Have you ever met a long-lost relative?

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

A little back ground: My parents married when they were sophomores in college. Both sides of the family objected to the marriage. I was born a few months after the wedding, and Mouse_Bro was born 18 months after me. Mother and Father had a very rocky marriage. Father physically abused Mother_Maven and anyone else that was around. Mother_Maven had bouts were she was so depressed she could not get out of bed. They divorced when I was five.

Mother_Maven’s family distanced themselves from her after she married Father. I grew up and lived my life without ever knowing them.

When Mouse_Bro’s son was born, Mother, Bro and DeNephew went to a family reunion and started to attend other family gatherings. As I understand it, Mouse_Bro was a big hit with our cousins – who are in their late teens and early twenties. My brother is very personable, a professional chef, a HUGE music buff, plays video games, etc. The long and the short of it is that Mouse_Bro is very, very cool.

One of the cousins is getting married this spring. Mother is trying to convince me to go. I have mixed feelings: Do I want to be around a bunch of strangers? Can I avoid the subject of my parents’ divorce and all of the baggage attached to it? Will I snap and kill my mother?

If any of you fellow Dopers have ever met a lost relative, please share your stories.

Thank you.

2

This won’t help you much but it’s a really cool story.

This happened at my sister’s wedding. A long time friend of my father who sis and I knew since we were kids and the father of the groom got to talking. They were both young Jewish kids in Germany in the 30’s who were successfully hidden away, survived the Holocaust and moved to America. It turned out that they were first cousins (shared a set of grand parents) and even had vague memories of each other and each other’s parents who didn’t survive. They hadn’t seen each other in over 50 years.

3

Dad, Sis and I are in a resturant. Sis goes to bar to get our drinks and chats up a young man. Dad looks over and goes pale. He tells me to stop her. She’s over twenty-one Dad, why stop her now? That man is her half-brother. Not the best way to find out.

OK not lost, just didn’t know about him.

4

When I was living in Knoxville, I got this random call from a woman one day. Seems she’d seen my name in the phone book (I have a very unusual last name) and wanted to know if I was related to these others of the same last name from North Carolina. We very quickly concluded that her father was my father’s uncle - I’d never met any of my father’s relatives other than his mother and sister - and I know his sister didn’t (at least at the time) have any contact with those relatives either.

We met - she’s super nice, but then I moved out of state again, and we’ve lost contact again, unfortunately. As I clean stuff, I keep hoping I’ll run across her phone number, but it hasn’t happened yet.

5

I say, go to the reunion, but drive yourself and prepare an acceptable excuse to leave early if you find yourself miserable.

As for me, I’d’ve thought it not possible – my extended family is very extended; as kids my brother and I played sometimes with our 13th cousins (according to grandma, who knew that stuff). But my dad’s father was the only one who’d met his estranged cousins.

About a decade ago, I’d moved into an apartment, and when I went to renew my lease they gave me the wrong one – one for [same-initial] [same-lastname]. And it’s a pretty uncommon last name. Mail mixups followed, and we chatted in passing from time to time. Since we knew it was a small family, we eventually determined that my grandfather’s estranged cousins were also his grandfather’s estranged cousins.

Alas that my maternal grandma was gone, 'cause neither of us could figure out what degree of cousins that made us.

Anyway, he moved out years ago. A couple years back, I moved to a condo. When I went to pick up my reserved books at my local library here… I got the ones for [same-initial] [same-lastname]. We live within a mile of each other, again. Although we’d never recognize each other by sight, every time we bump into each other we ponder some larger “reunion”, just for kicks.

6

Just read recently that Gerald Ford didn’t meet his biological father (who’d beaten his mom, leading her to move out and eventually remarry) until he was in his mid-teens.

Not long out of college, I was able to track down some distant cousins in the UK. That branch of the family had stayed in the Stoke-on-Trent area while my branch had taken ship for the USA in the 1820s. We had a nice meeting and it was good to get to know them, although we’ve since fallen out of touch again, alas.

I encourage you to go to the wedding. If you politely but firmly turn away any questions that make you uncomfortable, while opening yourself up to learning more about your broader family, I suspect you’ll find it a worthwhile experience. You’ll never know until you try, and if you don’t, you may regret it in later years. Just my two cents’ worth. If you go, come back and tell us how it went, please. Good luck!

7

Several of them, as a matter of fact. My paternal grandparents were forced to divorce by their parents shortly after my father was born (this was in the 1930s) both of them later married other people and my father never got to met his father. In the late 80s, my dad looks up the missing side of his family (only to discover that his father had died the year before) and has been to all kinds of family gatherings ever since.

