From my sister...

My sweet sister sent this video to me and I wanted to share it with you...

For the guys out there, there is a message for you too.

Finding my voice...

With the reconciliation with my dad comes the every pressing question of should I friend him on Facebook.

I think of Facebook the way the Justin's Dad from Shitmydadsays  says about weddings.

"Invite them. A wedding is a loaded gun. Don't be the asshole staring down the barrel asking which button makes the boom noise."

So with that I sent my dad a Facebook invite.  And we had some back and forths on the whole merits of this course of actions.   And with that, I felt like I found my voice.  This is what I told him.

Hello Dad,

The "melt-down" came when a post was made about the delicate issue of finding a birth parent.   So to that effect, I would offer that if you want to offer advice to someone that has struggled with the issue of whether or not to find a birth parent, you ask someone that had to deal with that issue on a very personal level how they feel about it.  

Please don't criticize how I handle things that cause me to feel un-loved, criticized or otherwise ostracized.   I have been my worst critic in this regard and I will not be made to feel bad again for having a negative emotion to an incredibly taxing situation.   

I know it's incredibly difficult to understand my perspective and I don't expect you to.  I do need the freedom to respond in the most appropriate matter I have at my disposal at that time.   I can assure you that my response will at times be less than a complete transference of the principles of love, and I can also assure you that beyond that I will keep trying.   It is the fact that I keep trying that I keep making mistakes.  I could choose to never respond, never reach out and instead throw myself into my work, home repair, parenting, charitable events or a million other distractions.  

If this position causes you to feel uncomfortable "friending" me on Facebook, I completely appreciate that and there will be no bad feelings because of it.    

I will also offer that one area I have been struggling with is the holidays.  I was very hurt last Christmas.  I tried very hard to show love at a time of year that is supposed to be about love and with the exception of a just a few, I felt very little reciprocated while posts of loved ones floated across the screen of fun times at Dad's house playing Christmas games.   

What am I to do?  Ask others to downplay their joy?  Whine about not being included?  Every option except to just pretend I'm invincible to the effects of isolation only subject me to ridicule for not being perfect or subject those I love to feel bad about something they have no control over. 

This year, I will hide from Christmas.  I will suspend my Facebook account Mid-November.  And with the exception for those that thought of me last Christmas, I will not buy gifts or send cards.  When 2014 rolls in, I will return to trying to find my place in the family but I just can't do that at Christmas time. 

So with these disclosures that I am not perfect and that Facebook is a barbed-wire web of communications and I will come and go on that forum as I feel I need to;  I cannot do anything but to offer a friend request and let the receiver decide if they are willing to be part of someone's life that is not perfect.   

Again, no hard feelings either way.  I'm just doing what I feel I need to do and I understand that you are doing the same in return. 

With love,"

I hope the roar that I have found doesn't leave me.   

Won't you please just try a little harder...

I haven't updated my blog in awhile so a lot has happened.  My dad did finally reach out to me and we did get together for dinner.  I decided not to go with an agenda but rather just see what could be.

He came wanting to hash out a few difficulties from the past.  Held fast to his position that Global Warming is a liberal hoax and his position is that is fact.  Furthermore, for anyone to be upset by that fact is irrational.   He mocked that I referred to my political beliefs as "believes" and "values"  and didn't understand my analogy that making fun of the kind of underwear he wears as being equivalent to being made fun of for thinking climate change is a serious issue.

And included in all of that, he said he loved me.  He said he wanted to be part of my children's lives.  He said he wanted to do nice things for me and didn't know how.  And these things are good.

It also got into a few accusations about what I have and haven't done for others.  I remember at one point I said to him, "I'm not focusing on all of that, I'm just trying to figure out if you and I can have a relationship at all and I'm trying to figure out what that relationship will be"

So within this it came out that his wife felt that I slighted her at church.  That she thinks my goal is to break up their family.  So I thought about it after we parted and since my intention was never to cause anyone any bad feelings by going to the church event, I sent her a very sincere apology to that effect and blind copied my dad.

He later called to thank me for what he called a classy email and asked if I would send her a letter asking to have a woman-to-woman chat.   That was yesterday and I told him I would think about it.

So here are my rambling thoughts for anyone out there trying to decide if they want to be reunited with a long lost family.

Why does it have to be about the family, why can't it be just about the individual relationships first?
Why does there always have to be these accusations of me trying to break up a family?  As if I haven't got better things to do.
Why is the family members who were supposedly brought up with a loving and giving family expect the person who didn't to be the one to always extend the olive branch.

The truth is I get angry at myself when I try to extend the olive branch.  I feel a sense of shame for putting my heart on my sleeve only to leave it out there hanging.  I feel angry at the accusations that I am trying to break up a family.

So I'm not going to be sending any letters.  I may instead invite him to send the same type of letter to my husband or my children.  Or I may do nothing at all and just try to go back to the other areas of my life that are not so conflicted.

Does every conversation merit an ultimatum?

With each passing day I check my email, than my spam, than my trash looking for the email from my father saying, "today I can see you" and each day nothing appears.

It's only been 10 days since he said he wanted to see me.  I think to myself, should I have added a timeline to this attempt at reconciliation?  What is an appropriate amount of time?  A week, a month, a year?

If he called me or emailed me and said, "you matter to me, can you drive 2 and 1/2 hours to meet me and we can discuss our differences, I would probably do it within a day"

It takes me to a narrative of, "you matter to me, just as soon as nothing else matters more and I find myself with an empty slot of time, it's all yours"

It's easy to know when you are loved.  When you are loved, people make time for you, or at the very least they offer to meet you halfway, or they send an update to let you know they are working on making it happen.

So now, he'll either at some future date make an attempt or our paths will cross at the next family event. What shall I say or do at that time.

I love all the little quotes that say things like, "like go or be dragged" and that sure is what it feels like.    But the rope is not linear, it's more of a web, and it's impossible to let go of one end of the rope while your still connected to the other lines.

