I used to think that I had a son who was half Australian Aboriginal. The reason for that thought was that I once procreated with a woman who was black in color, she must have been already pregnant at the time or partially pregnant at least. I wanted to marry her after the baby boy was born but she was betrothed to a black fellow and she was afraid of being killed by native magic.
I denied to myself for many years that the child could be mine because Moreen, the mother had six other children before him who were all from different fathers black and white. I wrote to the Minister for Aboriginal and Island Affairs in Brisbane, Anne Warner, concerning that with the family name of the mother who killed herself one night after getting drunk on Rubbing Alcohol.
My letter was answered by the Minister’s Secretary but the search was never instituted because they must have known that the boy was never mine.