My Jewish Roots
I broached the subject the way it is always smart to broach delicate subjects with one’s father: as if the news I had to impart were merely a chance event, no big deal.
A week earlier, I had spoken, for the first time in my twenty-seven years, to Harriet Lund, the woman from whom I was adopted by my parents as an infant. I had not told my father in advance I was planning to do this, so the information had to be offered in such a way as to minimize its importance.
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