Been a while since my last post, but sometimes the fingers just want to get away from the keys for a while.
I just spoke to Nancy Henson of Houston, Texas, who knew my father as a fellow member of the Maracaibo Players, an English-speaking acting troupe in Venezuela in the 1970s. It was a loose gathering of people from all over, who worked in the oil industry or other vocations in Maracaibo. They did Woody Allen, Neil Simon, Tennessee Williams...
Nancy had fond memories of that period and told me that my father was "a sweetheart... He was a very good man, in spite of his shortcomings." I plan to keep in contact with her and those who she is able to link me to. I had not seen my father since 1966, and he died in 2002. There are quite a few empty spaces to fill.
Nancy told me she was born and raised in Knoxville, just a stone's throw from here. She comes in to visit twice a year, so maybe we can meet face to face.

Finally, we meet!

My sister, Monica, came to meet me last week for the very first time. Monica and her husband, Luis Carlos, and 11-month-old son, Sebastian, visited our sister, Ivonne, and her husband, Luis, in Teaneck, N.J. on Sept. 5. Monica and Ivonne were meeting for the first time as well. Together they drove to Tennessee to meet me and my wife, Debbie, on the 9th.
Even though we are worlds apart, having grown up in different cultures and speaking different languages, Monica and I are so much alike. We are educated, creative, have a zest for life, love to laugh and cut up, and enjoy a good hug. Our father had a total of nine children, and we are gradually coming together as a family. Lloyd Burwick died in 2002 and is buried on Margarita Island. He didn't have the pleasure of meeting Monica, and she saw him for the first time at his funeral. I had not seen him since 1966, and we last corresponded in 2001.
Even though he was not a good father to any of us, we will carry his legacy forward.

Coming together!

I got a call tonight from my brother-in-law, Luis. He and my sister, Ivonne, have come to visit me and my wife, Debbie, twice this year from their home in New Jersey. They are coming again tomorrow. This time they are bringing my sister, Monica, and her husband, Luis Carlos, and their baby boy, Sebastian, to meet us. Monica and Ivonne met for the first time Sunday, and I will be meeting Monica for the first time tomorrow. We will spend all day Friday getting to know each other. I'm beside myself with excitement.

Speaking of get-togethers...

We haven't nailed down a definite date yet, but my youngest sister, Monica, her husband, Luis Carlos, and 10-month-old son, Sebastian, are planning to visit another sister, Ivonne, in New Jersey and then come to Tennessee to see their brother, Steve. We have been in contact since 2006, but Ivonne and I will be meeting Monica for the first time. Monica had never met our father - she saw him for the first time at his funeral in 2002. She contacted us four years later and informed us of his death.

Ivonne and I have met twice this year; before that, it had been 44 years since we saw each other in Venezuela. Then there are Mark and Matthew, who Monica knows but Ivonne and I haven't met... not to mention Lorena, who has met Mark, Matthew, and Monica but not the rest of us. Then there is Lloyd, who shares the same mother and father with Ivonne, and Cliff and Kyle, who share both my mother and father. Confusing, eh? This is our father's legacy - nine kids, separated by a lot of miles, different languages and cultures, and just itching to share our stories.

Separation anxiety

Some readers have no doubt noticed I haven't mentioned my grandson lately. We were saddened by the fact that he was suddenly living five hours away from us, and it took a while for the new grandparents to adjust.

We just spent the weekend with our daughter and her husband, who are now working in Murfreesboro and staying with his mother and stepfather until they can find a house. Little Jesse is 11 weeks old and doing fine. It's not easy dealing with the separation, but we did get to spend some quality time and we know they are doing well.

We will plan to get together again.

Joyful Day is a blog about my family. In order to get the most out of it, go back to the earliest entry on March 1, 2010, then proceed forward chronologically. I have traced back in history with some fascinating stories, but the main focus of this blog is the journey toward that future day when a family of diverse individuals from varied backgrounds will find one another and share who we are, where we have come from, and our dreams and desires.

