When I was little, my grandmother made me promise never to ask about him, so naive little me didn't. At least until I was planning to have kids and asked my mom about him so I could ask about medical history. She gave me his name but said he was adopted and may not know, so I didn't bother pursuing it.Wow, that's wonderful and beautiful. I'm so glad he wants to know you and is telling you his stories.
I found and met mine when I was quite young but it was still fascinating searching for resemblances. Turns out there was a rose mark on my forehead that comes from his side!
A couple DNA tests (and a couple decades) later, and I found him anyway! I guess he grew up in an orphanage, but not because he was an orphan - his mother suffered from epilepsy, and they drifted to different homes (even relatives' homes) from time to time, as well as leaving him and his sister at orphanages while his mom was checked in to the asylum.
With all the crap surrounding medicine and insurance nowadays, I'm still glad we now have other options.
Anyway, he grew up not really giving a rat's ass about his family because they let them go off to the orphanage, while his sister went the other way and pretty much idolized them. They sound like polar opposites. It's funny how the same upbringing impacts people differently...