Kristi was the only one that did not make the meeting.

My wife sat closest to Nancy and the youngest sibling Polly, who was far across the room from me. I was situated directly across from Marilyn and Julianne while Janet worked with her back to us. I was most comfortable talking with Julianne and concerned about her mother’s reactions as I talked about my birth mother Edna Faye. My wife observed some tearful moments from Polly and Marilyn, while I was apparently too busy to notice, selfishly answering questions from Julianne and Janet. Polly talked to my wife about seeing “dead people,” the only indication that I might have had some resemblance to her late father and brother. With her dark curly hair, she shared this feature with me (though now gray), while the other women wore lighter, straighter styles. Janet was the only one who wore glasses like me.

Mother Marilyn quietly talked of going to Muscatatuck High School with Cecil and Edna Faye, but never mentioned any relationship between the two. My suspected birth parents and fellow classmates were distant cousins that shared the last name of Banister, while Marilyn was from the Foist family. She was much prettier in high school than Edna Faye, but they were both petite with dark hair. Cecil was a senior with the notation of “heart breaker” under his photo. He was still breaking hearts as we talked about him as a craftsman and outdoors-man. He is badly missed by his daughters, wife, and the forest animals that roamed his property.

Cecil attended Muscatatuck for only his senior year and had his night of romance with Edna Faye long after he had graduated. Edna Faye did not return to school for her senior year, presumably because of giving birth to me at the beginning of the school year. The family sent her to Indianapolis to deliver, while Cecil and Marilyn were making plans to be married before they moved to California for his Marine training. I’m sure that neither of them were aware of my existence, as Edna Faye’s embarrassed family would have kept me a dark secret. That secret was safe until I dug up the evidence after all these years. Marilyn was obviously holding back her emotions as I suddenly stepped into her life, a reminder of perhaps some infidelity on the part of her future husband. I’m sure my presence was difficult for many reasons, if I indeed reminded her of Cecil in appearance or mannerisms. I got no indication, but I’m sincerely grateful for her willingness to sit with us and join in the picture taking.

It was an eventful evening that went by in a flash. My wife gave me her feedback on our hour-and-a-half long drive back to Indianapolis. I was emotionally drained and my throat sore from extended conversation. This morning it was hard to believe that it actually happened, as I wrote a few follow-up notes. Soon, I will have a wrap-up conversation with Julianne, but her initial reaction was that the “meeting went well” I’ll write more after we talk.

Retirement is not without Hassles: High School #772

December 14, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

This morning on my run, I started to reminisce about high school after seeing pictures of a couple of classmates on Facebook. These were now old faces that I only knew as fresh faces. Their features may have been a bit wrinkled but still recognizable. Each brought back a memory, although none of them were close friends or even casual acquaintances. These were the cool, rich kids that lived on the river and were in a class by themselves. Untouchable as far as I was concerned.

It was a big class, over 1,000 at our grade level, in Middle America, the late sixties. I guess it’s top of mind because my 50th reunion is less than a year away. I’m not sure I can handle a gathering this large, considering the challenges with my hearing and vocal cords. I’m curious about all of these fellow students and where they’ve ended up. However, just like in school, there will be cliques of those that have stayed in touch through the years and still live in the community. Some of my closest friends are dead, while others have gone their separate ways. If I go, I want it to be for the right reasons and not just the satisfaction of knowing that my life might have turned out better than some of these untouchables.

It was not their fault that they were born into richer families, and I shouldn’t have been envious. Likely I didn’t know better. I still trying to find myself and that continues to this day. I remember a pair of pants that one of them wore to school one day. They looked like a patchwork quilt, colorful squares of “bleeding” madras fabric. What’s ironic is that the unique material was regarded as belonging to the peasant class of India, but it’s lightweight nature and colorful patterns became popular with the upper-class, particularly golfers in Indiana. It was often sold without proper washing instructions, resulting in the bright madras dies “bleeding” in the wash. It could ruin an entire load of laundry or wash-out and stain your skin in a rainstorm. I had to have a pair of these pants, but I felt like a clown wearing them. It was embarrassing to wear them because they attracted so much attention, but I thought they would make me cool. To make matters worse, I failed to tell my mom about this unique “bleeding” quality, and it ruined many of my other clothes. I wasn’t cool at home either.

The other classmate that I was remembering, his father owned the Goldberg’s Mens Store, a popular hometown fashion outlet where I would buy my Tuffies jeans. They looked even more fashionable when they were heavily starched and creased like the son would wear. He also donned starched white shirts that would show-off his tropical tan after Christmas vacation every year. I was also envious of this, but my tans were the product of staying in a trailer park in Florida, while his golden glow was more likely from an exotic destination.