We are all the children of one father, who I am sure was not the father any of us would have wished for...

Yet Lloyd Burwick was an interesting character, to say the least. I found out only recently that he was fond of the theater and participated in a group of actors in Maracaibo, Venezuela through the 1960s and '70s. I never knew this until my Aunt Betty sent me some old playbooks containing pictures of him and his fellow actors. I though it was interesting that one playbill showed a photo of a Carol Howdyshell opposite a picture of my father.

We have Howdyshells in our family history. Was he even aware that one of his fellow actors in a play in Venezuela might have been distantly related? I have seen stranger things happen.

Children of a wandering rebel

I recently received some photos from my youngest sister, Monica, who lives in Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela. She and her husband, Luis Carlos, took their nine-month-old son, Sebastian, along with Monica's mother, Nancy, to Margarita Island, where they visited the city of Juan Griego. That's where our father, Lloyd Burwick, lived for the last few years of his life. Monica had never seen him until she attended his funeral in 2002. I had not seen him since 1966 and wasn't even aware of his death until 2006. Lloyd was a wanderer, a rebel of sorts. I guess like a lot of men, he was forever searching for something. What that was, or whether he ever really found it, I'll probably never know.He was married four times, first to my mother. With his last two wives he had no children.He wasn't much of a father to any of the nine children whom he sired through five different women - three of whom he never married - so he can't really claim that he made us what we are. But his legacy, such as it was, lives on through us.

I am hoping to meet Monica for the first time this year. She plans to come to Tennessee this summer for a visit, and will be making a permanent move to the U.S. a bit later. They have spoken of possibly moving to Charlotte, N.C. That would be nice.

Another generation

Jesse James Chatman was born at 9:25 p.m., Friday, June 4, 2010. He is the son of my daughter, April. He is a precious gift from God, our first grandchild, and we are looking forward to watching him grow and learn, laugh and cry, work and play, and become whatever God desires him to be. We feel so blessed!

Arrivals

My sister Ivonne Reyes and her husband, Luis, came for a visit Saturday. We went out to eat at Ridgewood BBQ, which we all enjoyed. Then we went for a walk at Watauga Lake and stopped in to visit our daughter, April. Luis and Ivonne had come to meet us at a hotel in Roanoke, Va., in January after dropping their daughter Mia off at Dulles Airport in Washington D.C. This time they came to Elizabethton and stayed for a few hours before going back to pick up Mia, who had spent the spring semester in Europe.

Luis and Ivonne work in the New York City School System. They live in Teaneck, N.J., and we hope to visit them in the next year or so. We are still looking forward to meeting another sister, Monica, who plans to visit from Venezuela this summer.

Meanwhile, our first grandchild is due to arrive tomorrow as our daughter April will have labor induced. Jesse James will make his grand entrance into this world.

Mary Magdalene

I received some photos from my Aunt Betty today. She's one of my father's two sisters. She and Aunt Dorothy didn't know of their brother's death until I found their addresses in July 2007 and wrote letters to them... 8 months after I learned of his death myself.

My father lived in Venezuela the last few years of his life. He died in October 2002, and no one in the U.S. knew about it until 2006. That's when my sister Monica in Venezuela contacted our brother Lloyd in New York and told him he had died 4 years earlier. I heard the news a few months later from our sister Ivonne who lives in New Jersey. Ivonne also told me of yet another sister, Lorena, who was a lawyer and now is a nun. Lorena also lives in Venezuela, along with our brothers, Mark and Matthew. My father had 9 children in all.

My wife and I met Ivonne and her husband last January. It was the first time I had seen Ivonne since 1966, when I was 10 and she was 2. I am hoping to meet Monica for the first time this summer when she and her husband and baby boy come to visit. She saw our father for the first time at his funeral. In our correspondence, she asked me if I had any photos of our grandmother, Mary Magdalene - our father's mother. I had never seen a photo of her myself, until today.

