"Jesus," he said with a laugh. That was a barrage of questions. But somehow the questions about himself helped. They let him think about something other than the discoveries of the last day.
"Twenty-three. August 12th. And mom was a runaway, so I don't know what she had for family. Never met them if she did. She was born in Manila. Her mom was a whore, her father, at least on her birth certificate, was an American. So she had the passport to get out. That's all I know."
He sipped at his drink meditatively.
"I think you over-estimate the impact Johnny had on my life. That was what mom called him. Johnny. He didn't talk to me. He came around and took mom out and brought her home when he was done with her. I don't think he ever said more than about ten words to me. When I got older and started asking questions, then mom got a bit more tight lipped. Finally when I was a freshman I was doin' a project for class about family. And I didn't no nothing 'cept mom. So I asked her about my dad for the project. That's when she told me Johnny was my dad. Don't know what I'd thought before that. Maybe that she'd been divorced or something. I had a fantasy bout it. He didn't stop by all that much, but the next time he did, I was waiting on the porch. I said I knew he was my dad, and why didn't he want me since he wasn't, you know, dead. That's when he went ape shit and beat up mom. So I didn't even know I had a brother. Not that anything that assfuck could do would surprise me. I may have to hate you now, though. You fucking wrote on my wall, dude. Not cool.