My wife is having a great time with her new hobby, researching family history on Ancestors (dot) com. Apparently her family were some of our country’s first settlers in Connecticut and Massachusetts.  I could lay out for you pages of interesting people and their stories, but that would take considerable and valuable time.

Now she is also researching my side. The adoptive parents side, that is. I have some interest in it, because I was adopted at a very early age (right out of the hospital), so this is in effect my family. 

BUT...

This begs the question (that every adopted person at some point in his or her life ponders)-- I wonder what my biological family was like?

 

My mother, no doubt, was an aspiring actress, who accidentally got knocked up by Richard Burton at a Hollywood party. Everything was handled discreetly, and she went on to become one of the dance extras in all of the Bikini Beach movies of the 60s. 

 

Everyone back in Pig Gulch, Tennessee, says she did pretty good for herself. You know, coming from a long line of poultry processors, and all. That’s the polite term for people who remove the guts from chicken and are surrounded all day by gizzards and offal.

 

It wasn’t always bad times for the clan. Why, back in the old country (take your pick here) several of my people held noble titles. That is the ones they had forged, so they could infiltrate the elite circles of the aristocracy. The special talent they had was to take as many lovers as humanly possible. Having special knowledge and talents, they were able to spread the family seed throughout the royal lineage of most of the world.

So you could say that I’m really from royalty, when you think about it, My birth was similar to the one established by my fake noble predecessors.  

Every adoptee harbors notions of actually coming from royalty. Some day the doorbell will ring, and a bunch of lawyers will be standing there to inform you that, not only are you the only remaining heir in a line of succession, but you are to inherit billions of dollars. 

Thanks--but...

Don’t argue. Take the money, dude!

 

All the way back to Gog, who lived in a cave about 12 km (7.5 mi) east of Düsseldorf, Germany. He clunked Uh over the head and dragged her back to his lair to start the family. Hey, this was considered respectful back then. He thought her beard was pretty cute. 

Before this union, the trail runs dry.