Mary Magdalene Kozlowski, who changed her name to Mamie McNair, married Lloyd William Burwick in March 1926. She died of cancer in 1939. Here are some photos of her and my grandfather in the late 1920s, when they lived in California.

Arrivals

I was hoping to finally meet my sister Monica face to face later this month, but she and her husband Luis Carlos have delayed their visit till later this summer. However, my other sister Ivonne and her husband Luis (There are a lot of guys named Luis in my life... That's my pastor's name too) are planning to come down from New Jersey to eat with us at Ridgewood BBQ. They will only get to spend a few hours with us, as they did in January (first time I'd seen Ivonne in more than 40 years), because they are picking up their daughter Mia in DC Sunday -- she's coming home from a semester in Europe. But a few hours is better than no time at all.
Meanwhile, Deb and I are anticipating the arrival of our first grandchild... any day now!

My Latino Siblings

Here is a recent photo of three of my Latino siblings in Puerto La Cruz, Venezuela: (left to right) Mark, Monica, and Matthew. Monica is planning to come to the U.S for a visit this spring with her husband and baby, while she and our brothers are working on a permanent move to the states. Lorena, who is formerly a lawyer and currently serves as a nun, intends to remain in Venezuela.

A Musical Legacy

Isn't it funny how sometimes certain traits tend to run in the family, such as career choice, interests, sense of humor, wanderlust, musical or other creative talents?
When I lived with my father in Caracas, he was working at General Telephone and Electronics (GTE), but when my older brother, Cliff, spent the summer with him, he owned a fancy nightclub called "Lloyd's of Maracaibo" in another city. Cliff described it as a cool disco bar for its time (late 1960s), with black wood and red velvet walls. A full suit of armor stood in one corner with a speaker hidden behind the face mask. The DJ would speak through the mask and get interesting responses. My father is pictured here with the suit of armor and with a couple of young ladies at the disco.

Although Cliff was only 15 that summer, he said he enjoyed "spinning records, drinking screwdrivers, and watching girls dance." He brought home an awesome record collection, including Santana and Xavier Cugat. I still have the Cugat album, and I enjoy listening to the big band music with a Caribbean flair.
Cliff played the drums in the high school band, and was a drummer in a local rock and roll group in the late 60s and early 70s. Having retired as an air traffic contoller, he recently mentioned a desire to get back into playing. I write song lyrics, and our Venezuelan brothers, Mark and Matthew, are also musically inclined. Mark is lead guitarist in a pop-rock band on weekends, while Matthew plays classical piano and guitar. Mark's son is a student at Brown University in Rhode Island, where he is studying art. He is part of a Latin music and dance group there called Mezcla.
I mentioned that Cliff was an air traffic contoller... Mark has been interested in flying since he was a little boy, building and collecting model airplanes, and our sister Monica's husband is a commercial pilot.
In addition, sister Ivonne teaches English to Hispanic children in the Bronx. My father's sister, Dorothy, also taught English as a second language for years, as did her cousin, Frederick, who is Professor Emeritus at UCLA.

My brothers

I got to thinking... Yes, sometimes I do that. I know it can be dangerous...
I suppose that with today's on-line communication tools and worldwide connections, it really makes no sense to try keeping the names of my siblings a secret. After all, one only needs to type in "Burwick" and "Venezuela" on a search engine and see what pops up. How many Burwicks could there be in a South American country where the dominant language is Spanish?
Mark and Matthew are working on completing the necessary paperwork to come to the U.S. to live. I am doing what I can to help in that regard. People come and go all the time, and their home country hasn't closed the borders yet, like Castro did in Cuba some 40 years ago. Give it time...
Meanwhile, I am looking forward to meeting my brothers, and my sisters Monica and Lorena as well. It will be a JOYFUL DAY for all of us.