I probably should mention that he did not celebrate Christmas, along with some of my wealthier classmates.
Their parents were doctors, lawyers, car dealers, bankers, jewelers, other retail owners, and top executives that belonged to the prestigious local Country Club. They would often eventually disappear to private schools, but still included as part of our class in case they ever came back.

I should probably present myself as not totally deprived, just relatively. I did not grow up in the Country Club, but my father eventually earned a membership through his company. He was not the club type, so it somehow became my responsibility to fulfill any required monthly financial obligations. I tried to fit with the golfers, swimmers, tennis players, and even curlers, but I didn’t learn these sports at birth like most of them. Similarly, we didn’t own a boat and live on the river, so I never got involved in the showy Jumpin’ Joe’s Ski Club. However, I did attend basketball camp with them, but we never became close friends. I was probably too intimidated with their projected status.

As I look back, I was too caught up in trying to be something I wasn’t and should have been more content with what we had. I also felt victimized by my nickname of “Smiley” and considered it a lack of respect despite its popularity. I should have embraced it, but instead hated being called by a name that wasn’t mine. I finally escaped the unwanted moniker when I went to college, and later gave the name to our golden retriever. He too had a big smile like Snoopy!

I’ve also considered what life would have been like if I hadn’t been adopted by my loving parents, who gave me everything I asked for…or didn’t. They gave me work-free summers at the Country Club, a college education, an upper-middle-class home, color TV, a sister, fancy pants, church, and patiently put-up with doing my “bleeding” laundry. I lived like a king when I could have been a pauper. Somehow, I never felt like I had as much as the next guy.

Here I am today comfortably retired, and finally doing my own laundry. I lead a privileged life of marriage, travel, family, friends, career accomplishment, love, good health, and life-long income that few ever achieve. I’m sure that everyone at the class reunion will claim the same thing, and I hope they honestly can. I don’t see any point in going to an event to see people from my past that I could have easily made contact with through the years in this age of social media. I figure there’s a reason we haven’t stayed in touch, and unfortunately, some of that is attrition. I’ve attended other reunions, am not exactly a recluse, and consequently anyone who’s interested can find out exactly how I’m doing almost every day by reading this blog. As a result, unless someone other than the organizer encourages me to attend or I happen to be in the area for my mother-in-law’s 98th birthday, I am not going to spend thousands of dollars to meet the classmates I never met 50 years ago.

Diary of an Adoptee: Sherlock #771

December 13, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It takes a lot of amateur detective work to be a genealogist. There are sites like Ancestry, Genealogy, FamilySearch, About, AfriGeneas, Atlas of Historical County Boundaries, BillionGraves, Chronicling America, Cyndi’s List, FamilyTree, Find A Grave, Findmypast, Fold3, GenealogyBank, General Land Office Records, Google, Heritage Quest, JewishGen, MyHeritage, Mocavo, Allen County Public Library, Library of Congress, Olive Tree, RootsWeb, National Archives Resources, NewspaperArchive, USGenWeb, Webpages by Stephen P. Morse, World Vital Records, Archives, 23andMe, Geni, and National Geographic, just to name a few. Most of them have message boards and DNA tracking services, encouraging people around the world to hook-up.

I would assume that people who voluntarily search these sites and submit to DNA testing are interested in finding out more about themselves. I still find it surprising when messages are not returned promptly. This means that they’re not getting the message, they’re suspicious of your intentions, or they are involved with so many different sites that they don’t check back to see if there are such messages that require their attention.

I did my first DNA test through 23andMe, hoping to uncover the mysteries behind my adoption. I wasn’t really sure where it would lead, but I made a connection with a new cousin who was able to find my mother’s birth certificate. It also led me to another Banister who never responded to my message two years ago. Today, I got an out-of-the-blue notification from Bruce through Geni. After I had written a lengthy replay it would not let me send it, so I sent him a note through Messenger – it was my only discreet option. I had befriended him on Facebook years ago under the cover of my birth name, Jerry Lee Banister. It was not an attempt to be deceptive, but rather an effort to connect with other Banisters (or Bannisters) that might potentially related. As it turns out, he is related, but in an awkward position considering that his aunt will not admit to giving birth to me. That’s her prerogative, but I considered his response to be an indication that he might be willing to talk. We’ll see how that turns out!

At the same time, I was internally admonishing him for waiting so long to return my message, I discovered that I did the same thing to a third cousin that tried to message me a year-and-a-half ago. I apparently never responded and really can’t explain how I overlooked her message. Her name is Lindsay Niccolai, and unbeknownst to me at that time, her connection would be through my yet-to-be-confirmed father. DNA shows me to be a half-sibling with his daughter (one of six). I am meeting with her and her four sisters in two weeks. I’m nervous yet excited.!