Three of them paid my father a visit a couple of years ago and I got to meet them. The first thing that I noticed is that we all looked almost identical to one another (the relatives who showed up were women, and to quote Pete Rose, “I’d make one hell of an ugly girl.”). They were my father’s aunt and her two daughters. Nice folks, though the eldest daughter (who was in her 60s or so), I quickly gathered was a slut. Her mother did keep her in line, but the daughter did flirt with me :eek:, and had I been so inclined, I probably could have found out if the old rhyme was true or not. :eek: All that being said, I wouldn’t avoid meeting any other members of what my dad refers to as his “half-assed family.” It’s kind of interesting to me relatives you’ve never known.

8

Yes I have… it’s complicated. My mother’s father had two sets of children. The first set were legitimate, with his first wife. I think this was just two sons.

Then he had my mother and her two full siblings, a good couple of decades later, out of wedlock with his mistress, my grandmother. He married my grandmother after his first wife died but lied and told most of that part of the family that my mother and her sibs were from my grandmother’s (non-existent) first marriage. He said she was a divorcee! (Scandal!)

He omitted mention of one daughter and told them the children were much, much older than they were in reality. I gather he conspired with the oldest of his sons from the first marriage to keep the rest of the original family in the dark.
So when I was a teenager, my mother’s half-niece, daughter of one of the sons from the first marriage, and older than my mother, came looking for Mum but thinking that Mum would be about ten or fifteen years older than she actually is. The half-niece was very confused to find Mum, and find out the actual number and ages of the children by my grandfather’s second marriage.

I guess that makes her my half-cousin. I also met her daughter. They were both very nice, if rather puzzled by the whole situation, considering the amount of lying and conniving that had gone on in the family up to that point. I was really glad because it did kind of bring some comfort to at least some members of both of my grandfather’s families.

And somewhere out in the world I have a half-brother who was adopted out, and I’ll be glad if I ever have a chance to meet him, but I’m not pursuing it actively.

9

That’s an awesome story.

Mouse_Maven, I think you should go. It’s only for one day, and if they’re horrible you can always cut them off again. I met a couple of my siblings for the first time awhile back. Sib 1 had issues though, which while understandable, weren’t my fault, and I had better things to do than get bogged down by some stranger’s problems. So, they didn’t become a part of my life.

10

Is your brother going to the wedding? My brother is exciting and personable too, and I just follow him around at family functions. Let him do the talking. Since he’s got the same family history as you, he can explain it.

I don’t have any stories. My families came here on the boats and never dispersed.

11

Notes Zipper’s location

[Yakov Smirnoff] When I first defected to America I was in Cleveland, then I had to defect again. [/YS]

12

Don’t know if this counts, but I saw my Dad again after 11 years–I petitioned to have his parental rights terminated when I was 12, and won. Right before I got married I gave him a call and went to see him. Now we visit ever few weeks–and he was at the wedding, though it was kind of awkward for both of us. It turns out both of my aunts died during this time–which is really sad, because my youngest cousin was only 17 and had to be on her own at a young age–but I relate to her more now, because I’ve been on my own since 17 also. I don’t really have anything in common with any of my Dad’s side of the family–they are mostly alcoholics–though they make me laugh. But sometimes it’s nice when I see ways I am like my Dad – for example, when he said, “Yeah, I still live in the same apartment building because I enjoy not having any neighbors” I had to laugh. We’re both complete anxiety-ridden hermits. And he’s so excited to have me back in his life it’s hard not to just be touched by that.

I would definitely encourage you to go to this event. You aren’t obligated to be there or to continue to see these people after you meet them. I would go but I would be reserved regarding your expectations. Having my biological father in my life is nice because I love him, but it didn’t fill some kind of existential void in my soul or anything. If anything, it’s just more relatives I’m required to see during Winter Break.

13

Its not uncommon for me to run into a relative who I’ve never met in my Dad’s family. We’re descended from Italian Catholics who settled in Brazil and didn’t believe in birth control. Family sizes of up to 11 weren’t uncommon. They also stayed in one geographic area within two hours of each other by car.

The small town where my grandparents are from was originally settled by five families and there were later influxes but the core families remain. My wife thought I was kidding when I mentioned that I was probably related to half the people in town until I proved otherwise. We were waiting in line to get into a town festival and the guy behind us heard us speaking in English. We chatted and I mentioned that I had family there, I introduced myself. I’m First name Last Name. He mentioned that he was also a Last name. We started talking and determined that his grandfather was my grandfather’s older brother.

14

When I was a kid, we always spent Thanksgiving at my paternal grandmother’s house. My father had two sisters and they both had kids - and all those kids were just damned weird. Without going into long stories about all of them, let’s just say that as soon as I was old enough, I had little to do with those cousins.

Fast forward 45 years - I get a call out of the blue - one of those cousins was here in Las Vegas and thought we could meet and say hello.

Sure - why not - it has been 45 years, I am sure he has changed by now.

