The History Channel is all about finding buried treasure. Whether I’m watching Knightfall, Curse of Oak Island, or Hunting Hitler, the quest is the same. It’s all about finding something of value like the Holy Grail, Pirate treasure, or Nazi mysteries, while exploring the past. I remember the fun of going on scavenger hunts as a kid, but I’ve never actually been involved in a real life search for material gold and valuables. I once admitted that my  most exciting daily occurrence is that trip to the mailbox, not knowing what you might find there (Post #359). It’s hardly a scene out of Indiana Jones, but for a homebody like me, it can make or break my day.  Maybe an unexpected check or a letter from a long lost friend, but more likely an unplanned bill or bad news?

Travel is what we all crave, in part to provide a jolt of adventure to our lives. We see the glamorous travel brochures in the mailbox, and flip through them dreaming of that next great getaway. However, crossing something off your bucket list is not the same adrenaline rush as finding the unexpected. In most cases, we’re trying to get there without any drama, hoping that all modes of transportation line-up as planned. We already know what we’re looking for and we want to get there as quickly as possible, with no surprises. Although often, it’s the surprises that make these trips memorable. We might run into an old acquaintance half way around the world, or have one of those “ah-ha moments.”

My adventure right now is in finding hidden Family Treasure, as I continue a lifelong hunt for the elusive couple that gave me life. It’s simple for most people, because they’ve known them and been around them since birth. It’s ironic that the man who provided the most critical clues to my ongoing investigation, only just recently discovered, in dramatic fashion, that the father who raised him has turned out not to be the man who gave him life. It sent him on a quest to find out the truth, and apparently I’m somehow connected to him genetically. I’ve known only the name of my birth mother for over thirty years, and know little about my birth father. Fortunately, for at least half of my life I really didn’t care, since the couple that chose to raise me as their own gave me everything I needed. There was an intense loyalty and love that I felt for them, and consequentially searching for this other couple bordered on betrayal. My adopted sister considered it her right to know, but I could not see it that way. I was disturbed when she introduced me to her “second family,” and still resist being part of it.

I now add name after name to my family tree on Ancestry.com, but I’ve yet to meet a single Banister (or Bannister) that is related. I’m not sure exactly what I’m searching for? A certified letter has been sent to a stranger that I believe to be my half-brother.  (See Post #393) He will undoubtedly treat this like I do with my sister’s “second family,” with cautious reserve and skepticism. I just hope that he does the right thing and gives my birth mother, his mother, a say in the matter. My sister thinks that this is the greatest gift I could ever give a mother – the knowledge that the son she gave birth to is alive and well. I also know that there will also be some initial sadness, perhaps wishing that she could have been part of my life’s journey. An eventual conversation with her will provide some clarity on the who’s, why’s, and what-if’s that have kept a new-born baby and a young woman of 18 years of age apart for over 66 years. If that ever happens, then maybe I will have struck gold!