Hopefully, both Lindsay and Bruce will respond to my messages. I also have a couple of e-mails out there regarding another recent third-cousin DNA match on Ancestry, Larry Vaughn. I am already a match with Deb Banister Vaughn and I thought there might be a connection that I have yet to identify. However, with the holidays approaching, it’s difficult enough to stay in touch with life-long relatives let alone new ones. While most of us would prefer to not have as many relatives, I’ve managed to add to my list. Sherlock Holmes would be proud of me!

Retirement is not without Hassles: Festive Stress #755

November 28, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Festive Stress

It’s the end of November,

And all through the house.

Stress is building up,

On what to get your spouse?

While pounding the pavement this morning, I was listening to the radio. They were talking about “Festive Stress,” and how it builds-up during the holidays. By December 13th it begins to peak, which ironically is Twelve Days before Christmas. I once was very familiar with this feeling and certainly can empathize with those who currently experience this uncomfortable restlessness. It was the reason that the New Year became my favorite holiday, as a sense of relief washed over me. All the decorating, gift giving, parties, and visiting obligations were finally over. It wasn’t so much celebrating a new year as much as rejoicing that all that “Festive Stress” was behind me.

I no longer have to deal with “Festive Stress.” In retirement, there are no more difficult decisions to be made on what to get the support staff? Planning an office party and preparing appropriate speeches are finally a thing of the past. With family spread out all over the country, it’s impossible to get everyone together, and only my 97-year old mother-in-law requires our attention. I used to fuss over what to wrap for my parents even though they needed or wanted nothing. There was also a certain sense of guilt that I could never pay them back for adopting me and raising me as their own. They passed four years ago and only my adopted sister and her children remain from our family. I no longer buy gifts for any of them by mutual agreement. My son and his family live in Florida, so we rarely get together for the holidays because our priorities lie with my wife’s mother and travel back to Indiana. For my grandkids, I usually end up sending a small gift and money, while it lasts. I also try to make an annual deposit into their college fund that will probably ultimately only buy them a book or two!

I personally don’t expect gifts and am usually embarrassed to get one. My wife is now my sole recipient of a carefully planned gift every year. She still gets excited about Christmas and I always end up spending more than I should. Unfortunately, I no longer have the resources to buy elaborate gifts, but I also appreciate that she is still working and provides a majority of our income. This means that she’s often paying for her own gift, and hopefully will be less “needy” when she retires in four years. Her dad gave her the nickname “Sweetie Needy” years ago, so I knew what I was getting into. One of the sacrifices that you have to make in retirement is reducing your needs, and I’m more prepared for that than she is at this point. However, she more than deserves rewards for all she does to support my retirement with her career and homemaking skills. I’m lucky to have her.

Part of my “gift” to her every year is the exhausting trip back to Indiana. It typically starts in Chicago with concerns about bad weather as we make the long drive to Indianapolis. We make a stop for “Mom” about half-way and then proceed to her other daughter’s home to eat, drink, and watch them open gifts. My wife’s two daughters typically join us as they make stressful compromises with their time between us and their father’s family. It reminds me of years ago when I had to split my allegiances on holidays with multiple divisions of the family, so I feel their tug-of-war pain. I will spend some time with my college friend Peter, and plan to make a stop in my hometown of Elkhart on the way back to Chicago. We’ll have dinner with my sister and her kids, although her son and grandson will be at Disney World for an invitation-only All-Star baseball tournament. Apparently, my great nephew has some exceptional athletic skills.

Before we travel to Elkhart, my wife and I will make an hour-long side trip to Scipio, Indiana. This will be part of her “gift” to me. I’m looking forward to meeting what DNA “proves” to be five half-sisters and their mother. It may be a bit awkward especially since none of them knew of my existence last Christmas. Their father, and presumably mine, passed away under difficult circumstances 7-years ago. It has to be particularly unsettling for the mother, who was probably unaware that her husband-to-be had an affair that led to my birth 67-years ago. We’ll all be meeting at a home that he built many years ago, and hopefully we’ll all find some common characteristics that each of us inherited. My wife will bear witness to this strange “reunion” that resulted from a life-changing Ancestry.com saliva test. It might help answer some of my lifelong questions about what happened before my adoption? This is the only true “Festive Stress” that I will be experiencing this year!

It’s Holiday time,
My mind’s a mess.
I must be stricken,
With Festive Stress.

I need to prepare,
A flow chart.
And I don’t know,
Where to start.