It will always be difficult

I was moved by my father's recent email so I sent him a note letting him know I'd welcome a chance to get together next time he was in town.  Some back and forth and he said he would make it a priority to see me as soon as he can.  That was almost a week ago.

Funny how all the insecurities set in again.  I know why we hate, it's so much more comfortable than risking love only to be rejected again.   It's so much easier to put up a wall and accuse someone of being awful rather than admit that you care and risk feeling foolish.

I wonder if my siblings feel that way about me? Do they wonder if I will reject them?  Or is this a perspective that is only possible because of my inherent insecurities.  Does one ever have enough love? enough security? or all we all born with some amount of insecurity that we can never shake off.

My father sent me a package via a sister recently.  It frustrated me because when he does something nice it is in the presence of others, when it's a mean letter, he uses the post office.   The package was a life story about his mother.  He asked me two days ago in an email if I had read it.  I felt like my response was conditioned upon his decision to invest time in a visit.  We shall see.

After church...

I received a nice email from my dad after church.  He apologized if any if his words hurt me and asked in a somewhat cryptic manner if we could move forward in harmony.  (He always is cryptic so the message was not a-typical)

My first reaction was excitement and hope and I wanted to reply, "yes, let's get together and hug and be merry"

Than came the realization and memory that this church service was a finale send off to a long family vacation my father just had with his family, his family that excludes me.  

I read the email at least 100 times.  At one point I thought I would forward it to my sisters and ask if they believed in their heart of hearts if my father had any love for me whatsoever.  But the email itself reveals the answer to my question.  He asks me to be kind to those he loves and lists his children.  

Perhaps he doesn't mean a slight to me when he says, "please be kind to those I love" but I can't help but to feel its analogous to the picture he and his family have about good and evil.  And that picture is that there is good and there is evil.  And good is what lies within the walls of the family home.  Evil is what resides everywhere else.  And because I come from the outside world, I am that evil, at least until I prove myself otherwise.  

I believe that there is good and evil in all of us and in all of our homes.  Or at least there is the capacity for both great good and great evil in all people and in all homes   I subscribe more to the Ying and Yang theory rather than the saint and demon theory.

I read John Bradshaw's book titled "family secrets" and it has been so far the most helpful book in understanding my secret family.  The book is directed towards the person growing up in the family with the secret, rather than the person who is the secret, but it gave me perspective.   Mr. Bradshaw explains this concept of the family unit protecting itself from the outside "evil" trying to tear them apart. 

The reality is yes, there is an evil tearing them apart, but its not outside their home.  It's within the walls, it's the evil of the secret.  And because I'm the secret, they have transferred the fear of the evil to me, rather than to the source of the secret.  And so when I am asked to be kind to someone that the laws of nature indicate I would do so automatically, it feels like a slight.   The only analogy I can give is asking a mother to be patient with her own child. 

Back to my fathers email.  I am glad he sent me something.  I am grateful to know that at some level he does care, even if he still cannot connect that for me being excluded still hurts.  And while I would love to call him and be with him I cannot, because the relationship will always be a hurtful one.  One in which I will forever be asked to understand how difficult it is for others to acknowledge I exist. Or as I have heard too many times, "can't you understand how difficult it is to see the face of a lie?"

I did respond to the email. "The blessing was sweet." I said, "Thank you" and I left it at that.

Went to my dad's church yesterday...

My youngest sister invited me to the blessing of her new baby. And so I went.

Five of my seven paternal siblings where there, as well as my dad and his wife. The two siblings that weren't there are brothers whom I've never met, ever. That left the oldest brother and all the sisters. None of the foster siblings were there.

The drive took me a little under three hours. The entire time, my stomach was in knots and I questioned myself over and over again why I was even going. But all the same pressed on. I was late leaving my home. I found myself shaking when I was trying to get ready and while I knew I needed to hassle, my body just seemed so unwilling. Than in the car, I realized that I would have to do 80 m.p.h. or I would miss the entire service. Since I assumed that my sister didn't think I would make it, I felt even more challenged to do so. For reasons I can't determine, I didn't want her to think I wouldn't come just because I hadn't accepted this types of invitations before.

I don't know if anyone can understand how difficult it is to be in this position I find myself in.  It is like a bad dream I cannot escape.  A dream that seems so close to being a fantasy, but only offers inescapable disappointment.

The week leading up to this event was filled with family activities for my father and his family. They came close to my home town for part of their family vacation, but of course I wasn't invited to that less dad's wife have to be forced to see "the face of a lie" Oh, how I despise and loath that label.

My sister that is sweetest to me included a stop to my home as part of her vacation. A constant reminder to me of her love and her longing to have me in her life. And I hurt for the balancing act she must perform. It was in contemplating this thought that it occurred to me, perhaps I need to be there for her. Maybe I have seen this wrong, maybe instead of her being there for me, maybe she needs me as much as I need her.

And so with these thoughts whiling in my head and my heart pounding, I found myself traveling at 80 m.p.h. to go to my dad's church.

When I arrived, it was a crowded hall. I walked in solo, wearing one of the few dresses I actually own. A power suit that is more business than Sunday school. As you know if you've read any other blogs is that this church is a Mormon church, and what you may not know is that it's a small town Mormon church. This means that not only does everyone know everyone, they also know the family members of everyone they know. My intention was to be a fly on the wall if possible, but that if I must say anything about who I was or what I was doing, it would be with my shoulders held back and my head high and my words resolute. For I will not live another day of my life being ashamed of who I am.

And so as I walked in, I took the little paper program as it was handed to me I scanned a sea of faces and not seeing anyone I was biologically related to I quickly found the closest empty bench to sit down in. I had made it with less than 2 minutes before the service would start and for that I was grateful, now I had good reason not to mingle with anyone until I gave my nerves a chance to settle down.

Two elderly women were already seated behind me and one woman asked me if she knew me. I explained I was just visiting (which is obvious as I don't introduce myself as sister so-and-so, but just by my first name). The sweet elderly woman explains that I look like the member of the ward that often sits where I have seated myself. This is not too terribly interesting to me because I happen to think most Mormon's look like each other. Being the entire church was founded by Scandinavian missionaries and polygamists, it's a relatively small DNA pool.

