3.03.02
Here it is, loyal readers! “The Big One”. The most surreal weekend of my entire life, captured right here in black and white Times New Roman and glorious color JPG’s. Thank God for Walgreen’s one-hour photo.
It might do you some good to read the entry from February 27 if you haven’t already, as I’m not going to re-describe it, but it will definitely add to the understanding of how tumultuous of a weekend this has been for me.
So February 28, 2002, my twenty-seventh birthday, I wake up around 9:00. There are five 19-year old drunkards…errr…my step-sister and four friends from college I should say, sleeping in various rooms throughout the house. I recall from the evening before that at least two of them have to leave by noon to head back to wherever they hail, so I figure I’d better go ahead and get my shower – with hot water – while I can. I get out of the shower, shave, get dressed, brush my teeth and I’m out the door by about 9:30.
After picking up 2 ounces of my favorite blend of tobacco from Bacca (my favorite tobacconist in C-U), I head on over to Barnes and Noble to kill some time before finally going to Buerkett, my old employer, to check in on friends there. We go to Jupiter’s for lunch and everyone wants to hear the story of why I’m in town. Good time was had by all and I vow to see them again soon. I run by my sister’s place of work, drop off the old family photo albums I’ve brought along so they won’t be sitting in my car, exposed to the sun all afternoon, and head off to see Monster’s Ball at the Beverly.
I feel so sorry for you Champaign people. The Beverly isn’t even as nice as our $1 theaters down here. Ugh! It’s like living in a lavish, New York penthouse and then going to visit your cousin who lives in a cave. Anyway, good movie, pretty depressing, but very “real” (I feel so pretentious for saying that, but whatever).
After checking out the flick, it’s about 4:30, so I head back to my sis’ job and wait around there till 5:00, when we leave for Alexander’s Steakhouse. Speaking of Alexander’s, you meat lovers (Sorry, Amber) have GOT to go there for your birthdays - $15 off your steak (with proof of bdate). So I got my 18oz ribeye for $4. Can’t complain with that at all.
Kris and I grab a table and wait, talking about old family history as well as current events. It’s good to spend time with her away from everyone else as we’ve always had a special relationship. I start to show signs of nervousness for the first time here – rubbing my face, itching my nose, drinking a 25oz Amberbock like it was water.
Finally, the moment arrives! In walks Marla Raymond and her best friend Maggie. We hug, they sit down, I’m in shock. She hands me a gift bag where inside is a small photo album that we go through, her pointing out who everyone is, how they’re related, etc. She also includes a cool, little wooden puzzle from Poland where she went with Maggie’s mother about five years ago and a bday card.
The rest of the evening is spent showing old pictures that I’d brought with, relaying stories from our youth, talking about our interests and hobbies, as well as a bit of family history. Ends up her side of the family is French, with a bit of German and Irish and a few French ancestors were part of the Lewis and Clark expedition. Pretty cool.
She works for a mental health institution up by Kankakee and is very involved in the Union. She spends a lot of time with her son, my half-brother, Doug and his son, Mason. When she’s not working at the institute or on some Union project, she enjoys doing arts and crafts like drying flowers and making flower baskets for friends and family. She has an obsession with hot air balloons, but has yet been able to ride in one. She is also heavily involved in the Labor Day parade in her hometown of Riddick, IL, pretty much being responsible for organizing the whole thing.
After eating, we sat around for a few hours more, talking, talking, talking. Finally, we realized we’d been Alexander’s for about 5 hours and Kris decided she’d better get going if she was going to make it to work the next day. We took that as a cue that we should probably all head out ourselves and left at the same time. I followed Maggie and Marla back to their hotel room where we sat around a little more and talked about more recent events and how they relate to the past.
I leave their room about 12:30 and head home, exhausted. I keep hearing on the radio that they’re talking a huge blizzard blowing in on Friday afternoon, so I decide during my drive home that I’d better pack up and leave back for O’Fallon the next day. Now this is important to note because I was intending to stick around for a party on Saturday evening, plus I was looking forward to a relaxing weekend alone out on the farm (the five drunkards would be gone as of Thursday afternoon), however, fate led me home to O’Fallon the next day.