Gifts to buy,
Cards to send.
But are you really?
A worthy friend.

Time to decorate,
The Christmas Tree.
Parties to attend,
Relatives to see.

Cold sweats,
Sleepless nights.
Jet lag,
Crowded flights.

Wreath to hang,
Lights to string.
Snow to shovel,
Carols to sing.

More mashed potatoes,
Dessert, of course.
Bad gift ideas,
Buyers remorse

Family dinners,
The office bash.
Credit card debt,
Short on cash.

Cookies to bake,
Wine to drink.
Hardly a moment,
To even think.

Candy canes,
Fruit cakes.
No more food!
For Heaven’s sake.

Bowl game talk,
For football fans.
New Year madness,
Then Diet plans.

And then it’s over,
No more to fear.
Until Festive Stress,
Comes back next year.

Diary of an Adoptee: Paths #753

November 26, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

When I think of paths, the first thing that comes to mind is poet Robert Frost and these famous words published in 1916, over a century ago:

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

This was the “Road Not Taken,” a famous poem about choices. As an adoptee, however, the choices were not mine, although the decisions made by others determined my destiny. As I continue to fanticize about the turns my life could have taken, I was fortunate to have been sent down a path that led through an adoption agency and to the loving parents that raised me. What if I had taken a different path?

Path #2: What if my birth parents had gotten married and decided to raise me together? I would likely have lived at my grandfather’s Indiana farm, while the father went off to the Marines. Dad would have been in and out of my young life, taking short leaves from his military duties and eventually sent to Korea. I would have been four years old by the time he returned home to decide on a career, and would have been part of a big family with four aunts and three uncles. If the marriage lasted through this difficult period of long seperations from each other, Mom is now 22 and shares the responsibility of raising me with 51-year old Grandma Ruby. She and my grandpa Pete would divorce 6 years later. He would quickly remarry and die the following year at the age of 61. Helping out on the farm, going to school and sports would have been my destiny, with little hope for a college education. I may have enlisted or been drafted into the Marines, following in my dad’s footsteps.

Path #3: Mom moves to California with my dad as he serves in the Marines. I’m raised on military bases starting in San Diego, with several additional transfers, and far from the family back in Indiana. While Dad fights in Korea, mom probably returns to my grandfather’s Indiana farm to wait for his return. I might even have had a brother or sister by then.

Path #3: Mom never tells the father that she is pregnant, as he enters the Marines and gets married to someone else. She decides to raise me on her own with the help of of her family, until she meets someone else. They get married and have more children, but my step-dad favors his kids, so I’m mistreated. I have a tough time in school and turn to a life of crime, eventually ending up in prison.

Path #4: After marrying my mom, my father, the great athlete and high school star, teaches me skills and encourages me to participate in more sports. Farm life has made me bigger and stronger, so I excel in wrestling, football, baseball, and track. At a smaller school near the town where we live, I get more opportunities to play. I’m often mentioned in the sports pages of the local paper, and followed by college scouts. I earn a athletic scholarship to Indiana University that pays for my education, however I skip my senior year to play professionally. I marry a cheerleader, have four kids, and live happily ever after.

It’s fun to fanticize. There are so many twists and turns my life could have taken, so I’m thankful for the path I’ve traveled. Being raised in a smaller town and attending a smaller school might have allowed me to participate in more sports, but I feel I’ve enjoyed a happy well-rounded life. On any other path, I wouldn’t have had the priviledges I grew up with, the educational opportunities, or the marriage that I currently treasure. Given a choice, I’ll take Door #1, Monty – that path has served me well!

Diary of Adoptee: Fantasy #750

November 24, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

As an adoptee, I’m allowed to fantasize. After all, I’ve been deprived of the truth about my biological history. For 65 years, I had only been able to dream as to the true identity of my birth parents. However, in the last two years, I’ve gained some information that has gotten me closer to their identities. I can’t say with 100% certainty that I’ve solved the mystery, but I know enough to have earned the right to make an educated guess. It seems only fitting that I think of them this Thanksgiving weekend when 68 years ago they gave me life.

I was born on August 27, 1951, so it’s safe to assume that conception took place in the vicinity of Thanksgiving weekend 1950. If DNA comparisons are accurate, the father would have just turned 19 on July 2nd of that year. In turn, adoption and census records show the mother to have been just 17 years old, as of April 9th and a junior at North Vernon high school. He had already graduated from North Vernon high and planned to report to the Marines after the first of the year. They lived about 10 minutes apart.

