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Donald,
You are grown now. Or not. For all I know, you remain 4-feet tall, weigh 105 pounds, and have dimples bookending that grinning maw deep enough to store pennies. I've heard nothing of you this last quarter century. However, I do recall your words as our "Patriot Days" school assembly shuffled to a close, your proud claims of familial relations with one Ronald of your paternal line, followed by the gleeful boast that you could eat as many burgers and fries, and slurp as many milkshakes as you desired--gratis--of course, at any of your "Uncle's" establishments worldwide.
Since then, I've learned those claims were patently false.
A mere hour or three researching your family at the The New York Public Library, specifically "The Irma and Paul Milstein Division of United States History, Local History and Genealogy," led me down many lineal paths--some noble (your ancestor Mathias McDonald's ill-fated three-person frontier campaign in 1776), some typical (successive generations of barley farmers), some odd (the name Mehitible Toplady)--but none of these well-researched paths led to your so-called Great Uncle, Ronald McDonald.
You owe me a large shake.
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