I am my father's daughter

I just finished reading the recent Vanity Fair article about the resident British Columbian who purports to be JFK's illegitimate son. What an idiot. The DNA test that was done to compare his DNA to that of a hair purported to belong to JFK indicated that he is not JFK's son, though the hair against which they performed the test could, conceivably, have belonged to someone other than JFK.
The thing that bothers me about this guy - named Jack, no less - is that he seems to think that this validation (of being the son of JFK) will somehow cement his allusions (delusions?) of greatness. Guess what, buddy: you're either great or your not. Finding out - in your forties -that your father was the president of the United States or the prince of England isn't going to catapult you into anything other than the media spotlight. Which is clearly what he wants.
If it turned out that my biological father is actually David Suzuki I'd think that was pretty neat, but it's not going to make me an overnight environmentalist and it's not going to change me in any fundamental way, though it would definitely lead to a "what the fuck?" conversation with my mother. One minute of observing Suzuki and my father and you're going to quickly see that I am my father's daughter (though I bet a lot of people wouldn't be surprised if Dennis Leary turned out to be my dad).
Jack's father has passed away and I'm kind of glad, because what a slap in the face and an utter embarrassment it would be for him to have to witness his son's desperate quest for attention. Vanity Fair did a good job of shining a healthy level of scepticism on the whole story and explaining a journalist's quest for the "big story", but I'm not sure that this story was entirely newsworthy, except from a "thrill of the chase" perspective.
Ah well. Looking forward to the article on Carly Simon and the lovely and ethereal Joni Mitchell. I love Joni Mitchell.