As distant cousins, they both had the same last name of Banister, although my birth certificate spelled the name with two n’s. They might have initially met at family get-togethers but certainly knew each other at school. Maybe he was friends with her twin older brothers? He was described by her as being gregarious, active in sports, tall (6’2″), and handsome, while she was petite, a foot shorter at 102 pounds. They were attracted to each other and arranged to get together around the Thanksgiving school break. Maybe they went to a dance or a movie? Maybe they had been dating for some time?

It could have happened in the back seat of his car on a cold night, but most likely I will never know. He died years ago, while she continues to deny any knowledge of my existence. I can only imagine her horror in finding out a few months later that she was pregnant. She also had to deal with the stigma of having a relationship with a relative. He had probably already reported to the Marines by that time, so who could she tell?

I can only imagine her horror in finding out she was pregnant. There were no test kits back then, so she probably continued with school without completely understanding or even admitting to her condition. She would have completed the school year in May of 1951 at 6 months along. Her mother had just turned 46 at the end of the year, and four older sisters were married and out of the house. I doubt she would have shared this with any of her brothers since the twins were still a year ahead of her in high school and the oldest had just gotten married. None of them would have understood an illicit affair with their cousin.

At some point, she had to confess to her dilemma, and a decision was made to send her that summer to a birthing home in Indianapolis. I’m sure she was already regretting my presence in her life, especially in a situation away from family and friends. I wonder who visited her, or if she was left alone to atone for her mistake? I do know that she did not return to high school for her senior year and that the father was married to someone else shortly after she gave birth to me.

A year after my birth she was living in Columbus, Indiana and working as a machine operator, hoping to forget about the trauma that she experienced. Perhaps she also had strong feelings for the father and regrets that they never married or had the opportunity to raise me as their own? In 1956, she gave birth to her first legitimate son, but oddly also named him Jerry Lee. In a subsequent marriage, she then had two sons and a daughter. In the meantime, I was adopted by a couple from Elkhart, Indiana in October of 1951 and grew up in that community, while she eventually moved to Seymour, Indiana a town only 220 miles away. I’ve tried to contact both her and her son, but each continues to disavow any relationship. Unfortunately, time is running out on turning this story of supposition into confirmed facts.

Diary of an Adoptee: Bastards Unite #745

November 21, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

It’s good to be a bastard, especially considering the abortion alternative! Maybe I’ve just spent to much time watching shows like Game of Thrones and Vikings where bloodlines determine royalty and children out-of-wedlock are looked upon with disdain? Masterworks like The Scarlett Letter by Nathanial Hawthorne explore themes of legalism, sin, judgement, and guilt. When I think of Hester Prynne’s scarlett “A”, I can’t help but feel sorry for the shame that my own birth mother must have experienced being pregnant with me. Undoubtedly, I’ve stirred up some angry feelings in trying to contact her.

I’ve found through the years that a sense of humor is the only sane way to deal with matters where others tend to be so judgmental. As a result, I’ve tried to focus on the positive side of bastardhood. After all, “bastard” seems like such a hard word and takes on such an ugly connotation. In fact, it’s derived from the Medieval Latin word “bastardus.” However, there is always a certain amount of intrigue, mystique, and romance behind any illegitimate relationship, dating back to even Adam & Eve. There can also be elements of cruelty and hypocrisy that lead to behind-the-back whispers. Much has changed in the 67 years since my birth, but the very thought of being sent out of town and hidden away to give birth makes me both sad & angry.

This is the way my life started out, in temporarily derailing the life of an 18-year old girl. It only makes sense that she might want to forget about it. I just want her to know that being a bastard has turned out to be a good thing for many of us. I did not obviously reach the notoriety of some of those in the club, but thanks to a young couple that couldn’t have children of their own, I became their baby – so thank you. They gave me every opportunity to succeed, but not quite to the level of these six lucky bastards:

Confucius (ca. 551-479 BCE)

“The early life of K’ung-Fu-tzu, better known in the West as Confucius, is largely a mystery. Born in the feudal kingdom of Lu, Confucius served as an adviser on political matters and court etiquette to several Chinese leaders during the mid-to- late 500s BCE. The circumstances of Confucius’s own birth, however, are hardly up to any Emily Post standards. According to the first complete biography of Confucius, the Shiji, his dad, a warlord named Shu Liang He, and his mom, a member of the Yan clan, “came roughly together,” indicating either a rape, concubinage, or some other sort of extramarital shenanigan. His low birth, however, didn’t stop him from attracting plenty of highborn followers, many of whom protected him when his outspoken manner offended his various employers.”