Moments later a couple sit down at the end of the bench and smile towards me. The service starts and now from my vantage point at the back of the church I can clearly spot my relatives, including my dad. They don't see me, and they won't until the service ends, I find this a welcome blessing. The blessing of the baby is sweet. I remind myself of my Grandparents and think of the many wonderful memories I had as a kid going to Mormon church with my Grandparents and I'm comforted by that memory.

After the blessing and sometime in-between speakers, the woman to the left of me, leans over and says to me, "I feel as if I should know you"

"I'm just visiting, I'm here for the blessing of the baby" I reply

"Oh, than you must be a friend of _________?"

"No, I'm her sister."

"Oh, you mean her sister-in-law?"

Remembering my promise to myself and not wanting to put this kind lady in an awkward spot, I say with a smile on my face but firmness in my voice, "No, I'm her sister"

The blood drains from my new companions face as the look of revelations consume her.  She puts her hand on me as if to reassure me and starts to immediately stumble for words. I know this feeling of awkwardness, it comes right after you tell someone, "yes, I'm the unintended child from my father's extra-martial affair." It's not the receiver's fault. We have all had our moments of awkwardness in times of unfamiliarity.

She says kindly, "It's just that I'm a friend of the family and I know them all" I smile and let her know that it's fine. We enjoy the rest of the service together. At the end, her husband kindly introduces himself and I make my way to my family.

I find my sister who is sweetest first. Than to my older sister who has always been kind and than to my youngest sister, the mother of the baby. In small talk, I make my way to the back of the church where I find myself seating again in small talk with members of the family that have been kind to me through the years. A baby is placed in my arms and I am grateful for the bundle in my arms. I learn that the oldest brother is saying his good-bye's to everyone else outside the service hall. I share with my family that I'm okay walking out to this location, again so grateful that the baby is in my arms. The poor thing is less than a month old, and I'm already using him as a shield to hid my fear and insecurities.

My brother musters up his inner strength to come and address me. I'm now on auto-pilot. I can no longer access my conscience mind to think of words and I cannot see anything in my peripheral field of vision. I don't even remember how he addresses me, I just say, "Hello ______, it's nice to see you" and he leaves and his wife comes over and I say the same thing.  And than the sister who has been so un-accepting of me comes and oddly touches her hand on my forearm in a gesture of what seems to be kindness. My automated sub-conscience continues in an expanse of hospitable niceties.

Lastly my father walks towards me.  I know my face tightens and I try to hid my anger and hurt yet cannot force myself to smile. He doesn't address me and I don't address him. He is anger at me for denying him to call me a pet name and I won't call him dad or father so we skip the formalities and he begins instead in conversation. "Thank you for coming he says" and I reply "thanks for having me." The sister who is sweetest to me as at both our sides. He points out his tie that shows repeated images of him and and the sister next to me and we make small talk about it. Later, I think perhaps I should buy him a tie of his face and just a blank silhouette with the words "Lie" over it but that would be mean and vindictive and I may think thoughts like that but mostly I don't want to be mean.

My sister with the new baby asks me to join in her in the Mother's room so she can nurse.  Everyone leaves while I'm in the room with her. She says to me, "you're welcome to come to the house but you probably have to work"

"yes, I have a lot on my plate" I lie in response.  And than I drove home.

What exactly is an illegitimate child?

il·le·git·i·mate  

/ˌiləˈjitəmit/

Adjective Not authorized by the law; not in accordance with accepted standards or rules: "an illegitimate exercise of power by the military". (of a child) Born of parents not lawfully married to each other. I'm calling BS on number 2.  We don't live in the dark ages anymore, it's time to stop using dark age labels.

The e-mail that preceded my Father's final good-bye

Yesterday I posted my father's final letter to me, today I will post the email that caused him to lash out so.  There are a few in-between emails, but the this email from me to him, and his return letter with his award seem to be the most comprehensive in telling the story.

"My children are free to interact with you anyway they wish.  They are children of broken homes. They can handle a little mud slinging between baldy behaving adults.   Do you think I would encourage them to break ties with anyone because of my petty arguments?  If you have a concern regarding my children, you need to not assume anything and ask them directly why they have or have not chosen to so something. Or shall I follow your logic and blame you for ______ un-friending me?   

Is sure is interesting that one day I send you an invite to my Green Housing page and the next day you mock environmentalists in one of your group think emails.  Coincidence? Perhaps.

Now I am to believe that there are 40 young people seeking heartfelt advice from you on whether or not to pursue finding a parent and opening themselves up for all sorts of heartache, the possibility of being rejected again, and/or possibly finding a love they cannot imagine and with the knowledge and insight you have had and instead you put all those amazing lessons and perspectives aside and choose to give them the advice to not expect Demi-gods for parents as a board-cast message on Facebook?You the man of 1 million words summed it all up with that?

I am sorry, I cannot go where you are asking me to go.  But if what you are saying is true, than it is all the better for you to post your advice and thoughts freely without the worry of how I might perceive such good hearted intentions.  Your message will be all the better if your audience is all of the same opinion and there really is no point in having me in the audience.  And if you have ever read my posts you will already know its a very catered message. 

I really don't wish you any harm, any bad thoughts, any extra weight on an already heavy heart.  I wish we could run through the fields of gold again and love and hope that I might somehow be able to join you at a Christmas dinner (or maybe that was only my hope).   I understand now the impossibilities of my childhood fantasies and I get it.  

And I get that it's not personal.  You and yours have customs I don't understand, you pull names out of hats and buy each other gifts and most likely never call each other to say happy birthday or merry Christmas or God bless at Easter.  And I get for five years now I have waited and hoped to be included in activities that are not your activists but rather they are [your wife's] activities and I really really do get it.  

