As you read this, I’m in Savannah, Georgia, hopefully sipping on a Mint Julep with my friend Sharon. But here’s a re-post I think you’ll enjoy. If you don’t, keep it to yourself!(Just kidding.) Be honest…I can take it.
I don’t know who I am.
Now don’t get me wrong; I’m not saying I need to find myself, like the popular phrase of the 70s. I’m talking about heritage, my family roots, that sort of thing.
You see, both my parents never knew their biological fathers. Both Mom and Dad were raised and eventually adopted by men their mothers later married; men I knew as my grandfathers. Continue reading