Leonardo da Vinci (1452 -1519)

“Everyone knows of Leonardo da Vinci, the well-rounded man who could be a painter, a naturalist, an engineer, a metallurgist, or a philosopher with equal ease. It’s considerably less well known that this personification of the Renaissance was actually the son of a notary, Ser Piero, and a peasant girl of somewhat “easy virtue.” In fact, the two simply took a tumble in the hay together before going their separate ways and providing Leonardo, from their marriages to other people, with 17 half brothers and sisters. Needless to say, these assorted half siblings were none too fond of their renowned relation, whose birth was something of an embarrassment, and on his father’s death in 1503 they conspired to deprive him of his share of the estate. Leonardo had the last laugh, however, when the death of an uncle led to a similar inheritance squabble, leaving him with sole custody of the uncle’s lands and property.”

Thomas Paine (1737-1809) and Alexander Hamilton (1755-1804)

“Two of the best-known fathers of the American republic, Thomas Paine and Alexander Hamilton, were the results of extramarital affairs. Paine, whose Common Sense helped bring widespread support to the American Revolution, and whose other writings, like the anti-Bible tract The Age of Reason, scandalized all and sundry, had to flee England a step ahead of treason charges. In the end, however, he died penniless in the United States. Hamilton, on the other hand, was the illegitimate son of West Indian colonials, and made a name for himself as a brilliant orator and writer. He eventually became one of the leaders of the American Federalist Party, but had the misfortune to be challenged to a duel by Aaron Burr. He also had the even greater misfortune of accepting, bringing his career to a dramatic close one fine New Jersey morning.”

Lawrence of Arabia (1888-1935)

“The illegitimate son of a knight and his children’s nanny, T. E. Lawrence became the model for generations of British diplomats blindly idolizing all things Arabian. One of the organizers of the much-touted (but in reality fought more on paper than on the battlefield) Arab revolt against the Turks during World War I, Lawrence later became embittered with Britain’s imperial policy and spent the last few years of his life sulking and tinkering with motorcycles (he died in a motorcycle accident). Though he largely tried to keep a low profile, his much-exaggerated accomplishments led to him being dubbed “Lawrence of Arabia.”

Eva Peron (1919-1952)

“Saint Evita” was the daughter of an adulterous relationship between two villagers in an impoverished part of Argentina. She made a name for herself as an actress before marrying Juan Peron in 1944, but, being illegitimate (and a peasant), she was never really accepted in the social circles in which he routinely traveled. As a rising military officer, Peron quickly found himself dictator of Argentina, and “Evita” was by his side. In fact, she was there to do more than just wave at crowds and manage the mansion. Evita actually ran several government ministries and almost became vice president in 1951 (the military bullied Peron into making her drop out of the campaign). And though she’s best known to many from the musical and movie that bear her name, you really shouldn’t feel obligated to cry for her. While the flick plays up the glamour and romance of her career, it largely ignores her corruption, oppression of political rivals, cozying up to Nazi war criminals, and other questionable doings.”***

Bastards Unite! We’re in good company. We may have been born as lemons, but we’ve made lemonade.

***From Mental Floss: 6 Famous Bastards Who Made Their Mark by Mangesh & Jason

Diary of an Adoptee: Thanks a Million #733

November 11, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

Today, I wanted to spend some time acknowledging our Veterans for their service. Men and women who served our country to preserve freedom, some of whom gave their lives. Whether it be “Banister World” or “Johnston World,” I have lots of reasons to be thankful and proud. It’s appropriate that Veteran’s Day falls just few weeks prior to Thanksgiving, making November a month of Gratitude. After all, I was conceived in late November, nine months before my August birthday. I do not know the circumstances of the encounter that led to my birth, so I can only speculate on the two people involved. I do, however, have enough factual and DNA evidence to support a strong case.

I do know almost everything about the Johnston family that adopted me in the months after my birth. They could not have children of their own, so I was a gift. He was a Veteran of World War II, and they married after he returned from duty. His father was a Veteran of World War I. Her father, Ross Hancher, lived in Elwood, Indiana and was also a Veteran of World War I. Burt and Cathy met at Indiana University, and eventually chose Elkhart, Indiana, his hometown, to raise me and my adopted sister. Each of the Johnston and Hancher men put-off raising families and starting careers to serve our nation at war, and did not want me making the same sacrifice. Neither I nor my son Adam were called to duty, something both of us are thankful for today and every day. We did not have to face flying bullets, sleepless nights in tents, and the terrifying fear of knowing that each day might be the last. These men and their ancestors fought so we didn’t have to carry guns. Thank you is clearly not enough for what they did for all of us.