But here's the catch, I can't imagine how you get it. How are you okay with the way things are? Now I don't fault you for being okay with it, but I just don't see you as being fatherly if you are cable of carrying on like you do.  I haven't understood since that cruise you took in 2008.  And I know it wasn't your cruise, it was [your wife's] and I get the look of confusion in everyone's eyes as I strain to validate my complaint.  I don't belong on [your wife's] cruise, not than and not now and not ever. But again here is the catch, why do you go?   If [my husband] bought tickets to a cruise and everyone except one of my children were invited, I would be confused and hurt that all my kids weren't invited. And I wouldn't deny him passage or anyone else for that matter, but there's just no way I could go. And that is the difference between you and me.   

You see, I honestly thought after you told everyone about me that YOU would start including me.  

So tell me the truth, if it was [your favorite daughter] who was excluded, would you go?  

Now the cruise is long gone and its not worth talking about except for the sake that I should have known way back then that for you and mostly for everyone else that nothing would change.  Your entire family wants to so dearly to hold on to traditions that pre-date my arrival into the family and there just noway meaningful change will ever happen without the consensus of the group. 

Now to clarify, I'm not angry about this, but you can't have it both ways. Either I'm your daughter in every sense of the way or I am not.  The same is true for my role as a sister, I cannot do the half-thing, blame it [on my maternal sister] if you must, she forbade me to use the word half since as long as I can remember.  

Now for the record, I'm not saying good-bye, I gave up trying to say god-bye a long time ago.  

If it helps you to understand, I fell apart when I read your words.  I had out of state clients in town and with this crazy market I was on about day 17 of not having a day off with the working day lasting from dawn until dusk and no I don't get to have a quiet lunch break where I can collect my thoughts and regroup.  I just had to find a home for this family before they left town on Friday, and I had to do this when I'm exhausted in a market that is a fierce as you can possibly imagine and I am supposed to do it with a smile on my face.  And than I read your post and its like a wreaking ball on a fragile building.  (This analogy is not meant to imply I am over-sensitive) 

I have asked you not to email me because I check my email as part of my job and it's too much to have little bombs of nasty comments going off in my email.  I use Facebook for work and if you ever liked my fan pages or talked to [a family member] about how I use Facebook you would understand its not all fun and games for me, I actually use it as a tool and I'm very good at turning my efforts on Facebook into money to support my family.  

Our paths will cross again and again, I truly hope above all things that when they do cross it might be a pleasant passing where each person wishes the best for the other without impossible expectations on each other.

That being said, the situation is impossible, and my only regret is my inability to have accepted that as fact years and years ago."

My father's final letter to me

I have made a lot of posts about how I feel.  This post is the transcribe of a letter my father sent to me...

He sent this award with it in a priority tracking service envelope, I guess he wanted proof that I had received his letter.

Here is the letter:

"Since you were kind enough to write back and ask if I was mad, I'll gladly answer.  No, you did not make me mad, you merely broke my heart because no you do not understand and you won't because you read what you want to believe not what I write.

I am including a plaque I received in 1990 for most energy efficient home in the 1800 foot size for the entire northwest from BPA.  It tells how green I was before you ever saw the color.  How many green homes did you sell in 1990.  I built 7 and remolded 9 more.  I have paper certificates for green warehouses 1983, 1986 and 1991, green offices 1987, 1993 and 1997.

Use it to burn a green fire.  I merely wrote that global warming wasn't under complete review a manmade product.  But don't left facts confuse your belief.  I wrote we have to be willing to be a good a steward of all God has given us.  You ignore that statement and proclaim I mock you.  But the facts confuse your belief and you are now green and I am not, but I mock you.  I was installing heat pumps and telling others to install them in 1972 in Salt Lake City before the oil crisis.  You mock me by not reading what I wrote and I was and am greener than you even now.  But don't let that fact obscure your belief.

But the facts are that the world is warming and has been since before Christ was born.  Study the Sahara and see where Rome got their wheat.

You proclaim you understand the traditions and the family.  You don't have a clue and you will never because you have sons and daughters that don't fight each other and don't even argue.  I don't have that luxury and battle constantly to maintain a strict balance between hardhead, loud and obnoxious adults that I love dearly and try to help.  You only have to deal with them in your business and you whine about how hard that is.

You proclaim you understand my wife.  Again no clue.  Your husband has not come to you after 25 years and confessed his lie only to have you meet his lie and say how wonderful she is then hear her harshly criticize a daughter that was and is struggling to keep her family together in what is most unfair and bad circumstance.  You do not know her story of how she views blood and blood relationship nor how that caused her to struggle but still raise children outside of that blood line.  You don't understand her own family nor her fights there.

You'll never understand how much it hurts to not be able to invite someone you love so much and then have that someone tell you when invited that it isn't the right time, right place or right function.  And because you don't want it to be it will never be and you'll never understand.

You'll never understand how hard you fought to not see those two people you think are demi-gods and how hard and heart breaking it was to have to tell you over and over. "JUST GO SEE THEM, THEY LOVE YOU AS MUCH AS I DO." And still you argued against it, but finally went.

You don't understand what it means to be reminded daily that you did something when you were young and dumb and be told that you are forgiven but you can never be trusted again.

So yes, you broke my heart again, but you have done it so often it only hurts when I think about it.   Am I mad, No and cannot be for I caused it all and now each of you get your turn to be as ruthless in your judgement as you wish.  So judge away.  As you point out.  I am mean and nasty and my mocking your green is again proof of that.

So you'll never make the meanest, nastiest SOB that walked the earth mad.

Sorry you just don't have what it takes to make me made but yes you can and do break my heart.  You even ask one time if I knew how you felt to be left out.  No, I don't get left out, I have the much more dubious task of leaving some out here and some out there because they want to fight and scream at each other.  Go figure, the meanest has to make those harsh and brutal calls and then be skewered by both parties all the time.

And it is you that refuses to call and talk or meet and talk.  That has never been a problem with me either. But who wants to talk to a mean and nasty SOB."

I could add commentary, but in my hopes to record the story of meeting my father in it's truest form, I will allow instead the reader to comment.  If I can find it, I will share the email from me to him that preceded this story in a future post.

The first time I met my biological father...

