Category: EULOGIES (Page 3 of 3)

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. 

copyright 2018 johnstonwrites.com

Over the past couple of months, I’ve been obsessively adding names to my Jerry Banister Family Tree on Ancestry.com. I’m not exactly sure what I’m looking for, other than to find some of my DNA matches and see how they fit into the family that I’m just getting to know. I chose a picture of Laborn Banister’s (1801-1885) grave marker to headline this post, since he is considered the elder statesman of the Banister family. He married Sarah “Sally” Yoder on November 22, 1825. One of my Banister connections sent me an invitation to the Yoder Family reunion in Maiden, North Carolina, but I think that I will focus on the Banister and Johnston families first, before I explore the Conrad Yoder branch of the tree.

Johnston is my adopted family, while my birth certificate reads Jerry Lee Banister. I was born August 27, 1951 and adopted by Burt and Catherine Johnston on October 29, 1951. The first two months of my life I spent in Indianapolis at the Suemma Coleman adoption agency that provided housing and care for expectant mothers. Years later, the home itself was torn down, but the office that I worked in looked directly over it’s former location. Like a homing pigeon, it took me thirty-five years to return to the “neighborhood,” but somehow I returned (See Post #392). This I consider to be the first of two astounding “coincidences” that continue to make me shake my head in disbelief.

I’ve always known that I was adopted, but it was presented to me as something special. Certainly, the parents who raised me were something special, but I was born just like everyone else. I’m just not sure that I really ever understood that fact of life. I can remember mistakenly thinking that I was not really born but rather selected, almost like I was the “immaculate conception.” It seems very egotistical, but books I received suggested that I was “picked,” as if from a supermarket, instead of delivered without any option of choice. It’s embarrassing, but it gave me the impression that adopted children were not the product of a sexual encounter and because of that they were “good.” It was until years later that I learned how confused I really was. As a result, genealogy was never important to me, as I never really understood the intricacies of blood relatives.

It’s funny how I’ve added without much emotion, thousands of names on my family tree over the past couple of months. I have yet to meet a single Banister relative in person, let alone understand their relationships with each other. It has been an endless task, as another branch leads to another name of an unfamiliar person. In all this work, there are only a hand-full of DNA-relative connections that I’ve found so far. DNA is the only link that I honestly have to them, as I have yet to get confirmation on the Banister birth parents that I now strongly suspect. I continue to ask questions, but realistically I will probably never know the truth.

Yesterday, I took a slightly different approach to my family tree. I followed the route of my adoptive Johnston parents, and surprisingly it was much more intriguing, as I began to put together the connections of people I actually knew. It’s turning out to be a very emotional experience, as all these people that I’ve known only in-pieces, suddenly fit together like a puzzle. I learned that my Grandfather’s mother’s name is the same as my son’s wife, Eliza. I realized that Aunt Myrtle was actually my Grandfather’s sister, who made me envious at the dinner table because all she could eat was graham crackers. I wanted graham crackers for dinner! His other sister Gilberta was once married, but all I remember is how slow she moved on a walker. I also discovered that my cool Uncle Dick, who owned a swimming pool to host some of our reunions, suddenly had a new curvaceous wife. She spoke broken-English and we all whispered that she was half his age. I just uncovered that she was only 12 years younger and was from Germany. Also, my Aunt Ruth, who lived on Simonton Lake with Uncle Hershel, was actually my Grandmother’s sister, and our Aunt Edna was never even related. I was sad when I came across names that had passed away, and happy recalling memories of others. It was a completely different experience than tediously entering unfamiliar names.

I will, of course, continue to search for leads. The other adoption “coincidence” that haunts me is my fascination with the Marine’s Hymn. I’ve written about this before, but it took on new meaning these last couple of days. According to the adoption records, my 20-year old father was supposedly a Marine. The man that I now suspect to be my father was missing this important detail, as I was looking over pictures and his obituary. Surprisingly, the articles on his death failed to mention his service record, as Ancestry documents show that he spent three years in the Marines, including a brief stint in Korea. If he is indeed the father, he would have never know that I existed because of his enlistment dates. He and my birth mother might have gotten together during the Thanksgiving holidays of 1950, just before he got engaged and left for Quantico. I believe that she was in love with him and had visions of marrying a Marine, but he had other plans. I also contend that she would hum the Marine’s Hymn, with hopes of him returning to her, while she was pregnant with me. I convey this because the Marine’s Hymn was the only song I ever learned to play on the piano, despite lessons. I would play it over-and-over again, much to the consternation of my adoptive parents, who were well aware of this detail on the adoption record. I did not know this Marine connection to the father at the time, and I still wonder if this was some kind of bizarre prenatal influence? If so, it’s the only connection I have with the father.