My adoption paperwork, that clearly matched census reports of the birth mother’s side of the Banister family, led to evidence of brothers, fathers, cousins, sisters, mothers, daughters and sons who served or are currently serving our country. I’ve seen pictures of them on Facebook, posted by Banister family members to remind us all of their patronage to our country. I don’t personally know any of them to thank, but I understand their significance in my life. This same report from the adoption agency gave very few clues about the birth father except that he was a Marine and another Veteran to thank.

DNA is helping me reconstruct his story. Perhaps a fling with my birth mother during a family reunion around Thanksgiving? Maybe they knew each other from high school, where he was a sports star and labeled a “heart breaker” in the yearbook? Since they were distant Banister cousins, they could not risk anyone knowing of their affair, whether it was one night or longer? He has already gone to the grave with this secret, while she, at 85-years old, continues to deny any connection. Maybe she had hopes of a longer relationship, but he “broke her heart” with news of marriage to another? Regardless, he left to serve our country, most likely unaware of her pregnancy and my birth. I wonder if they ever talked about it again, and why she left this single clue of his identity with the adoption agency? She was obviously proud of his decision to join the Marines, just as I am after looking through his military records, another man in my life that deserves our gratitude today.

Today is not just the day that those that are left remember those left behind. We also honor our living Veterans and their spouses, who also made personal sacrifices to secure our freedom. I’m thankful for their courage in doing something that I’m not sure I could have endured. I’m thankful to the service men and women that were classmates, friends, neighbors, and relatives. I’m thankful for our freedom and to anyone who helped secure this comfortable retirement that I enjoy. I’m thankful to be alive, and to have given life to others. I’m thankful to love and be loved. I’m thankful for the pets at my feet and the food that I eat. Happy Veteran’s Day and Happy Thanksgiving – Thanks a Million!

Ode to our Veterans

Out of gratitude,

This day was designed.

Where those that are left,

Remember those left behind.

Theirs was the ultimate,

Sacrifice paid.

Not to mention the heroics,

Our living heroes made.

For your brave service,

We thank you today.

And those above,

We kneel and pray.

Diary of an Adoptee: Broadchurch #731

November 9, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I’ve moved on from Game to Thrones to Broadchurch, a Netflix series. This may turn out to be another SPOILER if you haven’t watched it! I wonder if being addicted to TV mysteries like these is a genetic trait? In this case, it’s a British series with only 3 complete seasons, so I won’t be spending as much time in “Latimer World” as I did in “Lannister World.” Once I get out of these fictional universes, I then focus on the very real “Bannister World,” full of mysteries about my adoption and yet to be factually confirmed birth parents. In Season One of Broadchurch, there are plenty of reminders about adoption, as two of the main murder suspects in Danny Latimer’s death struggle with their own relationships as mother and separated-at-birth child.

Susan Wright, a resident of Broadchurch, is the mother and Nige Carter her estranged son, who could not accept the fact that he came from this woman. She was married with two girls and her husband, Nige’s birth father, was an electrician by trade. He frequently raped his older daughter and this eventually led to murder, once the younger daughter was similarly attacked. Susan was pregnant at the time of his arrest, and was unjustly accused of allowing the sex to take place in their home. As a result, Social Services took the baby at birth, claiming she was unfit for motherhood. The sleazy husband then hung himself in a prison cell ten months later. Susan apparently tried to explain these circumstances to Nige, but sadly caught him off-guard with this shocking news; the reason he was adopted. He did not believe her story, so their follow-up encounters were strictly arguments, and each accused the other of killing Danny Latimer. Susan has packed up her mobile home and moved away from town, so I expect to get more background on this developing conflict in later episodes. I’m, of course, hoping for a joyful reunion, but they’ll probably end up killing each other.

Yes, it’s another soap-opera, with Nige infuriated with Susan’s statement of “you’ve got him in you,” implying that genetics was the reason he was a murderer. This is probably one of the worst case scenarios for any adoptee who wonders why they were given up by the mother? In this situation, Nige was not a bastard child nor necessarily unwanted. However, there are probably too many true-life instances where the child was an undesirable product of rape. There were times when I personally worried about these very circumstances that all too often end up with denial of any involvement or disinterest in reuniting. After all, who wants to be reminded of a horrible experience, by having that unwelcome child show up on your doorstep decades later? I still have hope that I was the result of an embarrassing one-night-stand between two people who were attracted to each other, rather than an ugly encounter. Embarrassment can also be a reason for denial, as is the current state of my birth mother’s reaction to any inquiries.

