Searching for Identity in Bottles of Wine

the drunken cyclist

When I was a kid, I really did not think much about my heritage. I knew I was born in Ohio to parents who were also born in the state, but I did not know much beyond that. I did know, however, that my last name, “Kralik” (kray-LIK) was the subject of much derision by my classmates throughout middle and high school (Crap-lick, Crack-lick, and Cray-fish being the most “clever”).

For years I did not think about it much—I actually tried to block it out. There were plans to change my last name on my 18th birthday, but once I found out it involved money, well….

I remember I had asked my father about our family history a couple of times, but let’s just say that my father is not the most conversant nor introspective person on the planet. The most I ever got out of him was: “My great grandparents came from…

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