Wrong - the guy is still very odd - car salesman from Texas who chucked it all and suddenly decided to become a professional poker player. OK, fair enough, “so what is the most you have ever won?” He thought that over and said, “I won $2,000 a few years ago.”

We talked for awhile - caught up on some family stories - and although it was pleasant enough, he was still the obnoxious jerk I remember him being as a boy - just a little heavier, taller and balder. One example - I offered to buy him lunch and from a rather large menu with lots of items, he goes for the filet mignon - the most expensive item on the menu - and afterwards doesn’t even offer to leave the tip. OK - I offered to buy, but it just struck me as odd that someone I barely know anymore would just leap to the big ticket item and then turn away while I was forking out for the tip. Whatever. Fine with me if he waits another 45 years to call back.

15

Two stories.

First, the Italian side. Just because it’s my mother’s side, ladies first.
The grandparents of Grandma’s father were Italian. He was, as far as we know, from the North of Italy; fleeing from the unification army, he reached Napoli, met his wife, married her and eventually got on the boat with her, Argentina-bound. She was pregnant, though, so they disembarked in Barcelona instead.
Their son married a well-off “heiress”; nowhere near the Rotschild level, but she was landed and had no brothers to divide the land with; they opened three butchers’, in three different markets: one for each son. Their eldest married a serving girl and, once he inherited, proceeded to sell the store and squander the results. His brothers promptly lost contact.
Fast forward to 1990 or '91. There’s a bus strike; I’ve been visiting the grandparents and now need to take one of the longest bus lines in Barcelona. After more than fifteen minutes with not a single bus in sight (from our line or any other), an elderly woman asks whether anybody else needs line 34. I do; like her, I’m going to the end of the line. So we agree to take a cab and split the bill.
When she told me her name, I told her “oh, you’re one of my grandmother’s cousins!” That name isn’t even common in Italy; in Spain, she was bound to be a relative. Her father was my great-grandfather’s little brother.
The cab ride took over one hour, so we had time to review the family tree. I got her address to give to Grandma and gave her Grandma’s. To celebrate our encounter, she paid for the trip. Never saw her again; I don’t think Grandma and her ever called each other.

Now the one with ghosts. Well, not ghosts. But I never said anybody in my family was sane.
The father of my father’s father got married twice, to sisters; they had five boys and two girls. Nobody in my family is soft and cuddly, but the eldest daughter and the mother, both called Honoria, were ironclads. During the Spanish civil war of 1936, the mother didn’t enlist because “war is for men and young people”; the daughter did, was sent to medical with her sister and quite rapidly transferred to logistics, where she’d be under her father and less likely to drive everybody nuts. Bossy and headstrong don’t begin to describe either.
The mother didn’t like the groom the daughter chose. He was one of the first bike-riding policemen, cutting quite a dashing figure; he drank, but very little and was never known to get drunk; played jai-alai (empty-hand version) quite well, but never bet; spoke Spanish, Basque and French; cooked (traditionally this was common for men in Navarra and the Basque Country, very rare for the rest of Spain); could dance and did it well, but only with his girlfriend or with relatives… in other words, the perfect man! Well, she didn’t like him, period. So she told her daughter that if she married him, she’d disown her! OK. So the daughter went and got herself disowned. Not legally, but for all practical purposes.
My father remembered going to school and meeting two boys with the same lastname. Now, with a lastname like ours, there’s two options: either you’re family or you’re related. He mentioned it at home and his grandmother promptly flew off the wall and shot out of the door like a banshee on speed. Wow. Never saw those two boys again.

Fast forward to 1996. I’m in Miami, in graduate school. I call home every two saturdays; usually, around 9am, which makes it right after lunch for my family. One saturday, I wake up at 3am. I’m talking wide awake. “I have to call home”. “No way, ‘I have to call home’, I call last week and if I call this week then Mom’s gonna want me to call each week instead of every other. Una mieeeeerda, I’m going to call.” “I’ve got to call home.” OK, so I finally give up and call home. Busy line, which is very unusual for a Saturday at 9am. Hang up, wait 15 minutes. Call again. Ring, ring… “¿hola?” “Mom, I’ve told you not to think of me at this time, damnit, you know you wake me up.” “Oh, HI! You know, we were just on the phone with you uncle X!” “Figured, I’d called and it was busy. What’s he doing awake at this time? I thought it took a team of horses to get him out of bed before noon, when he’s not working.” “Well, you know the story of the two Honorias?” “The mother, the daughter and the bike-cop? Yeah, what about them?” “The daughter’s granddaughter is here in Pamplona, she was visiting your grandmother yesterday. They went to Venezuela, I guess after than thing in the school whatever it was, Honoria died there. They had three sons, which now live in Georgia and California, and a daughter, this granddaughter’s mother, who lives guess where?” “Oh, NO FUCKIN SHIT! I move five thousand kilometers to get rid of my family and I’ve got relatives HERE?” “Oh yes. Here, let me give you your aunt’s address and phone number, got a pencil?”
They lived 20 minutes away from me. By Miami standards, that’s almost across the street. I spent Thanksgiving with them, we met another couple times. It was fine… nothing earth-shattering in either direction.

