Strangers in the Family

I should have learned by now but I walked right into it.

(This post might jump around a bit, so buckle up.)

My folks raised no fools. We're all pretty careful when we interact with strangers. We are cautious without being afraid. We think before we act.

And in the Internet age, particularly with social media, I feel I have to be particularly vigilant. Sure, I share a lot of information but I do so knowing that someone could store that information and try to use it against me, to use it for their own gain, and so I'm skeptical when someone out of the blue seems to know anything about me.

I've had interactions with catfish, fully suspecting, from the start, that they aren't who they claim to be. Let's face it: when a beautiful, young woman reaches out of the blue and wants to be friends with someone like me, wants to get to know me better, I'm immediately suspicious.

I've had two such people contact me in what I can only surmise was a pig-butchering exercise, and both times I was on to them from the start. I wrote about one of them on my blog and that evening, the person cut off all ties with me.

Thanks for reading, scammer!

The other person would also chat with me every day, ask me to come to Toronto, and told me about their lavish lifestyle, all because of smart crypto investments. I pretended I was interested and even told them that I had installed their recommended app on my phone and had created an account.

I had done neither.

I should share that story but I'll save it for another time.

The text came as I was driving. I got a ping on my phone, which was hooked up to the car. The first line of the message appeared at the top of my Android Auto display. Because I was driving, I didn't read the message, and because I was just turning onto my street and would be home within seconds, I didn't press the button that would read the text message to me.

But when the text notification appeared on screen, my eyes quickly read, "Hi, Ross, it's your cousin, T—..."

I didn't recognize the name so I instantly thought it could be a scam. I figured that when I got in the house, I'd read the message and then delete it, blocking the sender at the same time. I've had a lot of bogus text messages over the years.

Inside, I read the message:

Hello, Ross, this is your cousin, T—. <Her husband> and I will be coming to Ottawa for a convention this summer, in July (dates given). I have a plaque that belongs to your dad. I was hoping to see you and pass it along. Maybe we could go out for supper at a restaurant together on Friday or Saturday evening. If (my sister) could join us also that would be great.

I couldn't remember who T— is, except I was fairly certain that it wasn't a cousin from my mom's side of the family. I know most of them. I called my mother, who knows almost all of my relatives on my dad's side of the family, but not all.

My dad came from a family of 14 children: him, being lucky child number 13. Because most of his siblings were old enough to be his parents and they had moved on and started families of their own when dad was a kid, I never really knew this side of the family.

And dad was a bit of a dick when it came to his siblings, once telling my sisters and me, "I have no use for them." I barely knew aunts and uncles, let alone cousins.

Decades ago, years before DW and I moved to South Korea, one of my uncles, Don (sibling number 14, who lives in Ottawa and was one of the few people that my dad kept close with), and my Aunt Flora, held a Brown family reunion in their backyard as part of a mortgage-burning party. At this gathering, I met aunts, uncles, and cousins for the first time. Until then, Uncle Don and Aunt Flora were pretty much the only relatives that I had really known.

I later told my dad that all of my aunts, uncles, and cousins that attended the reunion were the salt of the Earth, were really good people, and that he was the black sheep of the family. But after the reunion, I didn't hear from most of these kin.

I did get somewhat closer to one of my aunts (Pat) and uncles (Jim) after the reunion. But these relatives, who lived near Port Hope, kept in touch with me, and DW and I would sometimes pay them a visit when we were traveling between home and Toronto. We also kept in touch when DW and I were living in South Korea.

When Aunt Pat passed away, I was unable to attend her funeral but I sent my condolences to Uncle Jim, and we continued to keep in touch. And when my uncle also passed away, a few years later, one of his daughters, Cathy, contacted my mom to give her the news.

Uncle Jim had two memorial services: one, at his local church, where he was a minister; another, in Montreal, where we had more family (we Browns are originally from Montreal). At the first service, I was reunited with more family, including a cousin, Philip, who I knew when I was younger, who visited my family for several days, many years ago.

Even though my parents had split when I was only about five, Philip remembered my mom's kindness toward him and had wanted to keep in touch.

Also at this service was Cathy and another cousin that I may have previously met at Don and Flora's reunion, but I had forgotten. And I'm sad to say that at this service, I remember meeting her but had since forgotten her name and how she fit in to our family.

Is this cousin T—?

My first thought, when I received T—'s text message, was how did she get my cell number? Because I didn't remember her, and my mom didn't recognize the name, I wrote back to her, apologizing for not remembering who she is. I said that the plaque wouldn't have any meaning for me, and suspected that my sister also wouldn't want it; like me, she is trying to reduce the amount of unnecessary things from her house.

I told T— that I would like to meet with her when she arrived in July and added that I'd reach out to my sister, too.

I felt kind of weird about this seemingly blind encounter. After wondering about it for a couple of hours, I shared my thoughts about this encounter on social media. And I should have realized that I was opening a can of worms. And boy, did I step into it:

"Hard pass," said a few.

"Nope," said many.

"It's a scam," said even more.

There were so many negative reactions that I was surprised.

"What if she pulls a gun on you," said one person (how do you say that you're an American without saying that you're an American?).

I was warned to meet with her in a public space and to have someone with me.

On the other hand, some people (a few) shared stories about how they learned about long-lost family members or family that they didn't know that they had, and they are better for the reunion.

After my response to T—, I received another message that said she was Pat and Jim's daughter. We had met at Uncle Jim's memorial near his home. I dug through piles of photos, remembering that DW had taken a picture of me with my sister, Philip, Cathy, and someone else.

There's no denying that we're all family.

And I vaguely remembered exchanging contact information.

We exchanged more text messages and while I barely remember T—, the information started making sense.

When my dad died, he left his car to his brother, Jim. And when Jim died, his estate went to his kids, including my dad's old car.

The plaque had been found in the car and T— has been hanging on to it all this time. She figured that her upcoming trip to Ottawa would give her the opportunity to not only reunite with my sister and me, but to also pass this plaque onto us.

I keep in touch with so few of my extended family, both on my dad's and on my mom's side of the family, that I feel if someone wants to reach out, I should embrace the opportunity. There are the adages that family is family and blood is thicker than water.

I'm not my dad, and meeting with kin will show just that.