I met my dad for the first time was I was 19, I am now over 40 so I have now had my dad in my life longer than I have not had him in my life.  That is a strange thought.  

This was me at 19, about the time I met my father for the first time.

However, if I were to bet on it, that clock will start ticking backward again now that we really have seemed to have severed any connection.

There are two significant meetings, or first's, if you will.  The first first was one I actually met him in 1992, the other was when I saw him with his family for the first time in 2008.  

I don't remember much of the first encounter and most of what I remember is because at one point during all the turmoil we would go through together later, my dad actually reminded me of all our encounters.  Somehow I had blacked out (or blocked out) all these memories.  When my dad retold them to me, it was as if the memories would come back about 5 minutes before he would tell them to me.  I don't know if that makes sense.  It's as if someone is describing a person so that you can make a sketch of it, only seconds before they tell you the guy had a mustache, you see it.  

The idea that these memories were in my brain but not memories I could pull up on command was very unnerving.  What else had I blanked out? Am I now remembering the truth, or some conjured up story? How did I forget?  

Perhaps it was too painful a memory so I choose to lock it away.  Or perhaps, and I think this is more likely, I just choose to not think about it, so the memory vanished.  My dad met me, and than got in his car and drove back to his life as if I didn't exist.  That's not something a young person wants to think about too much.

So, enough with the psychobabble, here is how I came to meet my dad....

After meeting with my grandmother in the park, I learned what state my father lived in.  With that information I had a friend with connections run a drivers license search and a match was returned with the name and what I guessed would be the age of my father.  I didn't get to see his license, which of course was disappointing since I had assumed I would know my dad when I saw him.  However, I had his address now, I was so close.

Also, this being 1992 and although the Internet existed I sure the hell didn't know what it was.  So the library was a place I spent a lot of time at.  The bigger libraries had phone books of everywhere, so In the labyrinth of the Salt Lake library I found the phone book for the area I needed and as simple as opening a book, there was the phone number for the person who I thought might be my dad.

I was very hesitant.  I had spent probably less than 4 hours of detective work to find my dad. Recalling the steps it took to find him I remembered that most of the time it took to get this far was time spent calling every private investigator in the yellow pages begging for help.  After calling a dozen or so private investigators and feeling completely dejected one eventually felt sorry for me and gave me the tip to search the LDS missionary indices at the main church building in downtown SLC. That research is what led me to my grandmother.  Within a few hours on the phone to P.I.s, less than 15 minutes in the church records building, a lunch with my grandmother, a favor from a friend and now another 15 minutes at the library and I had my dad's phone number clutched in my hand.  Could it really have been that easy?

Why hadn't my mother ever done this? What about the state authorities, certainly with those resources they could have found him.  How could I have located him so quickly with so few resources?  My father would later claim this was because he wasn't hiding and he would later insinuate that had anyone tried to look for him, they would have found him so obviously this indicates he was helpless in the matter.   But the truth is, the state did find him but they didn't have the ability to force him to address paternity. And my maternal grandparent did try to make contact with his wife at the time.  But my fathers wife didn't want to believe that I could have been his child so she went along with his stories and the state can't force someone to be a dad if they don't want to be.

After a few days or weeks, I really can't remember how much time passed,I finally called the number from the phone book.  I decided to play it cool, like I had called the number a million times.  So when I called, I simply said, "yeah, is ______ around?"

"No, he's not here" replied the casual voice on the other end.  I wondered if this was a sibling of mine and strained to get some glimmer of a clue what life was like on the end of the telephone line.

"Do you know where I can reach him at?" Playing as cool as I could while my fingers trembled so much that I could barely hold the phone still.  

"Yeah,he's at his parents house" was the reply.

"That's great, I'll call him there."

"Do you need the number" the stranger offered.

"Thanks but I already have it" I couldn't have planned it better, now I was certain the caller on the other end wouldn't ever suspect a thing from me.  To this day, I wonder which one of my siblings it might have been.

I knew that if I didn't call the number for my dad's parents home right that second I would never get the nerve again.  So I called and again playing it as cool as a cucumber I asked, "is _______ around" 

"Hold on I'll get him for you" was the kind voice on the other end.

The moment was at hand. What was I supposed to say? Will he know it is me? Will he deny me? Will he tell me to go to hell?

My dad answered the phone in his usually matter.  I know today what that usual matter is, but back in 1992, I had no clue. So when he answered the phone, "what do you want?" I just naturally assumed my cool as a cucumber identity had been discovered and now here was this gruff voice just being as blunt as one could possibly be.  

So I replied back with the only answer that made any sense, "I want to meet you" I said.

It is so fascinating to me to tell you this story, even if there is no "you" out there. Even if the only person who ever reads my story is me, as I mentioned above these memories come back to me with clarity as if the picture is being painted before the brush touches the page.  How accurate the memories are I have no idea. 

During the rest of the conversation we decided when and where to meet.  It would be at the food court in a local mall.  I didn't ask what he'd be wearing and he didn't ask what I would be wearing.  I don't think he even ever asked my name.  One has to assume that for this man, hearing a young woman call him to ask him if he wanted to meet her, why he must have know it was his 19 year old daughter that he'd never seen or heard before.  I wondered if his parents would have asked him what the phone call was all about. I wondered of he turned white as a ghost when he heard my voice.  Again, with the way he answered the phone, I assumed he knew it was me.  I assumed my grandmother whom I had already met had recognized my voice and must have said "it's her" with that look in her eye that every mother has.   Now that years have gone by, and now that I know this is how he answers the phone, I now assume that he too played coolio the cucumber and never let on to his parents on anyone else who exactly it was that had just called him out of the blue.

It is with this memory that my heart goes out to his wife.  I know as a wife myself how important it is to share moments with my husband.  I can't imagine how shut out she must have felt during this time, when he was meeting his daughter and couldn't confide in her what that experience was like.   This is why cheating is so horrible, it robs you of the companionship of your best friend.  But that's a topic for a different post.