Anticipated gatherings

I recently sent copies of some paperwork to assist my two brothers in Venezuela in getting their visas, etc. I hope it will help. Sending messages by e-mail and viewing photos on Facebook just isn't the same as meeting face to face.
Having family members who I have never met is such a strange thing, especially knowing they are Latino while I am Scottish-Irish-English-Dutch-Polish-Swiss-German, etc. It makes me realize that we are all members of the human family and should treat each other with respect.
Still looking ahead to that joyful day here on earth, and another one beyond that.

Roots & Herbs and Babies Don't Cry in the Dark

While thinking about the upcoming birth of my first grandchild, who is due in May or June, I started thinking about various people who have come before me.
My own father, who I hadn’t seen since 1966, was not much of a family man. He drank, and he had a fondness for women. He had a total of nine children at last count, through five different women. He married four times but only had children (five) with the first two wives. I was his second child. His other four children were born out of wedlock… but that wasn’t their fault. In fact, the four who still live in Venezuela have grown up to become intelligent, exceptionally talented adults. One is a law school graduate who is currently serving as a nun. Another has a civil engineering degree. There is also a bank auditor who plays in a pop-rock band and another who is a classical guitarist and pianist and operates his own business.
My father’s father was a fine man who at one time served as the mayor of Pomona, Calif. He was known for his honesty and integrity from an early age, and actually got a patent on an invention.

His father – my great-grandfather, Edwin Burwick (pictured here with my mother, Dorris) – was a rather eccentric man, with a fondness for beer. On Christmas Day, 1940, Edwin wrote a letter to the man who had just married his daughter, Iva. In the letter, he told his new son-in-law, Lawrence, that he might want to know a little Burwick history. Edwin then proceeded to tell Lawrence about two brothers who came from Wales and settled in Ohio. Edwin’s father, William, was the son of one of the pioneering brothers.

“He finally drifted to Missouri in time to get in the Civil War and joined the 21st Missouri Infantry volunteers at the close of the war. He came back to a Missouri girl (Louisa Carter Creason). I don’t know for sure, but I think she went barefooted most of the time,” the letter stated. Edwin said he himself was born on a 160-acre tract of barren Kansas prairie that his father was given “for being a good soldier.” Edwin’s Scottish grandmother came to live with them at that time.
“She was a most remarkable woman and a great gardener. She would stroll over those prairies for days gathering roots and herbs, and when anyone got sick she would make some tea from this stuff. Anyway, we got well. She lived to be 90 years old, raising her own garden the summer before she died, including her private blend of smoking tobacco.”

Edwin’s father, William, traded his prairie land for a general store in Wilmington, Kansas, expanding to Osage City where he did a good business with coal miners until a strike began.
“Pa was a big-hearted guy like all the Burwicks, but he soon ran out of groceries and had no money to buy any more. Dead broke and no place to go. Suffering from ailments contracted in the service, Pa was unable to work.”
Edwin said his father was a very honest, conscientious and religious man. He described his mother as “opposed to everything what is, which is another trait of the Burwicks.”

Edwin’s mother, Louisa Carter Creason, came from a farm in Galena, Kansas. His Grandmother Creason was an English woman who came to Kansas from North Carolina, by way of Kentucky.
“She would tell us kids about being in the fort with Daniel Boone, and all those Indians battles and how babies didn’t cry in the dark,” Edwin wrote. “She told us about our Grandfather Creason, a red-heeled Irishman and the best man that ever lived. She said he treated her as though she was the Queen of England. It seems he was some kind of contractor for the way she talked. He brought home the bacon.”
Edwin related how Grandfather Creason tended to throw things whenever he got drunk.
“Sometimes he would break every dish on the place, and the next day go to town and buy a complete new outfit. So the mark of my Irish grandfather is deeply imprinted in the Burwick family.”