16

This happened to somone I know: her mother’s married brother and her father’s married sister run off together, ending all contact with their families. She later ran into one their children, her double first cousin, in a college class.

17

Something similar to this happened to me years ago.

I was a full time college student. A girl in one of my classes came up to me and said, “You look just like a friend of mine!” We talked for a few minutes. Turns out, this girl’s friend was my cousin, the daughter of Mother_Maven’s twin sister.

18

My grandfather (ahem…how to put it politely?) got around. With my grandmother’s first cousin. I don’t think this was discovered until grandpa died and they showed up to claim money. (I’ve never been clear on the story.)

Anyway, grandpa and grandma had two kids about 20 years after their first three. At about the same time, grandpa was also having a couple of kids with grandma’s cousin.

Not sure what happened between grandpa’s funeral in the late 1940s and the mid-1990s when one of my cousins became really interested in family history. Somehow, he stumbled upon our spare aunt and uncle. (We don’t live close to each other and don’t communicate a lot, so I’ve only gotten the story in pieces and parts.)

I’ve met them both and they’re very nice. It’s interesting to see reactions of my mom and her sibs to their half-sibs. My youngest uncle welcomes them into his home and his family invites the half-sibs to family gatherings. My mom and her two older sibs have never accepted them. They all idolized their dad and apparently couldn’t deal with the part where he was human. The rest of us feel that it isn’t the half-sibs’ fault that they were born and it’s neat to have more family and see the parallels in families that were separated for a long time.

Parallels? There are lots. Names, for instance: several cousins on both sides have the same names. Even though they’re not family names. Professions: lawyers, doctors, and accountants are spread in equal proportions on both sides of the family. Looks: a couple of the cousins I haven’t met are people I would know are relatives because they look just like cousins I have met. Wish I was nearer so that I could get to know them better.

I think you should go, Mouse_Maven. I like the suggestion that you go separately so that you can leave if it’s not doing anything for you. Try to go into the situation without any expectations. You don’t have to talk about your parents’ divorce; it’ll be easier to talk about the present, I’ll bet. If you’re not pleasantly surprised (or at least interested in family differences and similarities), you can always leave. But you might actually make friends and decide these people are worth knowing and that’s always a good thing…

Let us know how things turn out.

GT

19

When I was 10 or so I was friends with a girl at our church and found out we were something like 4th cousins. I don’t remember the details, but we shared a great-great grandfather or something of that nature. That was kind of cool.

About 5 years ago we were having a family get together with my moms side of the family. Aunts, uncles, a dozen or so cousins and various others. Well, one of my uncles shows up with a kid about 15 that no one recognized and introduces him as his son. Turns out, he had a brief thing with the boys mother and she gave birth and raised the kid without ever telling him! The really funny thing is that no one really seemed that shocked by the whole thing, though who knows what they said about the situation in private.

20

I was the 4th of 5 children born to my biological mother. She raised the other four herself, but gave me up for adoption. (And yes, that is a long, peculiar story, but we’ll skip it for now.)

I knew I was adopted (the fact it didn’t happen until I was 3 and had memories of foster homes, the orphanage, my biological dad, etc. made it impossible to hide this) but didn’t feel any desire to contact my blood relatives.

One day when I was 30 and living on the other side of the world, my adoptive mother telephoned and said “oh, your biological younger sister got in touch with us because she was looking for you – we told her ALL ABOUT YOU and we had her over to our house for dinner, showed her the family pictures, blah blah blah.”

That was 18 years ago and I remain a bit upset that my adoptive parents did not contact me first and give me the choice of whether or not to make myself known to my biological family. It was inappropriate for them to invite my little sister to their house without even telling me she had contacted them!

That having been said, I have a pleasant, if someone distant, relationship with most of my 4 biological siblings now. I am dear friends with my little sister and I am thrilled that she is in my life (especially since I was raised as an only child, so having a sister is very special to me). As to the other three, it runs the gamut from having met them once or twice, enjoyed their company, and sometimes exchanging letters, to having exchanged letters once and that is it.

The lesson from all this is that (overbearing parents aside) you retain some CHOICE even when you are in touch with long lost relatives. Do meet them, just don’t go overboard; leave yourself room to become friends, or distant aquaintances, or whatever ends up feeling right.

I will add that, amazingly enough, all 5 kids my biological mom gave birth to seem to have turned out fairly sane. If they had been really nutty, my story might be a bit wierder and might argue against having anything to do with long lost relatives.