So now I'm at the food court at the agreed upon mall on the agreed upon date at the agreed upon time.  With my heart pounding so loud I can't hear my own thoughts I nervously scan the crowd.  Making this search difficult was that my expectations had been set.  You see my mother had dated a number of gentleman in my life and most of them were not model citizens.  To be fair to my mother, we lived in Utah and at the time if you weren't a member of the church, you probably weren't considered a model citizen and while I knew my father was a returned missionary the expectation of what my father would be like was closer to a drinker hobo than a clean cut Mormon with a newly pressed shirt and tie.  

I scanned the crowd for and stopped at every single man over age 40.  "Please not him" I would think as I scanned the number of strange looking men.  For those of you who have never known your birth parents, this is a procedure us lost kids do in every public setting, always wondering, "could that stranger over there be my father/mother?"  For those of you lucky enough to know both you mum and your pa, humor me and go to any public setting, look around and pick a father, you'll find yourself saying "please not that guy" too.  

My scanning and prayer ritual went on for what seems an eternity.  Deciding to make myself busy, I choose to stand in line for a hot dog at the hot-dog-on-a-stick place, I still love their deep fried cheese thingies.  As I'm standing in line, I feel the prescience of someone behind me and I turn around to look into blue eyes. There he was and I knew it, just as he knew it.

And I don't remember anything else.  I know I didn't ask him if he was my dad.  We just talked, but I don't know how long it was or what it was about?  I remember at some point he met my husband and children (at age 19, I had a 2 year old son and two step-children half my age, but that's for an entirely different blog some day).  I know we exchanged a number of letters, most of which I destroyed after one of many future events were he would refuse to tell his family about me.  The next 16 years are so much of a blur.  I never referred to him by anything other than his name and didn't think of him as a father.  When others asked about my dad I would still answer I didn't know who my dad was and that it might be this one guy I had met but I wasn't sure. 

My dad never said he was my father, only that he would be whatever I wanted him to be.  That is why the time I saw him after his confession, and after he actually said he was my father is really more of the first time I met my dad.

This guy that I met in 1992, he was just some random dude.

Fatherlessness

Saw this video today and had to share.

For most, these numbers are only numbers. For the fatherlessness, these numbers are painful memories. Let's end the Fatherless Epidemic

What I did that I regret most when I was introduced to my bio dad's family

It was a Monday morning, when my dad finally confessed to my paternal siblings.  His confession left me stunned, confused, excited, nauseous, dizzy, etc. etc.

I knew after I made the call to my half-brother the prior Tuesday that the truth would be forthcoming, when I told my dad that Thursday that I had called my brother and that he should be aware that his dirty secret was out, I had expectations.

I expected he and my brother would communicate, have a chat about how to move forward and how to tell the others.  Or at least one of them would call me that weekend to either learn more about me or discuss the method and timing of telling the others.

But the weekend came and went without any event.  I anxiously checked my phone and my computer for any sign of communication from either of them.  I checked my spam folders, re-read emails and dialed my own phone just to make sure it was working.  Needless to say it was a very long weekend.

Than Monday morning came and I felt so dejected, unresolved, tired, and worn out.  I had no plan going forward.  My father had seven other biological children that I knew about, I had only called one.  I was pretty certain at that time, I wouldn't have it in me to call another sibling.  Words cannot explain the terror and resolve it took to call my brother and say, "hi, I think I'm your half-sister."

I went to work and tried to pretend I was okay.  At about 10 a.m., I saw an email titled, "What have I done" and my heart jumped out of my chest.  I couldn't even read the words, I saw a mix of letters and paragraphs swirling around and around on the computer screen.   I wanted to throw up, I wanted to cry, I wanted to jump with joy.

I focused over and over and over again on the recipient list.  I counted the names; one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, TEN.  There were TEN names on the list.  I knew of 7, there was an extra 3. 

Who were these people, what did they look like?  Were they too in front of their computers?  Why did my dad send an email?  Are they happy to have a sister? Does it say I'm their sister?  Will they accept me? What will my life be like now?  What about my children and their children? What will my dad's wife do?

Excitement was probably the most prominent emotion, but as I scrambled to read the email with all the rambling paragraphs about Christ and the Garden of Gethesemane and my dad's ego and pride all splayed out that finally about three quarters of the way down there it was.  And this is what it said.

"You have a half-sister by my wrong doing, her name is Jana, her number is 800-XXX-XXXX"

THAT'S IT?

How will they know me? What will they expect?  And while I understand the underlying shame of my father's confessions, a sadness filled my heart as I thought to myself, "well, that is my birth announcement"  35 years late without any mention of love or pride for me as a person, just a sadness and sense of shame that I existed.

Well, without thinking and in my eagerness, I composed my own email about me, about my children, about my challenges and triumphs in life, about my pets, about my job, about everything and I hit "reply all"

Now, I regret a lot of things about this action of mine.  What I didn't realize than, is that a lot of my siblings didn't have smart phones or computers in front of them like I did.  I assumed they all got my dad's confession in real time, I had no idea that when they got home later that day, they would see my email first and my dad's second because for reasons only God knows, that is how emails are organized?  I regret that I didn't recognize that they would need some time to digest the email from their father.  I regret that their mother had no idea that this is how they would be told.  But these reasons are not why I'm sharing this story.

Mostly I regret that I shared my personal story with persons who didn't deserve to know about me.

Now that sounds kinda mean, but it is true.  Those siblings that have chosen not to accept me will tell you it's because of something I did or said, but I don't buy it.  There are a handful of siblings that have taken the position since day one that I'm not anything more than "a physical representation of a lie" and that I don't belong in their family and I really regret that they know anything about me.   Not that they know I exist, but that they know my personal stuggles. 

I was so eager to tell them my story and to hear their's I just assumed it would be reciprocal.  But some of them didn't want to know, didn't want to care.  

I have since learned that if someone doesn't ask about you, don't volunteer.  (ironic for a blogger to post this, however, if  you didn't want to read my thoughts, you wouldn't have made it this far, so obviously you are interested.)  I have learned that my story is valuable and I don't want to give it to anyone that isn't interested in paying me for my story, and the payment I expect is time and consideration.