I have gotten into serious trouble a few times in my life, but nothing that would intentionally hurt or abuse another individual. I hope this means that whatever genes I inherited were honorable, and that no genetic evil is in me. It’s disturbing thoughts like this that make me eager to get my adoption issues resolved. I want to know what is inside me and the reasons that I exist. Sometimes it’s as little as a silly television drama to stir these feelings of insecurity. I need to know the truth, and regardless of the answer, I’m still simply glad to be alive, and not living in troubled Broadchurch!

Diary of an Adoptee: Family Ties #721

October 29, 2018 / mikeljohnston1 / 0 Comments

I got a supportive note from a Banister cousin today who follows this blog. Her sentiment was expressed in these words: “sure sounds like you are figuring out who you are…you come from a big family.” The e-mail came at a time when I when still assessing the impact of yesterday’s discovery. She understands the frustration I feel as a result of the denial of acceptance by my birth mother. A few months ago, I thought that this was the end of ever determining who the father was? However, recent DNA findings have perhaps provided the answers without her cooperation.

It’s mind-boggling when I think of all the circumstances that have led to this discovery over the last 30 years:

The name Edna Faye Banister and an address was discretely passed along to me from of a friend who had illegal access to sealed Indiana adoption records.
The realization that the address provided was the adoption home where I spent the first few months of my life. Coincidentally, it was directly across the street from my Indianapolis office, where I had a daily view of the parking lot where it once sat. Like a homing pigeon, I had traveled from job-to-job over hundreds of miles to ultimately return to the neighborhood.
A visit to a nearby hospital to request a copy of my birth certificate.
The 23andMe DNA test that my boss suggested that I take.
A note from a DNA match and his efforts to secure copies of my bio mom’s birth certificate and a 1940 census report. This enabled me to find her whereabouts and compare the ages of her seven siblings to generic information provided by the adoption agency. The actual records were until recently sealed by law.
Certified letters to the birth mother’s address and to her son with no response.
Feedback from other Banister family members that indicated denial on her part.
The decision to take a second DNA test through Ancestry.com.
A record of Ancestry “DNA Relative” matches to a mother and son who topped the list, followed by notes and phone calls.
The decision of this woman to coincidentally take a DNA test for some still unexplained reason. Destiny?
A conversation with this woman and discussion of her father’s military records that led to suspicion of his involvement with Edna Faye Banister, and the realization that they were distant cousins. Plus, photos that showed a strong resemblance.
A recent change in Ancestry DNA comparison utilizing centimorgan (cMs) measurement. (See Post #719)
A comparison chart that shows our shared DNA to be high enough for a half-sibling connection.
The discovery of four other sisters and the decision to get together for a meeting (coming soon).

It’s starting to sink-in that I have seven living half-siblings and three half-brothers that are deceased. My birth mother’s son is named Jerry Lee, the same name his mother gave me at birth. Her daughter is named Janet, the same as one of my half-sisters. I speculate that two distant cousins had an affair, and then each married another, bringing a total of 11 children into the world. I was the only one that was put-up for adoption, but I guess now we could be considered a “BIG family,” although I’ve never met any of them. Her second Jerry Lee hasn’t accepted that a first Jerry Lee (me) exists. He’s lost all his brothers tragically but me, but does not believe that I am related. His half-sister Janet is also not aware of Janet 2, but I can imagine the introduction I might make. Like the three brothers named Darryl comedy routine from the early 80’s TV Bob Newhart Show, “Half-sister Janet meet my other half-sister Janet.” I have yet to make an effort to contact her.

I keep hoping that Edna Faye will confess to the “indiscretion” that gave me life. I certainly don’t see it that way! I’m nothing but grateful, and would like an opportunity to show her “the good” that she delivered. I know it’s a part of her life that she’d like to forget, including the humiliation of having to leave high school and home to give birth to me. Maybe she was in love with my father, but he left for the Marines and marriage to another? Maybe it was an accident, and she was embarrassed to be seduced by a cousin? My birth father’s high school photo listed him to be a “Heart-breaker,” so perhaps I am nothing but a reminder of unrequited love? It’s been 67-years and she’s now 85, so it’s possible that she will soon take this secret to the grave. At least, DNA has pointed to possibilities that she is reluctant to admit, even after all these years.

As my Ancestry cousin has graciously responded, I do have a big family, when at one time I thought I was an only child, except for my sister. This indicates how selfish and spoiled I was growing up. I can’t imagine sharing with 11 siblings. Adoption made me special, and I was fortunate to have grown up in a loving, giving environment. I got everything I could possibly want, but after all these years apparently I want more. I want to know the circumstances of my birth and any physical characteristics that I share with others. I know longer have the parents who raised me, so I’ve searched for other family connections. DNA has gotten me close, and the next few months will determine my destiny that has evolved from inquiries over the last 30 years, and family ties that I was never aware existed.