Chapter 6: The power of genetics

Lillian and I moved together into my apartment on Grosvenor Lane. We eschewed a honeymoon figuring that the upcoming birth would require at least two or three weeks leave from the lab. I just did not want to fall behind while still in my first year as a post doc. One thing that changed was that I was awarded a fellowship. I guess, Max pulled a few strings. It was not so much more than the fellowship I had from a German agency but it was in Dollars, insulating me against the ups and downs of the German Mark against the Dollar, something that had kept screwing up my financial planning in the first year.

We had decided that Lillian would take a one year break. With both her parents, her grandparents and me around she would then be able to apply for teaching positions in the vicinity. Meanwhile she expanded on her German, planning to add German to her teaching qualifications. She insisted on speaking it at least one day a week at home but also when visiting with her grandfather and Veronika. Yes, Robert Rosenzweig and Veronika Langner had decided that 49 years of separation had been more than enough. In no time at all, Veronika liquidated all her assets back in Germany and returned to Bethesda with two suitcases and a teller check representing her lifetime savings. I admired her for the courage it took to burn all the bridges to follow her heart.

Their wedding in early August made the local news once their history became known. Robert and Veronika were featured in the local evening news and from there the media interest mushroomed. It was a great human interest story and they almost made it into Johnny Carson's Tonight Show for a five minute interview, but it was axed at the last minute. They still spent a lovely few days in L.A., paid for by NBC.

Lillian and I had a busy social calendar that summer. I had to meet all her friends and her close and distant relatives who for the most part accepted me instantly. I also had two friends visit me from Germany who stayed at our place for two weeks. Lillian took over the part of visitors' guide while I was at work and she enjoyed the contact and the activity. By late August, however, her growing bulk began to hamper her activities and we prepared for the final countdown.

When Lillian went into labor on September 12, I rushed her down into the District and to the Columbia Hospital for Women where on the same day Veronica Bernreiter was born, all six pounds two ounces and twenty inches of her. We had easily settled on the name Veronica, both to give Robert's new wife a feeling of acceptance and for the symbolism of her enduring love for Lillian's grandfather.

It was exhilarating and frightening to hold little Ronnie in my arms and to feel the responsibility for her settle on my thinking. Believe me, in those minutes and hours after Ronnie's birth I never once thought about whether she was my true daughter. I had watched Lillian's tummy grow, I had given her back rubs, I helped her around during the last days and now I had coached her through birth. Lillian was mine, Ronnie was mine, and Fuck You Very Much, Theo!

As planned, I took two weeks off. It was good timing, too, for I had finished most experimental work for my first paper in Max' laboratory. Robert's wedding present for us, a brand new Macintosh Plus, came in handily as it allowed me to write draft versions of the manuscript when Lillian and Ronnie slept which they did a lot during those first days and weeks.

When I returned to work Robert and Veronica took over the pampering. Returning from the lab there was always some tasty home cooked meal for me left by Veronika. This gave me enough time for some serious cuddling with Lillian.

I also spent hours gazing at Ronnie. There was something about her face, even then at a few weeks of age, that touched me even though I did not know why. Then, I think if was some time in mid-November, a letter from my mother arrived. She included a few freshly made copies of old photographs, mostly childhood pictures of me, but also two or three images of my father and my mother.

One photograph in particular caught my eye. It was a picture of my mother as a baby, taken in 1926. The black and white photograph did not show the hair color and the dark blonde of my mother looked almost black. Suddenly I was not looking at my mother but at Ronnie. The eyes and the smile were strikingly similar and my heart leaped in this moment. I knew how much infants change in the early weeks and months but from this moment on I was convinced that Lillian's assumptions were wrong: I was Ronnie's biological father.

Thinking it would ease Lillian's conscience I showed her the picture commenting on how much Ronnie looked like my mother but I had figured wrongly. Lillian had a hard time fighting her tears before she excused herself and headed for the bathroom. I contemplated speaking out about what I knew to get all the secrets into the open but when Lillian emerged from the bathroom she looked so shaken that I put it off.

In the following years there never appeared to be an opportunity to bring up the issue. I admit that I was a coward. When we were happy I was afraid to ruin it. When we were stressed I did not want to heap even more stress on us. Finally without anybody knowing about it I decided to perform a private paternity test. The polymerase chain reaction, PCR, had entered into mainstream biology. It was not yet accepted as evidence in forensic biology but I did not need a 99.999% certainty.

I had my chance when Lillian had a bad cold early in 1991 with a sore throat and all. I took a swab of her tongue, ostensibly to look for streptococcal infection, but I also used it for DNA typing along with my own and Ronnie's material. I did it on one weekend and then again on the next. The results were indeed unanimous. Ronnie shared almost all known markers with Lillian and me. According to the standards the certainty was well over 99%.

Once I had done the testing I felt bad. I had been sure anyway. Why do the test? How could I ever bring this up with Lillian? I thought long about this sensitive question but I knew now that I could not keep it from her any longer. I saw that whenever I held Ronnie Lillian would slip into a sad mood. I had to take that shadow away from her. Finally I had an idea. I had been assigned a course in Molecular Genetics at the University of Maryland, College Park, where I tried to get a foothold in American academia. I could extend the typing to Max, Ruth, and Robert on Lillian's side, and to my parents and siblings. The results could then be used as a model case for my lecture.

I sent swab tubes to Munich by airmail and asked my family for the favor pretending this to pertain to my work. Max, Ruth and Robert also played along and another week later the samples from Munich arrived. At this time I had taken Max into my confidence. Together we did the testing. We assembled it all into neat presentation figures and had color slides made at the photography unit. This was before the advent of Powerpoint or similar tools, and it took three days for the slides to arrive, barely before the place closed down for the Holidays.

We were having a Holiday dinner at Max' house on Christmas Day and then, as arranged, Max asked me en passant how I was coming along with my lecture material.

"Oh, great. The family tree thing worked out perfectly," I answered before seemingly remembering something. "Oh, Lilly, before I forget: you don't mind if I use those results for my lecture? I could take another family but it's so much easier to get this from you and the others."