Here’s the latest on the search for my identity: I’m British! No kidding. Take a look.
To bring you up to speed, I bought one of those DNA testing kits, spit in a glass tube, and sent the package off for testing. I declined the medical results, as I mentioned in a previous post, and I also decided that I didn’t need to know about “surprise relatives,” thinking that the ones I know are surprising enough.
But the results were – how should I put this? – still surprising. Continue Reading →