the briefcase
When I was growing up, my mother had a black briefcase that she kept all of her important documents in. I would have to guess that she obtained this briefcase from my father, because he was a businessman who carried a briefcase, and it was probably one that he discarded for a newer one. We moved quite often when I was a child, and from what I heard, we lost a lot of family mementos in each of those moves. What she never lost a death grip on, however, was that black briefcase.
I was a very curious child, and from time to time I would sneak in her room and pull out the briefcase and shuffle through the contents. She stored our birth certificates in there, along with some insurance documents, legal papers and school report cards. I found most of it pretty interesting and I loved to carefully peruse every line of my birth certificate – the time of my birth (6:04 am), the hospital (St. Paul Hospital), and my mother and father’s names. Every single time I read it, the facts added up to what I believed to be true. On one particular day when I was 13 yrs old, I was once again rummaging through the briefcase and decided to open a vinyl envelope that contained an insurance policy that I had briefly looked at before. I was completely disinterested in it, but out of boredom, I pulled apart all of the papers. Tucked inside the insurance policy was a marriage certificate for my mother and father. Clearly, it was being hidden for a reason.
something didn't add up
I quickly scanned the document, and assumed it was mistakenly tucked inside the insurance policy folder. Then my eyes stopped on the date – November 2, 1972. Nineteen Seventy Two. My heart stopped. I quickly did the mental calculation. That date was almost two years after my birth.
By this time, my mother and father had been divorced for over 5 years and I hadn’t seen my father since. His absence wasn’t terribly upsetting to me, since he had sexually abused me up until the divorce, but now I questioned his absence even more.
The next thing I did was pull out my birth certificate. Everything matched like it always had. Mother’s name – CHECK. Father’s name – CHECK. Then I saw it, right there at the bottom of my birth certificate – the recorded date of my birth certificate was June 1977, 6 1/2 years after my birth. I took both of these documents, walked into the next room and asked my mother, “Why is your marriage certificate to dad dated 1972?”
She sat me down on the bed and said,
"I have something I need to tell you. I had hoped that you wouldn't ever find out, but since you have discovered this, I guess it's time to tell you the truth."
She proceeded to tell me that the man who I believed was my biological father for 13 years was, in fact, not my biological father. She married him when I was almost 2 years old, and he legally adopted me when I was 6. My biological father was married when my mother became pregnant with me. When she told him she was pregnant, he wanted nothing to do with her and denied being the father. She made a couple of attempts to notify him of my birth, but he did not respond. She had no idea where he was or how to contact him. All she knew was his name – John Henry Brown.
the journey begins
That day was the start of an over 30 year search for my biological father. I spent the initial years after the discovery in a state of anger and rebellion. My mother told me that she had no intention of ever telling me about my real father and that she was content to have me ‘all to herself’. That statement, on its own, seemed very selfish and self-serving to me. She was not thinking about my need to know the truth of who my father was or even to hold him accountable for my existence.
In the early 2000’s, more databases went online and ancestry websites gained popularity. I didn’t have a lot of information to go on, other than my fathers name and possibly his brother’s names. The only hard identifying fact that I had was that he had a prosthetic leg, having lost a limb as a child in a house fire. I sent tons of emails, letters and posted on message boards, all to no avail. I would put the search down for a few years, feeling discouraged that I would never locate my father, only to pick it back up again later on, usually at the urging of my husband or children. At one point I even questioned that another of my mother’s husbands could have been my father, due to the comparison of the dates of her divorce and my conception. I contacted her ex-husband and he agreed to do a DNA test, which revealed he was not my biological father. In 2012 I felt like I was ready to stop looking because I thought that time had probably run out and that the odds of my father even being alive were fairly low.
Ancestry DNA
In 2015 I decided to take the plunge and ordered an Ancestry DNA test. My husband had been asked to participate in a DNA study for his family line for Family Tree DNA, which resulted in him discovering that he had a different biological father. It was a total surprise, which was quite upsetting for the family. I will have to write another entire post on that discovery at a later time.
When I received the results from the DNA test from Ancestry, I went straight to work trying to make sense of all the matches I had. If you don’t have any experience in genealogy, it is very hard to understand how these people connect to you. While the DNA was definitely helpful in my research, I actually relied on good old fashioned detective work to find my biological father.
My mother had told me that he was born in Texas and had at least 2 brothers. He was approximately 5-8 years older than her and had worked in the carpet business. My searches for his birth in Texas turned up zero matches. On a hunch, I decided to search for a birth match in neighboring states, since the 1940 Census was finally indexed on Ancestry.com. Almost immediately I discovered him – he was not born in Texas, he was born in rural Arkansas. He actually had 3 brothers and one sister. My mother’s facts were very close and did help me make the connection. Once I entered this information into my family tree on Ancestry, the DNA connections began to match and I was able to make contact with my father’s 1st cousin Donald (my 1st cousin 1x removed). He confirmed the facts that I had were correct and said he would contact John on my behalf.
