My last post I shared my family mystery: the missing first fifty-seven years of my grandfather’s life.  I ended that post on somewhat of a “cliff hanger,” divulging that I was provided some clues worthy of genuine excitement, maybe even optimism: the photo of an unknown child and documentation suggesting a secret identity. 

Reader, you’ll please excuse me as I humbly request to put those clues aside for now.  I promise this wasn’t some type of unethical ploy to create unfounded curiosity and I endeavour to properly describe and explain in full detail once I’ve had the opportunity to offer some necessary background.  You have my word. 

I’d like to begin at the beginning.  Growing up, I’d asked about my missing grandfather many times.  In my earliest queries, I wondered why I had two grandmothers but only one grandfather.  My parents explained that my grandfather had died some four years before my birth, owing to the fact that he was at a very advanced age with he became parent to my father.  As described, my grandfather was fifty-eight when my father was born.  From there, I proceeded the way most curious but oblivious children proceed: with a myriad of follow-up questions.  For my efforts, here were the usual responses I was offered.

First, he was Irish and proud of it.  In fact, he’d often reminded my father and aunt that they were “as Irish as the pigs in Dublin.”  I found this a little distasteful and possibly even crude, but it was how my grandfather wished his children self-identify.

Second, he had was an educated gentleman who attended Oxford University.  I was told that his style of dress matched his impressive intellect and privileged breeding as he was never spotted without full suit and tie, overcoat and hat when outdoors.

Third, he was a door-to-door salesman when the position was partly romanticized.  At various times he peddled a variety of useful goods such as jewellery, newspaper subscriptions and dictionaries.

Fourth, he loved crosswords and Mickey Spillane novels.  This furthered my image of my grandfather as a whole-hearted intellect who revelled in challenging his brain during his leisure time.

Lastly, I was told that he likely had a whole other family in the United States.  This piece, of course, was a little more profound than the other pieces of history I was provided.  I marvelled at the possibility.  Did he simply abandon them at some point?  Was he chased out of the country for nefarious reasons?  Was it possible I had a set of cousins in Los Angeles, New York or even Omaha?

I suppose that was enough for my adolescent mind and I don’t recall demanding any further details or verified sources.  It was what one might call simply, “the stuff of family legend.” 

I never felt the urge for further investigation until my father and I spent a day in Vancouver.