This blog contains a true story that was guest authored by a wonderful storyteller and an even better friend. Thank you, A, for your contribution! Before we dive into this story, we want to share a bit about DNA ethics. When sharing these kinds of stories, it is essential to respect the privacy of the individuals involved. For this post, we have anonymized all identifying information.
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I grew up the oldest of four children: myself, a sister, a brother, and another sister. Being the oldest was rough at times—all of the stereotypes for being the eldest daughter could have been developed simply from watching my experience growing up, but I also enjoyed the title.
As the oldest and most mature of my siblings, it was no secret from me that my dad had a bit of history before he met my mom. My dad’s past included a daughter, Taylor, who was fathered outside of his marriage. Taylor’s mother wanted her to stay far, far away, from my father, and another son was adopted (and thereby renamed, so we wouldn’t even know what to call him), and so we assumed would likely never know anything about him. Even though I had knowledge of my father’s two children, I was always assured it wouldn’t affect me. There was no way my father could have predicted the technologies and social media platforms developed that turned those assurances inside out.
I’ll begin with Taylor- the oldest and the first to have been found. My dad joined Classmates.com at some point. It may have been a way for him to show everyone he grew up with that the troubled teen had cleaned up nicely. Taylor’s mother also joined the site and found Taylor’s father again after ~20 years. Taylor had been raised with a comfortable assumption that her stepfather was her biological father. Nothing seemed amiss, until an argument with her stepbrother, who possessed more knowledge than tact, revealed that their father was not, in fact, Taylor’s blood relation. From that moment forward, Taylor had wanted to find her biological father. Her mother conveniently shut down these attempts by saying she had no idea how to find Taylor’s father. However, Classmates.com gave her the opening. Taylor’s mother first approached my father with the information that his daughter wanted to get to know him. Still, she did not tell Taylor that she had found him.
My father could have pretended the conversation had never happened and remained a mystery. However, he made a different choice. He provided an email address and started to get to know Taylor. When I was about 15 years old, the time came for the two of them to meet. From that moment forward, Taylor spent a week of our summer vacations each year going on road trips with us- from Chicago museums to amusement park coasters to Mount Rushmore. She fit right in! We sang to my dad’s 80’s music playlist at the top of our lungs and posed in photos with no order or indication that someone was an “odd one out.” I caught the bouquet at her wedding, and she made the trip to mine months later, standing as a bridesmaid with my other sisters. She sent my mom Mother’s Day flowers each year, and we called to sing to her on her birthday. My dad put us in an unofficial race to be the first to give him a grandchild (I won), and she met my daughter before any of my other siblings did.
It wasn’t until one of my sisters decided to do a 23AndMe DNA test a few years ago that we even considered that we would find Adopted Son. But she hoped that he may have taken a DNA test too and searched through her matches. “Closer than a cousin” is how 23AndMe referred to the relationship between my sister and another female around the same age as Taylor. But the Adopted Son we were searching for was, obviously, a boy. This “closer than a cousin” connection was with a woman named Kate. My sister sent my mom a screenshot, and my mom showed it to my dad. He commented how much Kate looked like his brother. He had a few giddy moments thinking he had discovered an indiscretion in his brother’s history. However, a Facebook search brought up Kate’s mother’s profile picture and my dad’s grin disappeared. He quietly told my mother, “let’s talk about this more later,” hoping to squash the interest of my youngest siblings discreetly.
Kate’s mother wasn’t entirely sure of Kate’s paternity, so they sought out Kate’s paternal family through DNA testing. Thanks to the connection through 23And Me, Kate exchanged contact information with my dad, and they, too, began to get to know each other. We agreed to all meet up for Kate’s college graduation. We teased my father mercilessly, as that’s what family does.
Less than a week before everyone’s flights brought them to finally meet Kate; my father received a message from a woman he knew many years before. That woman had put up their son for adoption, hoping he would have a better life. That son, Sam, was scrolling Facebook one day and a targeted ad appeared. The ad was for a service that used his birth date and location in combination with public records to locate his biological parents. Sam found his biological mother, who reached out to my father. He connected with Sam just days before we met and was going to tell the whole family the news when we arrived. The big shock nobody could have predicted—Sam lived close to where we were all about to gather to meet Kate.
So, we met Kate and Sam on the same day. We took family pictures, larger than we’d ever imagined, and talked and laughed and teased my father some more. Taylor was thrilled— she’d known about Sam since she first connected with my dad and had always felt it was a loose end she needed to tie up. Sam decided we weren’t crazy (in a dangerous way, at least) and introduced us to his family the next day.
We took a photo in age order that weekend, and I was in a very new situation. The oldest of four, I now stood in the middle of seven. At first, I wrestled with this new spot in my family. I won the race with Taylor to make my father a grandfather, but now I was flying home with the 5th grandchild in age. As with any sibling relationship, there were growing pains. Those feelings settled and resolved as I got to know them better through Marco Polo and social media. They were new to me as each of my younger siblings had once been—though none required help with diaper changes as the younger siblings did (thankfully). The dynamic was foreign, but I became comfortable quickly.
That Christmas, we all drew names for Secret Santa and included our newfound family. And then, we were family, filling the gaps we hadn’t even realized were there. We learned a lot about nature vs. nurture—would you believe that Sam’s profession is what my dad did before he ended up sitting at a desk instead? Or that Kate and I majored in the same thing in college and held tightly to our Christian beliefs similarly? Or that Taylor is a major roller coaster junkie like my dad once was? They like the same music and movies, joke in the same ways, and all look shockingly like my younger brother, who is the spitting image of my dad when he was younger, though less wiry.
We realized how fortunate that opportunity to meet was when my youngest sister passed away just two years later. Thanks to that meeting, we have a photo of the whole family—something we will never have again. Any small moment could have prevented that meeting. Sam could have disregarded the targeted Facebook ad. Taylor’s protective mother could have chosen not to reach out to my father on social media. Kate could have left her DNA test in a drawer to do “eventually.” But we were brought together at that time for a reason.
We’re family, no doubt about it. My husband makes book recommendations for Kate’s son, Taylor’s daughters are best friends with my sister’s daughter, and Sam’s wife is a kindred spirit of sorts with my mother. There are no regrets, even with all the relentless teasing we put my father through. We puzzle-pieced ourselves together and everyone fits just right.
---A.Q.
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