Although growing up poor, Edwin said his family got by. He went to night school and worked in a machine shop to help support his family until his father died.
“Went out with the boys and had a few fights (but not me). I was too busy drinking, no time to fight. Finally I met a Pennsylvania Dutch girl (Louisa Ellen Spencer). Her ancestors were Quakers (See March 7 entry).
“Well, after lying to her for three years, she finally said all right so we got married and here came the babies… Everything was all right with me until she gave birth to a little dwarf girl baby. My first thought was to drown her in the fish pond, but we didn’t have no fish pond and it was too far to the river, and before I could go to the river with her she opened her eyes and gave me that smile. So I said let’s keep her, and sometimes I think we done the right thing.
“Iva and I have had great times together. I hope you and her have had great times together. We hear what others don’t hear. We see what others don’t see.”

Signed, “Dad”

I get the feeling the Burwick family, at least on the male side, tends to alternate between good, honest men and those with a tendency to drink and carouse. I don’t know if that means I’m one of those good men that crops up every other generation. I guess history will show…

Royal roots

Donald and Helen must have been proud when their beautiful daughter, Isabel, met the handsome young Robert. You see, Robert de Bruce, who would later be crowned the first King of Scotland, came from a long line of nobility. According to the Encyclopedia of the Middle Ages (Norman F. Cantor, ed., New York, 1999): “Robert I (1274-1329) the Bruce holds an honored place in Scottish history as the king (1306-1329) who resisted the English and freed Scotland from their rule. He hailed from the Bruce family, one of several who vied for the Scottish throne in the 1200s.”

Robert’s wife, Isabel, soon gave birth to a daughter, Marjorie, who married Walter, part of the Stewart line. Several more Stewarts married into the family along the way, eventually leading to the current British royal family, including Queen Elizabeth II… But let’s follow another thread…
Marjorie and Walter had a son named Robert, who followed his grandfather to the throne. Through several generations, including marriages to Mures and Drummonds, Edmunstones and Rosses, Hamiltons and Semphills, part of this family married into the Dalrymple line, another Scottish family with royal connections. John Dalrymple (1648-1707) was a Scottish noble who played a crucial role in the 1707 Treaty of Union between the Kingdom of Scotland and the Kingdom of England, that created the Kingdom of Great Britain.
His son, George, came to the United States, where he married Rose Mason in Philadelphia. George and Rose Dalrymple moved to South Carolina, where they merged with the Jones family, eventually traveling to Arkansas. Along the way came some Heaths, Coopers, Brents, and Montgomerys, along with a Rhodes family from North Carolina and Tennessee.

Neoma Rae Jones was born July 13, 1896 in Brush Creek, Ark., the granddaughter of Henry Dalrymple Jones. She married Thomas Elliott Sharpe and had several children. She lived a long and happy life, passing away in Dallas, Texas at the age of 99, surrounded by her family. One of Neoma's children was Dorris Jean Sharpe, who was born April 1, 1931 – 21 generations from King Robert I of Scotland. She is my mother.

Who's been cashing those checks?

While trying to gather information to help my two brothers in their quest to emigrate from Venezuela to the U.S., I was told that they need copies of my late father’s early school records to serve as proof of his citizenship. I knew he had graduated at McAllen, Texas High School in 1949, so I wrote to the records department. They were able to trace his records back to elementary school in the late 1930s, and I am waiting to receive those. I was told that having his social security number might speed the process, so I contacted the local office and was informed that they needed a copy of his death certificate before they could release any information. While looking up his records, they discovered that his monthly checks were still being sent to his last address in Venezuela, even though he had been dead for more than seven years. Maybe the death certificate will clear things up, but I wonder who has been cashing his checks?