Over the course of time, I told my dad more and more about myself.  When I reflect back, he never once asked about my life, ever.  I wanted him to know the heartache I endured because of his absence, somehow I thought this would make things a little better for me.  To face my tormentor and look him in the eye and say, "this happened because of your actions".   I have also learned that while my life would have been different had he been there, I still would have had heartache so perhaps while his abandonment was a horrible event that I had to learn to get beyond, it wasn't necessarily a cause and effect of all my other woes.

But more than that, I cherish my woes.  They are uniquely my own story.  Things that have happened and things I have overcome are my only trophies, ribbons and awards for a life well lived, even if those trophies, ribbons and awards are only in my mind.   At this point in time, my father doesn't deserve to know these stories.

My paternal grandfather is a WWII hero, a paratrooper that faught and survived some of the most historical battles in all of US history.  My father was content with denying me this heritage.    I only wish I would have denied him the story of me.

Again, for those of you out there with illegitimate parents, you are valuable, you are cherished and your life is worth knowing about, don't let anyone tell you otherwise.  I hope you are smarter than me and save your story for those who deserve it, those who will cherish it and for those that love you as a person.

Growing Up Fatherless

Created with Haiku Deck, the free presentation app for iPad

I grew up not knowing who my father was or anything about him. I didn't even learn his name until I was 19 years old. When I found him, he kept me a secret from his 7 other biological children by convincing me that all I would ever mean to them would be heartbreak. I broke though that horrible message and found a love I never dreamed of, this is that story in Haiku Deck fashion.

The Haiku story is meant to be simple.  There are many layers of complexity in my story.  There have been many different responses by my half-siblings; from being completely ignored, to be called a liar and compared to a thief in the night, to being loved, to being miss-understood and so on and so on.

This Haiku isn't meant to diminish the love of some of my other sisters, it's just that the actions of one sister have stood out and in choosing to wanting to end this Haiku Deck on a positive note, I choose to share her actions as a beacon of hope for other kids born to illegitimate parents. 

My story was filled with heartache, as yours may or may not be.  But if you feel it's worth the risk, than there is hope that you can be accepted and loved by a biological family member out there who doesn't know you exist yet. 

Donor #150

I watched the PBS documentary tilted, Independent Lens, Donor 150 last night and obviously for me, it was a nail bitter.  Absolutely wonderful and a must see for anyone struggling with the issue of fatherhood and its role in this modern world we live in.

If you haven't heard or seen the film, the premise is the story of half-siblings of the same anonymous sperm donor finding each other through the online Donor Sibling Registry, and than later the story is picked up by the New York Times uniting even more half-siblings.

I will do my best not to spoil the film for you, although I cannot share my perspective without at least hinting at some of the outcomes from the documentary.  So you may want to bookmark this page and come back after you have watched the show.

One of my favorite moments of the film is when one of the founders of the online search registry makes the observation that the sperm banks only care about 3 things; making money, collecting donations, and keeping the donors anonymous.  There is absolutely no regard to the welfare of the children in regards to this industry.  She also comments about the need to remove the secrecy of this industry as that SECRECY IMPLIES SHAME.  

Obviously as a child who grew up without knowing anything about my paternal heritage I cringe at the idea of anonymous sperm donation.  Why we have laws that prevent selling our spare parts such as kidneys for income and yet allow half a soul's DNA to be sold as a commodity is absolutely maddening.  Not that I want to see poor people risk their lives selling their kidneys to the rich, but only to contrast the ludicrous nature of our laws.

There was something else very interesting about this show and it was the expectations these children had of who their paternal father might be.  They speculated a doctor, or artist or some other accomplished individual and of course this assumption makes sense.  It is after all the genius of the marketing of the sperm banks and it has permeated our pop culture via movies and TV shows as long as I can remember.

I on the other hand had very low expectations for my father.  I expected the kind of guy who knocks up a girl and leaves town to be a drug addict, a drunk or just out-and-out bum.  I guess that is marketing too.  My father is anything but those stereotypes, instead he is a clean-cut devout LDS man.  He doesn't drink nor smoke and pays his tithe regularly. He raised a dozen or so children and took them to regularly Sunday school class and taught them the importance of family and fatherhood.  He wasn't supposed to be the guy that abandoned his child and hid from state requested paternity testing.

So the kids of sperm donors expect doctors and children of illegitimate fathers expect drug addicts each for their respective fathers.  But when you pull back at the layers of these two fatherless homes, it really makes more sense that a guy with limited financial means would be the far more likely sperm donor.  And also that the guy pretending to be perfect the far more likely suspect of illegitimacy.  

So that brings me to the other part of the equation here which is the role of the mothers in this anonymity.  Somewhere we got lost in our pursuit of women equality.  Somewhere when society said, "Women can do anything a man can do" that they rolled into that tag line that women could somehow be a father too.  By accommodating anonymous sperm donation, we as a society reduced the role of fatherhood into nothing more than a contribution in a little cup.  Now we wake up to a world facing an epidemic of fatherless homes and wonder why?

Now I will be the first in line to burn my bra for equal pay, but just as I would never want my role of motherhood reduced to the gestation period of birthing a baby, we have to stop behaving as a society as if dad's don't matter.  I suggest we start by recognizing that a child has a right to their DNA records and heritage.

I'd like to amend this post, after reading comments on this blog about the same topic, I agree that the phrase Sperm Donor should be changed to the word Sperm Seller.  It's just another marketing gimmick by the Sperm Banks. 

bearing said...
Ann, why do you persist in calling him a "donor" and in writing that he "donated" his sperm?
By all meaningful definitions he is a seller of sperm. The term "donor" is deliberately used by promoters of this practice to deflect attention from the fact that it's a lucrative business, not a charity, that they run.
Surely you value precision more than obscureness here.
2/14/07, 2:28 PM

The timeline

For the sake of references to my other posts and for the benefit of my own memory and the desire to be historically accurate, I'm making a timeline of the story of finding my illegitimate father.  Theses events are recorded as I have learned they happened, not how I learned about each event.