I had located my biological father.
A few days later I had not heard from Donald and was feeling very anxious. I sent a couple of emails and he did not respond. I continued to research the family history and discovered that I had two half sisters and one half brother. I received a friend request on Facebook from Donald’s wife Glenda, along with a message, “I know the family you are looking for.“
rejection
I responded to Glenda’s Facebook message, curious as to why she had reached out to me in a sort of cryptic way. She asked me to call her, which I did.
She told me that Donald had no idea she was reaching out to me and for me not to tell him. Donald had spoken to John, and John had told him that now was not a good time for us to meet. He told Donald that he had prostate cancer and that now would not be a good time to meet. That was puzzling to me, because having cancer at an advanced age would seem like the most opportune time to meet? He told Donald that he had always known about me, and that he was astonished at the technology that allowed me to find him. So that was that. The man who was responsible for my existence and in no way provided for me, did not want to meet me and was surprised that I found him. I was infuriated.
The pen is mightier than the sword…. (as they say)
Even though my father didn’t want to meet me, I certainly wasn’t going away quietly. I searched online for a way to contact my sisters, and it wasn’t hard to find their email addresses. I sent them both an email, telling them that they had another biological sister. I really really hoped that they would respond positively, or at least with some curiosity, but I could not even conceive of the response that I received:
Mrs. Anna:
It is unfortunate that you have reached this point in your life and feel that you need to connect with people whom you believe you are related. Regardless of the alleged paternity, we are not related and your continued attempts to make contact with my father will not be tolerated.
Please do not pursue my family, including my aunts, uncles, cousins, etc., in an attempt to gain information about my father. We do not wish to have any further contact with you. Physical visits at the homes of any of my family will be considered trespassing. Continued persecution will result in cease and desist actions from my attorney.
I hope I have made myself very clear. I speak for my entire family.
Regards…………………..
As I read these words, red hot tears welled up in my eyes and streamed down my face. The feeling of complete and utter rejection was so intense that I could hardly bear it. This woman didn’t even know me, but somehow had the fortitude to communicate such words of disdain. I tried so hard to put myself in her shoes, imagining if a strange woman had contacted me out of the blue, claiming to be a biological sibling – would I respond in such a hateful way? Would I not at least request some proof or investigate? Would I not consider that another human being on this earth might possibly share 1/2 of my DNA?
I realized another painful fact: my father had lied. He had been confronted with the email that I sent to my sisters and he lied to them. Was this the sort of man that I wanted to meet? Was I better off not knowing him? Most likely, yes.
The next day I received a phone call from Glenda. She was frantic, telling me that the family was ‘in a tizzy‘ over all of this, and I have to admit, I felt a little bit vindicated. My father’s secret was out and he couldn’t deny me for a second time.
I did respond to that email. I was kind and respectful and said I would not attempt to contact anyone. I had done what I set out to do – make my existence known. There has been no further contact between any of us since.
how am I doing today?
It’s been almost 4 years since I located my biological father. I’ve come to terms with the reality that I will probably never meet him face to face in this lifetime, even though we have never lived more than 30 miles apart for my entire life. He hasn’t died yet, so he either survived prostate cancer, or never had it to begin with. I found out that our birthday’s are 1 day apart, which would have been really cool to celebrate as father and daughter.
The only interesting development is that a nephew and 1st cousin on my father’s side showed up as matches on Ancestry DNA. Neither of them have attempted to contact me, which is fine. This nephew is the son of my sister who sent the hateful email, so I think that’s pretty funny. A little poetic justice, I suppose.
Do I have ‘daddy issues’? Yes, yes I have daddy issues. I’ve always had them. I had a stepfather who molested me, then disappeared. I then discovered he WASN’T my biological father and spent the rest of my childhood and adolescence without a father. It was basically a set up for disaster. I chased after boys, looking for male affirmation. I have always had that hole in my heart where a daddy should have been. It hurts and it still hurts. I know people will say to let God fill that hole-and that’s true, God has. He has been a father to me. However, God designed us to need a human father. When you don’t have one or don’t have a good one, it leaves a hole in your heart that you have to deal with all of your life. One day my earthly father will have to answer for abandoning me, and then ultimately rejecting me.
Why do I tell my story? Because it is woven into the tapestry of who I am and what drove some of the decisions in my life before I sought help and healing. I was completely unaware of how deeply wounding this ‘daddy issue’ was until I unpacked it in therapy and sexual abuse support group. For women, how we were treated by our fathers has a tremendous impact on our self esteem. It is so important to address this issue if you have had an abusive or absent father in your life. I have gained an immense sense of freedom and self worth ever since I dealt with the rejection from my father and have learned to walk in the truth of who God says I am!