It may or may not be a surprise, but Dominic made it to and through graduation.
During COVID, he just checked out of school. (Let’s be honest: He wasn’t exactly a star student before COVID either.) He just wouldn’t turn things in. He’d procrastinate until the very end then scrape by.
“So what are his plans now?”
Many, many people have asked. If I had a dollar for every time … well, you know.
I understand that it comes from a place of genuine curiosity, but I really am tired of saying, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know because Dominic doesn’t know.
He’s in teenage limbo where he has not yet found his passion and purpose.
I always knew what I wanted to do. I’ve always had a plan. I am not the kind of person who drifts through life.
But some people are, and that’s fine. He’s one of them. I’m not trying to impose my will on him.
He might work for a year.
He might go to college.
He might go into the military.
His friends know what they are going to do, and that adds pressure.
He’ll figure it out. The frontal lobe is still developing.
In the meantime, at least he’s passed this milestone. I’m proud of him.
And I’m as interested as everyone else in what’s next.
There’s so much whacking with the stick about your person. And this is not only allowed, but encouraged.
And pushing is OK too.
I found this out when someone on the other team shoved Gideon and sent him flying on the field in front of me. Home and Away were sitting on the same side of the bleachers, and I heard someone say, “Good push.”
I nearly lost my Mom mind, but realized I would be sorely outnumbered.
I yelled down, “Are you OK?”
Gideon, you yelled, “Yeah.”
Then the people behind me clapped for you when you got up.
I got verklempt when you ran over to your team on the other side and you, Dominic, hugged him like a good big brother should.
Even though your team lost the game, it was a nice day outside, great to see you two in action, and I’m learning new things. All of those are good.
It’s been quite a journey (Here are parts 1, 2, 3, 4 and 5.)
Here are the takeaways:
Genetics are cool. Over the course of about two years, I have met more than 30 new people to whom I am blood related. Seeing myself in people other than the two I made is incredible. I see my eyes in my sister, my dimples in my brother, my laugh in my father, my inability to sit still in my mother, etc.
Love isn’t like pie. More for some doesn’t mean less for others. I can love my adopted parents and extended family with my whole heart (and do) and also love my found family.
Love is love is love. No boundaries. Some of the most wonderful messages I’ve received are from adopted cousins. Add to those messages all the heartfelt ones from friends and relations by marriage and new people tangential to the story, and you see that this has been a moving experience for more people than just myself.
The human capacity for love, understanding and acceptance is astounding. Everyone in this story (except one**) has seemed to be so happy about this late-in-life connection. I have been amazed at how excited people seem to be to add me to the family. I’m still on my best behavior of course. I don’t want anyone to regret the welcome. 😉
I am fortunate. Not every adoptee has a positive experience. And I have had it on both sides. One of my friends found her birth mother, and mom turned out to be … not a good person. Another friend found his, who said she didn’t want a relationship: “I gave you up for a reason.” Kathy is fond of saying that this could have been a Lifetime movie, but it turned out to be a Hallmark one.
Me: That’s why I was careful to explain in my letter that I’m a normal, stable person.
Alaina (my niece): That’s exactly what a crazy person would say.
During my conversation with my father, he told me that he didn’t actually live at the address where I sent the letter. His ex-wife, Jan, still lives there with her son, my half-brother Brad. (They also have a daughter, Erin, my half sister.) Jan opened the letter, shared it with Brad, and he shared with David.
(After I asked Jan* about this part of the story, she said that when Brad called David, David talked about his crazy day. Brad said, “Dad, it’s about to get a whole lot crazier.”)
David now lives in Long Island in an apartment off my uncle’s house. (The apartment used to be my uncle’s dental office.)
Y’all. I mean. Can you IMAGINE Jan’s reaction? Brad’s? David’s?
I might have had to take some time to process, but David called me within 24 hours.
The call consisted of high-level catch-up, as you might expect. He seemed happy to know about me.
And Jan reached out to me on Facebook to welcome me to the family.
And Brad texted me to start a conversation.
How lovely is that?
David and I started talking regularly, and we decided we would meet when I visited New York for my annual birthday trip in December.
I flew into La Guardia and rented a car as the LIRR train schedule did not cooperate.
Brad: Have a good time! Me: Thanks. I'm on my way. Nervous. Brad: So is he!
David was waiting on his porch when I pulled up. He said he felt like a kid at Christmas. I did too. (Add some flop sweat that Santa doesn’t usually get.)
He had a present for me:
I suddenly became very aware of my nasolacrimal ducts. Why? When I met Kathy, she gave me a present.
It was a gift David had given to her for her birthday when they were dating. She kept it all these years because it was the one thing that connected the three of us. And I had told him about it.
Oh Lord: There’s something in my eye. Hang on.
OK. Proceeding.
He took me to the main house to meet my Uncle Terry and Aunt Rosemary.