About 1971 my father marries his wife

About 1972 my father has an affair with my mother, his wife is 2 months pregnant with their second child during this affair.

1973 I'm born and my father leaves a good job in the state I was born and to the bewilderment of his family, he moves to Hawaii.

About 1978 the State of Utah sends a letter to my father asking him to resolve the issue of my paternity.  His wife receives the letter, confronts him with it and he denies the allegations to her.  To my knowledge, this is the last communication between the State of Utah and my Father regarding the issue of my paternity.  About this same time, when my maternal half-siblings leave for a weekend trip with their father, my mother tells me with no other words or explanation, "you don't have a father".

About 1980 my step-father of the time tells me that my biological father lives in Hawaii and has two children.  This is all I will ever know about my father until I am 19 years old.

About 1991 I summon the courage to ask my mother for information about my father so I can find him.  She only recalls his name and a few other pieces of information, one key piece of information is that he went on an LDS mission to Germany before I was conceived.  Using the LDS missionary indexes I find my fathers parents address, they haven't moved.  I meet my paternal Grandmother who along with showing me a photo of my dads 7 other children, gives me enough information me to know my father moved to Washington state.  She also warns me that he will never choose me over his other children. I locate my father's home address and phone number.  I call my father and ask to met him, he agrees.

Between 1991 and 2008 we have a secret relationship filled with incredible turmoil and conflict.  I ask him to leave me alone numerous times and yet we somehow always stayed in touch. During this entire 16 years he refuses to tell his wife and kids about me.

About 2007 I have a medical scare and the desire for a complete medical profile moves to the forefront.

The News Breaks:

April 2008

I ask for a paternity test, my father gets wormy.  His replies are cryptic and indirect.  He asks me to call him at a hotel over the weekend to discuss the paternity test, all the while not realizing that I see calling him at a hotel as a sleazy and disgusting act.

Using a public records search for $39.00, I locate my eldest paternal brother and call my brother on a Tuesday. I explain I have reason to believe that I'm his half-sister and ask him to reach out to me when he is ready to talk about it.  My brother goes from anger to complete confusion on the call and I know he is hurt, I hang up with the knowledge that life will never be the same for any of us.

On that Thursday, my father sends another cryptic and vague reply with via email about my desired paternity test. I reply and add to the post script that I spoke to the eldest brother earlier in the week.  My father will deny ever receiving my email. 

On that Saturday evening, my father confesses to his wife that he fathered a child.

On the following Monday, my father sends an email to his 7 birth children and 3 foster children titled "What have I done" and confesses to them that he fathered a child. I am cc'd in the email.   In my excitement, I sent everyone a follow up email asking telling them more about me. (For the record, this was a dumb move on my part)

On that day, I communicate via telephone with the oldest foster sister and oldest birth sister. I communicate via email with the youngest foster sister and the two youngest birth sisters. 

Later that week, I send an email to my oldest brother to express my sympathies for how he learned of me.  He replies in anger, accuses me of lying and telling me I must be cruel to not understand he's mothers position and how difficult it must be to see my face, "the physical representation of a lie"

Between 2008 and 2012

I meet the oldest brother once and have had limited communications with him over the years.  He did accept my Facebook friend request.

I have yet to meet the two middle brothers. Although we have engaged in terse political emails. I have also communicated and enjoyed talking to their wives. 

I have only fought with the second oldest sister.  After six months of no communication, she reached out to me.  In my hurt, I snapped back at her.  Because of this one comment, she has vowed to never accept me.

I met my fathers wife and had a wonderful talk with her that lasted over 19 hours.  We got along great, however once I disagreed with the second oldest sister, she called me and threatened me over the telephone and vowed I would never be part of her family.  She did later invite me to a family event provided I understood I was not to be included in any of her family photos. I didn't attend.

I have become incredibly close to other second youngest sister, and the middle foster sister.  I also very much enjoy the company of the oldest and youngest sisters and the youngest foster sister.  I don't talk very often the oldest foster sister.

I guess the dynamics of the sibling relationships are fairly normal, even for families that grew up together.

Back to the relationship with my father.

May 2013 - he sends me a package with delivery tracking notice. The package is a letter that is truly awful with an award he received in 1980.  The award is for building an energy efficient home.  In the letter he denies climate change and tells me to read the bible. He also insinuates he is more energy conscience than me, as if it were some sort of contest.  I find this to be so completely childish, the only thing he didn't include is a tape recording of him saying, "nah nah nah nah"  This stems from a fight years ago, when he sent an email blasting the position of environmentalists. I asked to be removed from his email list and he has never forgiven me.

I had hoped that this would mark the end of the story between him and me.  But than just the other day he includes me on the cc list of another ridiculous email.  Sometimes there just isn't enough spam filters in the world.

I am not a lie and I certainly am not "illegitimate"

It's been a while since I posted any thoughts.  Mostly because things with my dad have only gotten worse and I was hoping they would get better.  Well, they didn't. 

The pinnacle of this disaster love story is a package he recently sent me, a very childish package.  He called me names, inferred I was an idiot because I believe in climate change and those were the nice parts of the letter.

The most infuriating was he decided once again to explain to me how difficult it is for his wife to meet "the lie".  How can a person refer to their own child as a "lie"?  

Why is it that society sticks those of us conceived by black hearted cheaters get the life long labels?  I am so sick of it, I'm not a lie?  

Illegitimate, why we have forbidden every prehistoric dark age label. We don't use the N word, the R word is on its way out, we have respectable names for members of the LGBT community, we don't go around calling victims of human trafficking horrible names.  But if you are conceived by a man who lies to your mother, who lies to his wife, who lies to the authorities and than lies to his other children and every soul he comes across, you still get the rotten label of illegitimate? A lie? A secret-love child? Or a bastard?

I don't think so, the only person who should be called a lie is a my father, yet he calls me a lie. 

I made a post earlier saying I thought I loved my father, I'd like to retract that post at this time.  My father is a horrible person who refers to his own child as a "lie".  I hope I never see him again.