As a teenager, a tweener and a young adult, Manny had always prided himself on being a doer rather than a thinker, but all of this new found ancestral shit was bending his brain. The sequential stages of grief were rapidly running the gamut from denial to anger to bargaining to depression and acceptance and back again.
It appeared that his ancestors, when faced with the questions and choices of the inquisition and being unable to make the quantum leap of faith to accept the newer American-made brand of Christianity had settled for the older, more conservative Roman Catholic model. And now here he was, a bonafide Catholic living smack dab in the middle of Mormon country.
He was forced to consider optional explanations of some of his most private concerns. He had always preferred filet mignon to roast pork loin. And even though he loved bacon, the idea of eating pork or ham always brought on waves of dislike, stomach upset and dyspepsia. Then there was the physical evidence of his being circumcised as an infant. Was it a Christian medical sanitary necessity or was it just to comply with some ancient Semitic tribal ritual?
The historical discovery phase of Manny’s trials and tribulations was leading him to the acceptance end of the stages of grief. Like the Prophet Samuel had tried to help the tribes of Judah and Israel get back on track with their god, he could now choose to get his DNA going in the right direction.
The letter once again reminded him that he was on deadline for a trip to the Netherlands or else. In accordance with the grand plan, if there was one and without regard as to whose plan it might turn out to be; there was nothing left to do but to buy the ticket to Amsterdam.
A quick call to a local travel agent was the next step into the unknown beyond the letter.