As it turns out, they and their family and David spent plenty of time in Savannah because they have a place in Hilton Head. Again, I could have run into them AT ANY POINT and not known about our connection.
Also, I would be staying the night in Uncle Terry and Aunt Rosemary’s house.
Y’ALL. These people JUST met me. I am a stranger. So this tells you a little something about how my existence was received.
The four of us went out to dinner and had a wonderful time. When we got back, David brought out a cake for my birthday.
I lost it (but tried not to).
He got me an ice cream cake (Carvel FTW!) without even KNOWING I am not a fan of regular cake.
It was … a lot. (I know I keep saying it, but cut me some slack. It IS a lot!)
The next day, we went on a drive to key places of interest for him and the family.
We laughed. We argued good naturedly. We got to know each other.
As we were watching the sea lion show, I thought about how completely bizarre it was to be there with him. This is the kind of things dads do with their daughters when daughters are children. But here we were, making up for lost time.
Oh look: My lacrimal sac is acting up again. One moment.
I’m back.
It was bone-chillingly cold. My father doesn’t have any body fat (one area where I did NOT get his genes), so we didn’t linger at the lions.
We went back to his place to continue chatting. Before long, it was time for me to head into the city for the rest of the birthday trip.
I had plenty of thoughts to keep me occupied on the drive, along with a debrief phone call from a blogger friend.
The next logical step was to contact my birth father.
Folks, this was easier said than done.
Not that he was hard to find. As soon as I had his name, I put my reporter experience to work and tracked down his address.
It was more that I wasn’t sure how to make this connection. The problem? He didn’t know about me. At all.
For a variety of reasons (including the fact that they had broken up), Kathy didn’t tell him she was pregnant.
So.
Do I call him? Show up at his house? Contact another relative I found (à la Cousin Laura for Kathy)? Eeesh.
I decided to go with the snail-mail route. It had worked before, so maybe it would work again.
But how do I start THAT letter?
Y’all, I’m a writer, but that was THE HARDEST LETTER to write. How do you announce your existence to someone who helped make you? That’s a big deal.
Kathy was worried about me and my plan. She told me she wasn’t sure how he would react.
Yeah.
For TWO FULL YEARS, I agonized over what to say, how to write that damn letter.
My friend Tyler (who cuts my hair) told me, “Don’t come back unless you have an update.” She was kidding. I think.
That was in March 2022. I pulled myself together.
The good stationery and penmanship came out again.
I chose the “rip off the Band-Aid” method:
I've wanted to write this letter for a while, but I didn't know exactly what to say or how to begin. I'm still not sure this is the right way, but I have to start somewhere.
You don't know me or know about me, but I'm your daughter.
I planned for it to arrive by Father’s Day. 😬😉 The tracking indicated it took FOUR DAYS to leave the St. Louis post office. I was dying.
Then on June 23, 2022, I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. It showed up as Columbia, MD, but I didn’t have my glasses on. I thought it said, “Columbia, MO,” so I assumed it was a work call. I answered.
“This is Beth.” “Hi Beth, this is David.”
My people, I cannot express just how many emotions were vying for the top spot: happiness, surprise, nervousness, etc.
Gideon and Eddie saw my face. They were curious and concerned.
I mouthed, “My father.” Their eyes nearly sprung out of their sockets.
I went into another room so I could focus.
It was, in a word, unreal.
And clearly too much to explain in this one post. Get ready for Part 5 and 6. Thanks for joining me on this journey.
The story continues, as promised. (If you are new here and need a recap, read Part 1 and Part 2.)
My birth mother Kathy and I started chatting weekly on the phone. And as you know, that’s a big deal for me. (Why do I hate talking on the phone so much?)
Topics? Large: I learned my birth father’s full name. Small: I learned we like our eggs the same way. (So that’s where I got it!)
She told me about all the family I had in the St. Louis area. You’ll remember I mentioned my mom Jeanne was from Missouri. Well, I spent my childhood visiting relatives all over the state: Kansas City, Jefferson City and also St. Louis. My favorite aunt and uncle lived in Hazelwood, Missouri — 25 minutes from my current home and 15 minutes from where Kathy lives.
It’s bizarre to think that I could have passed a member of my birth family in the grocery store.
Weird and wonderful, to say the least.
On one of our calls, I mentioned I had a dream that I had driven to St. Louis to see her. She said she did want to meet me. We started planning for Memorial Day weekend.
Y’all, this was … something. Talking on the phone was one thing. Actually meeting her was another.
She picked me up at the St. Louis airport. Her first words to me were these:
Mom breathes in that new-baby smell.I was a daddy’s girl. Completely.I know I don’t seem happy and grateful in this photo, but I was. Later. 😉
I loved them and didn’t dwell on the thought of my birth family.
However, I will cop to entertaining fantasies of being surprise royalty. You know, “Princess Diaries” style.
