So, I got a call from my mom. Jeannette got my letter and is pissed off that I wrote and asked anything at all. My mom, at first wasn’t going to say anything at all, but then decided that I deserved to know. \”What the fuck does she care who her father is? He was a biker I met in a bar and spent a few days with. I didn’t exactly get his social security number. Tell her to get over it!\” And, \”I don’t know where those kids are [my 1/2 brother and 1/2 sister], I haven’t in years!\” So, um, I guess information will not be forthcoming. I will not know my origins. My guess is that she will not be writing to me. And judging by her reaction – as if I was the inquisition – to the first question I’ve ever asked her in 31 years, she couldn’t care less about having any kind of positive contact with me. I am curious, ’cause I wonder now what the reaction will be towards me (instead of towards my mom). Will she write back? I doubt it. Well, at least now I can say that I tried to find my roots. I guess I failed, but I cannot say I didn’t try. That’s a good thing. But it’s sad. So very sad. I didn’t think I was asking for so very much.
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