I wake up the next morning, finish getting packed, which takes longer than I anticipate, and stop by Kris’ on my way out of town (She’d called into work – long story there). Said good-bye to her, ran by the gas station to fill up and was off to Champaign to meet Maggie and Marla for brunch. Well, brunch ended up being full-blown lunch at Bob Evan’s and we finally parted ways about 1:45 after a few more pictures and such. After which, I went to see my buddy, Steve, went to pick up another 3oz of 3Q at Bacca and finally left for home around 4:00.
As far as resemblances, see for yourself. At the bottom of this entry, there will be a link to a webpage where you’ll be able to see the highlights of the pictures from my weekend along with descriptions and all. So far, I would have to say I look most like her - the chin seems to run in the family as well as the big dimples. The eyes are very similar as well, and I’m built a lot like her as well. In the next few weeks I hope to be able to put up a side-by-side comparison of our senior pictures and you’ll see how much I really looked like her at this time in life. Sort of spooky, really. Anyway, check out the pics when you’re done.
I get home right around 6:45, drop off my roll of film for one-hour processing, and when I walk in the door, find there’s a message on the machine from George Zebrun – my birth father that I’ve been trying to contact since I first spoke with Marla, but every time I call he’s never home. Well, he tells me to call him at a certain number, so I do, but he’s “not here yet”. Hmmmm…
He calls me back shortly and let’s me know that he is in Benld, Illinois (Yeah, I never heard of it, either), and that he is there to pay last respects to his mother, my grandmother, who died earlier that week. So I’m thinking – Ok, he’ll drive down here or I’ll meet him halfway and we’ll meet. Naw. I’m invited up to the funeral and the family reunion that is to follow that afternoon. Talk about being thrown to the wolves!
Needless to say I really need a drink, so luckily I had already planned to meet JK and Ben at Westport for just such a diversion. A few beers and bowls of 3Q later and I’m feeling good. I get home about 12:30, don’t get to bed around 1:00, but am still able to somehow get up at 7:45 the next morning to get showered, shaved, put on my tie, and head off to Benld, Mapquest directions in hand.
The trip was a breeze and I was there well before I expected to be. I take a few moments to harness my Chi (AKA, suck it up) and head inside. I look around the room expecting to find a short, plump little man with brown hair, but alas, there’s no one.
A woman walks up to me and says hello and asks if she can help me because I’m sure I’m looking around like I have no idea how I got there. I say I’m looking for George Zebrun, Jr. and she looks at me like it’s odd that I wouldn’t know who he is. I explain that I’m sort of related to him, which, obviously, makes her look at me like I have a third eye on the tip of my nose.
“Oh, well, I’m his sister Olga, and he’s right over there. The white-haired man with the beard in the gray suit.”
“Ok. Thanks.” But I just stand there looking nervous. She continues to stare at me with confusion, so I lean over and say low, “I don’t know if he’s told you, but I’m his son, which I guess would make me your nephew.”
Her jaw drops and for a moment she really doesn’t look like she believes me (understandable). She shakes my hand again (the first of many such second handshakes of the day) and gives me a hug (the first of many of the day) and asks if she’d like me to have her introduce us. I decide that might be the best way to handle it and follow her.
George comes over and we shake hands, stop for a second and then hug, then shake hands once again repeating over and over “It’s very good to meet you.” He then calls over siblings, Liesa and Joe. The introductions for the day follow a similar pattern: customary handshake that you give any stranger, George dropping the bomb of who I am, a second handshake accompanied with a hug and then usually a third handshake with a blank, amazed stare. Apparently George hadn’t told anyone about me except, I believe, his sister Liesa who seemed less surprised than the others. Not only did none of the aunts, uncles, cousins and friends know I existed, nor did my grandfather or, sadly, grandmother whose funeral I was attending. Not even my half-brother, George III, knew, I don’t think.
