My dad, John Anthony Tosney, grew up thinking he was the only Tosney in the world besides his father, John Levi Tosney of Philadelphia. Which was pretty much my belief until I went to a party at UC Santa Barbara and met my two nephews--who are older than me. It turns out that Grandpa John had left his first (?) family right around the Great Depression, and twenty years later, when his first two sons were starting families of their own, he sired my father in California. So by the time my dad became a dad, his half-brothers he didn't know had become grandfathers, and my nephews and I--all proud bearers of the good name of Tosney--came to this realization at a kegger in Santa Barbara.
In 2002, their families and my family flew in from across the country to meet in Ventura, California for a Thanksgiving unlike any other. And of course we began to wonder: what did Grandpa John do during that 20 year gap? Were more seeds sown?
Thanksgiving is coming up...
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