“George isn’t your grandfather,” I was often told by my mom. George Schiller was my father’s mom’s husband and my dad called him dad. He adopted my father when he was about 5 years old and my dad took on his last name. I often wondered who my grandfather possibly was. It wasn’t that George wasn’t nice enough or anything, but it was like a large chunk of history was missing from our lives, including what our real last name was.... Read more