Well, Whadda Ya Know! I Guess The Aliens Didn't Drop Me Off In A Field Afterall.

Although I more resemble my birth mother, people tell me I look quite a bit like J.D. as well. Seems I have the Cook nose and Indian cheekbones. Now they don't set me apart but rather connect me, to scads of siblings.

J.D.'s other surviving 11-which range in age up to 60-must be quite confident that I am the 10th, because they are now scrambling to provide me with copies of rare photos and even rarer masters he recorded with Hank Williams Sr.-which are quite valuable today. They've even offered me a share of his ashes. My eldest brother-Jim Jr.-has his shoes, one sister his albums, yet another few are nine years later still legally debating who is most deserving of his other remaining memorabilia. I am the one with the least proof of my identity, the least entitled to any possible inheritance.
"Do you think...you're entitled to any of his...money?" Michael hesitantly dared to wonder aloud.
"I'm not interested in his money-if he had any", I informed him. "But I wouldn't mind having a photograph and a copy of some of his music to listen to." Friends suggest that having a 'famous' birth father could help to further my own music career, and that I should use his name for all it's worth.
"I may be his long lost biological daughter", I have explained to them. "But I never knew him. My Dad is the dear man sitting out there in the living room." It is he and my mother who loved me when I had no one, who took me in and raised me as their own, who introduced me to Christ, and to music. It is they who cared for me when I was ill and even through the darkest days of my teenage discontent they were there. No one has done more for me, and for Christian. It is their continued love and support that make me who and what I am. That said, I must confess I feel a strange sense of joy and relief to at last have reunited-at least by phone-with both sides of my biological family, and am excited about getting to know them. And okay-I can admit it-I get a kick out of knowing I am the natural child of a once well known musician. Rumor has it this pal of Elvis Presley was by most accounts himself a reputed playboy, a drunk and-master of guitar, fiddle, harmonica and voice-“a most extraordinary talent”....
My origin, my identity are no longer a mystery. I wasn't forged from clay. I didn't drop out of the sky. I was born to living, breathing human beings. I am genuine; I am whole.