By Jonathan Ryan Patterson My great grandfather didn’t make a big moment out of it. While he was dying, among the things he said, he mentioned to Wiley, my grandfather’s brother, that the Patterson name wasn’t the bloodline name. Not a confession. Not a scene. Just something that came out when time got short and the truth got heavier than the secret. Wiley carried it and eventually it found my grandfather. So he went looking. What he found was in an attic in Jackson, Tennesse