Looking back a few years

In reading this family history, don’t think of it as “John begat Mary begat Samuel…” Think of the individuals and their struggles, note the variety of names and places, the travels and the trades. Genealogy can be fascinating, and your history can tell you a lot about yourself… your disposition, your gifts, your dreams…

John Spencer was a tailor. Born in Yorkshire, England, he and his wife immigrated to the U.S. and raised a family. They both died in Bucks, Penn. in late 1683. There is evidence that they both perished when the Neshaminy River flooded. One of their sons, Samuel, married Elizabeth Whitton, whose family was also from Yorkshire, England. Samuel and Elizabeth had a son, Samuel Spencer Jr., who wed Mary Dawes in June 1723 at the meeting house of the Friends of Plymouth, Penn. (they were Quakers). Mary was the daughter of Abraham Dawes and Edith Whitton of Philadelphia. Samuel and Mary’s mothers might have been related, but I don’t know for sure.

Samuel and Mary Spencer had a son, Nathan, who married Hannah Lofborough, the daughter of Nathaniel Lofborough and Margaret Bissett of New Jersey. Nathaniel left New Jersey to become the first known keeper of the Crooked Billet Tavern, a well known landmark in Hatborough, Pa. Nathaniel’s father, John Loofbourrow, had come to the U.S. from Scotland, marrying Hannah Miles Bunn of Suffolk, Mass. They were both born in 1659. Hannah Lofborough Spencer gave birth to Nathan Jr., whose son, David, was born in Loudoun County, Va. David Spencer married Leah Pickering, who gave birth to yet another Nathan Spencer, who was born in Ohio in 1820. Nathan wed Louisa Hiatt (born 1822), whose family roots were in N.C., Virginia and Maryland.

Nathan and Louisa Spencer had a son, Joseph Henry Spencer, who was born in Kansas in 1845. Let’s stop here for the moment and follow another thread…

Melchior Ruch, born about 1615 in Duerrenroth, Switzerland, married Elsbeth Frauchiger about 1640. Their son, Melchoir, was born December 25, 1644. He lived in the Germanic area of the Northern Alsace now known as Bas-Rhin in Northeastern France. He made a living as a shepherd in Schillersdorf.
The earlier Ruchs probably originated in Emmental (now part of Switzerland), having moved to the northern Rhineland sometime during the 17th century.

The earliest record of Melchoir Ruch of Alsace was recorded in the year 1676 in the church register at Oberbronn, where he was mentioned as a shepherd from the Village of Schillersdorf, and also in a church register in 1679 as a citizen and a shepherd at Ingweiler. That same year, he married Anna Maria (unlisted last name), who gave him a son, Johannes Adamus Ruch, born in 1688. Johannes and his wife, Anna Margaretha, had a daughter, also named Anna Margaretha, who married Hans Michael Haudenschildt, a shepherd in Neiderbronn who was born in Alsace-Lorraine, France. Hans Michael was the son of Diebold Haudenschildt, who was born in Rhineland, Germany about 1680.

Hans and Anna Haudenschildt were wed at Langensoultzbach Lutheran Church on January 11, 1724. Their son, Johannes Diebold Haudenshildt, was born in France in 1745. The Haudenschildt family arrived at Philadelphia Oct. 17, 1749 on the ship “Dragon.” Johannes had a son, Jacob, who wed Mary Robinson of Virginia. Jacob and Mary’s daughter, Elinor, changed her name to Howdyshell. Elinor married John Van Dyne of New Jersey, whose grandfather, Matthew Van Duyn (1752-1837), was a veteran of the Revolutionary War. The Van Dynes had a daughter, Sarah Jane, born in 1844 in Kansas. Sarah married Joseph Henry Spencer (listed above).

Joseph and Sarah Spencer had a daughter named Louisa Ellen, who was born in Montgomery County, Kansas in 1872. Louisa married Edwin Burwick, who was born in Knox County, Missouri to Rev. William Burwick and Louisa Carter Creason. Edwin and Louisa had a son, Lloyd William Burwick, who was born in Galena, Kansas. Lloyd Burwick traveled to California, where he met Mary Magdalene Kozlowski of Pomona. Mary’s parents were Joseph John Kozlowski, who was a California Symphony Orchestra conductor, and Jennie Goldenbee. Both Joseph and Jennie were originally from Posen, Germany (which is now Poznan, a city in Poland).
Lloyd and Mary Burwick had a son, Lloyd Lee Burwick, who was born in Pomona, Calif. on March 23, 1931. He was my father.

