I was twelve days old when an American Air Force serviceman and his wife brought me home from a hospital in England. I always knew I was adopted, and I always wanted to know the rest of the story.
I hired a professional genealogist in the UK — thousands of dollars, a full year of work, one lead I hadn't already found. That's when I realized my three decades of Navy technical work — nuclear engineering, aviation, and operations research — weren't just a career; they were an advantage. So I stopped waiting and treated the search like the intelligence problem it was.
I found my biological father, my two brothers on his side, and my sister on my mother's side in Australia. My mother had passed before I could reach her. That's the work I now do for other people.