So then it was a barrage of introductions and frankly I had no idea who I was meeting. Obviously, George had to take care of some family business, so his cousins, Debbie and Carmin (I hope I’m spelling their names correctly), played Virgil to my Dante and showed me around, again with the normal pattern of handshake-hug-handshake-surprised stare. The most memorable of the introductions was the pastor performing the service who told me that he had found his birth parents at the age of 37. He was a good friend of my grandmother and told me that if she’d known I existed all these years (which, you’ll recall, not even George knew until I called on his 50th birthday), she would have been looking for me. He even went so far as to include my name in the “she leaves” list of family members, a last second edit to the program that day.
From the service, I followed Liesa and her husband, Tom, to Olga’s house in Carlinville, Illinois about 15 miles away. We had a big dinner where I gravitated towards Jason and Melissa, Olga’s son who lives in Boston and his fiancé from New York. They were about my age and Jason had spent time in St. Louis so we had some things to talk about. I stood against a wall, nervous, but feeling more comfortable all the time.
Liesa, stopped and talked with me quite often - getting to know you chit-chat - and got me some much-needed wine from a vineyard down by George’s home in Alto Pass, Illinois. George was still at the funeral home taking care of things, so I got to spend plenty of time with my cousins and aunts and uncles and others.
Finally, about 4:00, George Zebrun, Sr. came by the house and I got to meet him for the first time. Again, he had no idea I existed, so there was a brief introduction of name, George dropped the bomb, another handshake and shortly thereafter a photo op with the three generations of men.
After many hours, I was able to ascertain that the Zebrun’s are Russian with a little bit of Polish and German mixed in for good measure. George was, it sounds like, a cinematography major in school, which is a bit eerie considering my love of film. The Zebrun’s are hunters – deer and turkey primarily from what I gather – whereas I grew up hunting pheasant and some quail. Even little George and I have a common interest in classic cars. By the way, this kid was amazing. If I’d been 9-years old and my Dad told me that that guy over there was my half-brother, I think I’d been so shy all day that I’d barely been able to look at him, let alone talk to him. Not George III. Standing in the funeral home lobby he comes up to me and gives me a playful bump with his hip and we start talking. As you’ll see in one of the pictures, he had no problem jumping on my lap and was really interested in going through one of his classic car magazines with me while we discussed the various Plymouths and Dodge Darts inside. Did I mention that he looks a lot like I did when I was about his age? Check out the pic below and sometime soon I’ll see if I can get a pic of me as a kid and do a side-by-side post. Pretty wild.
I left around 9:30 that evening with a care package of food from Olga, and made it home safely around 11:30 despite the snow that had fallen that day.
I have to say I felt very welcome there. Again, hugs were common occurrence and at no time in the day did anyone say “Ok, sum up the last 27 years for me”, so there was no pressure to perform. Of course people were interested where I grew up and what my interests were, but there were no expectations to be anything other than what I was. Everyone hugged me as they left along with another hearty handshake and a “drive like a bat outta hell”, which is their version of “break a leg” during bad weather trips.
As for resemblances, I’m not sure George and I look all that much alike, but then very few of the siblings look that much alike. You’ll see in the pictures, that really only George and his brother Joe look like they’re related in any way. Both of the sisters look very different from each other and their brothers. In fact, of the relatives, I look most like Olga; odd, but at the same time it makes perfect sense. I’m not saying I don’t see any resemblances, but they are subtler than those of Marla and myself. But who knows? As I grow older they might become more prominent.
So there you have it - my crazy weekend of meeting the birth parents. Needless to say things could have been a lot worse and I’m overjoyed at how well the meetings went. Obviously my nerves were shot more than once, but my worries were always put to rest shortly after the initial shock, as the people around me were very genuine and caring. I’m excited to see the meetings of George and Marla and my parents now. I know they’re both interested in meeting, so hopefully that can happen sometime soon as well.
I have to admit that as I drove off from the Zebrun family gathering on Saturday night, tears came to eyes as I told my Mom that I’d done it; that I’d done what she always wanted me to do. I can’t help but think that she had something to do with all the strange occurrences and coincidences surrounding this most personal, historic weekend. And with that, I’m glad that I can include all my friends and family in this new chapter of my life. Thanks for caring and being so great over the last few months. You never really know how many friends you have until something like this happens to you.
Space Monkey X