Some years ago, I started a thread when the Smithsonian opened up its museum annex dedicated to the contributions of African Americans to this nation's history. I started that thread to pay tribute to family on My Father's side, who were instrumental in the beginnings of "Longtown" (also remembered as "Long") as a Midwestern town where Blacks, Whites, and Indigenous People lived together in harmony and shared citizenship. Yes- there is a small installation at 'The New Smith' that features the last name I carry.

In subsequent posts, I've talked about My Mother's side of the fam mix, which features similar background: tri-racial enclaves that chose to live together in an historical American age of almost universal segregation.

Both fams shared similar physical traits: coarse, straight (usually black/dark brown) hair, "paper-bag tan" skin coloration, and a range of facial structure that ranged from square/flat to oval, with high cheekbones. As early as 1838, Clems were already a thing in Ohio, and Findlays/Johnsons were already a thing in Indiana. Turns out, there were scores upon scores of enclaves like this, scattered throughout 1800's America, from upstate New York, Pennsylvania, NW Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, and Michigan... all routes on the Underground Railroad. The Clem homestead was actually a stop along that route from America's Deep South to Union states, and Canada. The Clem homestead in Darke county, Ohio still boasts a tunnel from the house to the barn that was used when "ghost riders" rolled up.

This was The American History of the families that raised me and My Sister.

But there's a catch to this story:

Neither My Sister or Your Boy Clem share actual blood with each other, or either of these storied American families who raised us to where we now find ourselves.
We were both adopted into this family union, made between the family who gave us our surname(s) and the family who gave us the other half of our shared values. And- we were adopted two years apart, from 2 different gene pools- one, in Cleveland and another, in Columbus.

The Agency was called, "The Chosen Ones," a Christian-based adoption org that facilitated the adoptions of homeless, bi-racial babies like My Sister and me, back in the late-1950's.
As I've mentioned at this website, more than once:

Quote
I was born into America without so much as a family name.


So here's where I am with genealogy:

I thank my (anonymous) Sire for not 'pulling out.'
I thank my (anonymous) Dam for carrying me to term.

They were successful at creating life.
Beyond that, I thank them for nothing.

Everything I have have ever made of myself is because of the people who raised me.
Nature/nurture debate? No question. Nurture, for the win.


Genes can only determine so much.
The rest is due to the ppl who actually impact one's life, on the daily.

I have every modern tool available to me to chase down my genetics. And yet, I consciously choose to keep things as they've always been.
A 1956-era "closed adoption" is just fine with me. Always has been, always will be.

I was born an American enigma, and I'm perfectly OK with dying as one.
My adopted family is more than enough to give me my identity.

I am a product of the families who raised me.
"23 & Me?" pfffft.

Actual People raise Human Beings. Not genes.


Just sayin',
clem.