There was a party with folks that came as far away as New York and Pennsylvania.
Everyone there was related by blood or marriage except me. Some of the folks thought I was related anyway.
One woman told me I needed to take a DNA test to prove that we were related. “But I’m not,” I protested, though she was not convinced.
People continued to arrive even after the photos were made. Darn, we should have had a guest book. Those people who didn’t know me looked at me suspiciously. What was a lily-white like me doing there?
We might not be related, but I’m her self-imposed personal historian.
We’ll see you next year!