We were the only ones in Atlanta. Dad’s family was in Pennsylvania/New Jersey and Mom’s in Missouri. (This becomes important in the next installment.)
We visited each family roughly every other year. I read books in the back of the car and alternately wanted a sibling and was glad I didn’t have one.
I grew up. Went to college. Graduated. Worked in journalism. Got the letter. Put the letter away. Started dating Eddie. Got married. Had kids. Searched their faces for any scrap of me. Found very little. (Eddie’s genes are strong.)
But sometimes it was there.
Gideon stars as the saddest baby in the world.The only pic of Dominic where I can actually see a little of me.
My parents were always there. Rock solid.
But they didn’t take care of themselves. Their health declined. Mom passed in 2009, Dad in 2017.
For Christmas 2017, Eddie got me the best gift ever — a gift that keeps on giving.
Not only did Laura know who my mother was, but she was going to see her the following month. I learned I had a half brother and sister.
So that was … a lot.
Laura met up with Kathleen and gave her photos of me and my family, along with my contact information.
For her it was … a lot.
Time passed as we both adjusted to the idea.
On this exact day (New Year’s Eve) in 2019, I decided my New Year’s resolution would be to write to my birth mother. I used my good stationery and employed my best handwriting. Sent it off once the holidays died down.
A few days later — Jan. 15, 2020 to be exact — I got a call from a Missouri number I didn’t recognize. I didn’t answer it for three reasons:
As many of you know, I’m adopted. I was adopted when I was about six weeks old. (“Fresh baby! Get her while she’s pink!) I’ve always known I was adopted. My parents said they would help me look for my birth family when I was ready.
I was never ready when they were alive.
It felt like it would be disrespectful to them to search. Also, what if my birth mother hadn’t told anyone about me? Showing up on her doorstep would be a bit of a surprise — and likely not in a Prize Patrol kind of way.
I had great parents. Howard and Jeanne loved me, and I loved them. I had a normal middle-class childhood: We lived in a standard subdivision of ’70s split levels (say that three times fast) outside of Atlanta, and I went to public schools but a private college (scholarship, FTW!). We weren’t rich, but we weren’t poor. No abuse. (Unless you count all those times I got whacked with a fly swatter because of my smart mouth. And I certainly don’t.)
Some of my friends were adopted too, and we commiserated about what it must be like to actually look like someone else or see some of your behaviors handed down from a parent. My parents often looked at me like I was a zoo animal because I had so much more energy than they did. They were sedentary people. And y’all know I am … not.
Still, my friends weren’t so keen to search either. It’s a big thing. Rejection looms large.
All I knew about my birth mother was that she was a very young college student and didn’t feel she could care for me at the time.
When I left college myself and started thinking about starting a family, I wrote to the adoption agency to see if I could get any medical information. It felt important to find out if I had a family history of cancer, heart disease, diabetes (“The Shugahs” if you are from the South), etc.
They sent back a few pages of typed social information: birth parents’ first names, general background, number of siblings, physical features, college education, circumstances surrounding my conception and birth, etc.
Then, the kicker:
My people, I was not ready for that. I folded that little letter back up and tucked it into a file folder. There it stayed for nearly two decades.
And even now as I try to explain what has been going on over the past few years, I realize I have to stop here for now.
This feels like a four-part series: Beginning (this part), Discovery, Meeting Mom, Meeting Dad.
Thanks for bringing me the gift of time with new family this year. First Christmas with birth family on mom’s side. It was everything I hoped it would be and more.
Added bonus for 2022: Meeting birth father, David.
Thank you for that too. It’s plenty to process (and write about), so today I’ll just be thankful.
Ladies, I’ve tried my best to ensure they understand our anatomy. Once, I even pulled out a diagram of our bits at the dinner table.
(Look. Listen. Education has no boundaries.)
I never ever want them to be like these idiots:
I’ve told them porn isn’t realistic. I mean, I’ve never once gotten off by someone slapping my parts. I don’t know any woman who has an instant orgasm from penetration. There are no naked pizza delivery drivers in my neighborhood.
If you have and can, and there are, good for you! No shade.
I should share this with them and really make it weird:
It’s a good explanation.
Of course, there are plenty of other … uh … aspects of and tactics for gratification.
Just know that I have told them they need to make sure you get yours. And to listen to what you say about how to do that.
Also, we’ve discussed various methods of birth control and THEIR responsibility.
Not that I’m advocating for sex willy nilly, but I am realistic.
They are still teenagers, so they have plenty to learn. Just know I’ve done my best.
Looking forward to getting to know you!
Sincerely, Your boyfriend’s mom
*Before anyone gets hot and bothered, let me say that I used to start off sentences with, “When you date someone, and he, she or they …” I just wanted to leave the door open. But every time I said that, they informed me they like girls. The door is still open; I don’t care.
Observe and report 