Papa, can you hear me … Papa, can you see me … Papa can you find me in the night *

As some of you may know, I’m researching my family tree. At first the going was easy. Sailing along the information superhighway at 60 miles an hour with the wind in my hair and a smile on my face. It was glorious.

I first focused on my mother’s family. They are a plentiful bunch who believe in quantity as well as quality. My Mother and Grandmother were the oddballs in family in that they only had three kids each. Most of their siblings either had a lot of kids, nine to six range, or had none.

Then, I hit traffic. I know right, traffic in the state of California, who knew?

This traffic is in the form of my dad, Don. Outside of his birth year and his mother’s maiden name, I knew nothing. I have a little more information, his SSN and other stuff. Out of all the records I have poured over the last few weeks, however, not a single one tells me who his father is.

My dad’s mom. I can trace her family back to the 1600’s in England. Six generations of her family lived and died in Connecticut. Another four in Ohio, with the last two in Colorado.  I literally have thousands of “cousins” here and in England who all share my grandmother’s maiden name, Goff.

My dad’s dad, Johnny (or John, Jonnie, Jonne, Johnathan) is a black hole of information. I can find nothing that connects him to my dad or his mother. It’s more than a little frustrating, it’s comical.

Jones is the fourth most common surname in America right behind Smith, Johnson, and Williams. I do a search for “Donald Jones” on Ancestry.com and it comes up with a little over 2 million hits. I do another search for Johnnie, or one of the variants, and the number jumps up to 23 or 24 million.

It’s almost enough to make you grab an axe.

* Yes, the title is a lyric from Yentil. I’m a gay man and I’m having daddy issues, it’s gonna happen.

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