A personal journey

Learning of my father’s death – four years after the fact and 40 years after I last saw him – was not exactly a heart-wrenching moment, but it did lead to a flood of childhood memories.
I was a very introverted child, and though I enjoyed the adventure of visiting another country, I felt alone much of the time that I lived in Venezuela. My father was distant, involved with his work and baseball (baseball is big in Venezuela). My stepmother didn’t seem to fully accept me, and I missed my mother and my brothers, Cliff and Kyle, back in Florida. More often than not, I sat alone during lunch and recess at St. George’s School. I didn’t feel that I fit in. There was a mix of students – some native Venezuelan, others from England, Yugoslavia, Egypt and various other places – no doubt the children of transplanted workers in various industries. (My own father was an electrical engineer with dual citizenship). That's me in the photo, third from the right. Some of the teachers at the British private school were cruel, especially to the quiet students like me…

I enjoyed reading from an early age, but the thought of reading out loud in class was unbearable. When the teacher called on me, I froze. Since I was unable – or, to her, unwilling – to read the passage that she asked of me, she ordered me to the front of the class. There, she took hold of my jaw and jerked my head back, holding me in a tight, uncomfortable grasp. I didn’t know what to do. If I had been more self-assured like Colin, a rambunctious student from England, I likely would have kicked her in both shins and run out the door. But I stood there squirming as another student was called on to read…

It’s not clear to me how long it was after this incident that I flew back home to the states, because my memory was fuzzy for a long time. My mother called my father and asked what he had done to me. I was not speaking, and she was anxious to know what had happened. She even investigated the airlines. I couldn’t tell her why I wasn’t able to speak, because I had wiped away the memory of the awful humiliation of that day in class. I had crawled into a shell, probably during the flight home across the Caribbean, as a way to cope with something that I had no way of dealing with emotionally.

Over the years, my mother took me to see psychiatrists and therapists, and there were drug treatments and evaluations. A therapist once told my mother that I would never speak again. Overhearing this, I must have resigned myself to this “truth.”
I graduated high school and attended college for a couple of years, but dropped out with no clear sense of direction. I worked at various menial jobs, endured a marriage that seemed to be doomed from the start, and was basically limited in my career and personal growth by the inability to speak.

I had become a Christian in my late 20s, but struggled with my new faith. One day the memory of what the reading teacher had done suddenly returned, giving me renewed hope that, since my handicap was not from a physical cause, maybe I would be able to speak again. I was referred to a counselor at a private school, who patiently read my written reply to her questions about my life. She prayed for me and then told me to thank the Lord for what He had already done, and the words “Thank you, Jesus” seemed to come from somewhere deep inside me. From that moment, even though my vocal cords were “rusty” and it was difficult to string words together into sentences, I was able to communicate without having to rely on pen and paper. I was 29, and hadn’t spoken in 19 years...

My newfound voice, and the confidence that came with it, were among several factors that drove me and my first wife apart. A few months later I met Debbie. As each of us was recovering from a failed marriage, we had a mutual desire to make things work. It has been a struggle, but we’ve made it for 20 years. We have encountered serious health problems, lost a home and endured an often strained relationship with our only daughter through her teen years. But as the saying goes, “Whatever doesn’t kill you will make you stronger.” We’re closer to our daughter than we’ve ever been, and looking forward to meeting our first grandchild. Life can be difficult, but God is good.

While working in a book warehouse, I injured my back several times... my wrist, my hip, my shoulder... you name it, I hurt it. A fellow worker told me I should go back to school and begin a new career. Through faith and a strong desire to succeed, I struggled through three years of full-time work and full-time school, finally walking across the stage at Milligan College to claim my Bachelor degree at the age of 49. I was proud!

See pages 22-23:

http://www.milligan.edu/news/MCmagazine/milliganmagazine_su08.pdf

First get-together

MARCH 2:
We siblings have kept in contact through the Internet, and I learned that Monica and my two brothers plan to immigrate to the U.S. My brothers are currently pursuing the complicated immigration paperwork, and I have intentionally omitted their names to avoid jeopardizing their efforts. Monica, who married Luis Carlos last year and gave birth to Sebastian in October, has her passport and plans to immigrate to the U.S. later this year.

My wife, Debbie, and I celebrated our 20th anniversary last October, and the wedding of our daughter, April, in January.
The day after the wedding, Debbie and I drove to Roanoke, Va. for a planned meeting with Ivonne and her husband, Luis. They had seen their daughter, Mia, off to Europe for a semester of study, and we met at a hotel halfway between our hometown and the airport in Washington, D.C.
Though we had not seen each other in almost 44 years, Ivonne and I felt a sense of closeness from the start. Luis spoke to Debbie and me like we were old friends and called me his “hermano” (brother). They told me a lot about my father. We went out to eat, and made plans for future visits. Luis connected us with Monica and her husband, Luis Carlos, through Skype video on Ivonne’s laptop, and I spoke with my youngest sister whom I have yet to meet in person. What a thrill!
Monica and Luis Carlos hope to visit a friend in the U.S. in the spring, and we look forward to getting together with them, along with Luis and Ivonne.

A beginning ... of sorts

I’m not sure how to begin telling this story, because there are so many “beginnings.”
During my first semester at Milligan College, my father died. That was October 2002. I didn’t know of his death until a year and a half after my graduation in May 2005 with a Bachelor’s degree in journalism. I got the news on Nov. 13, 2006, in an e-mail from my sister, Ivonne, whom I hadn’t seen since we both lived with our father in Caracas, Venezuela, in 1966. I was 10 and Ivonne was two. She and her older brother, Lloyd, were born to him and his second wife, Belkis … whom he had married after he divorced my mother, leaving her alone to raise three young boys in Florida. I hadn’t seen my father in 40 years when I learned of his death. Meanwhile, quite a bit of water has flowed under the bridge.

At the age of nine, I flew to Caracas to live with my father and attended school there for a year. Belkis and my father had a strained relationship and they separated during my stay. She and the kids returned to her family home in the Dominican Republic, and I stayed with my father’s friend Laura until I returned home to the U.S.

Ivonne now lives in New Jersey and teaches in the New York City School System. Lloyd lives in New York where he sells imported jewelry. Ivonne had received the news of our father’s death in the spring of 2006, in an e-mail from our sister, Monica, who lived in Maracaibo, Venezuela. Monica had contacted Lloyd to tell him that she was his sister.

My father and I had corresponded by letter over a period of several months in 2000 and 2001. He told me then that Lloyd and Ivonne lived in the New York area, and also told me about Monica. I didn’t hear from him anymore, and while surfing the Internet (in 2006) I discovered Monica’s post on Lloyd’s blog from the previous spring. I sent her an e-mail, and was surprised when Ivonne responded with the news of our father’s death. Monica, who speaks very little English, had forwarded my message to her.

Ivonne informed me of yet another sister, Lorena, who was a lawyer in Venezuela (She is now a nun). In addition, I had previously learned of my two brothers that my father had with Laura, the lady I had stayed with in Caracas. Laura picked me up at school and took care of me while my father worked. She was a very nice lady, and she planned to marry my father in 1968 but discovered that he and Belkis were still married.

I found out about my brothers sometime in the 1970s but had no contact with them until after that first e-mail from Ivonne in 2006. One of them had gotten to know our father in the months before his death, and he and Monica attended his funeral. That was Monica’s first encounter with her father. He had been living with his last wife, with whom he had no children. Lorena had met him at the age of 18, when her mother introduced him to her as her father. Prior to that, she had thought her stepfather was her biological father.

(Continued next post)