Two Men, One Tale

Growing up not knowing you are adopted can create a life event that becomes an eternal state of confusion.

Once you find out about being adopted, the brain starts to work in overtime with the whys, how's, what's, whens, and who's. It's a constant questioning circle that always goes back to the first question that may never be answered.

After six years, I have found my birth father and my adopter father have one big thing in common. They have both kept a secret from their children.

My birth father, without a DNA test, but the "test" of a witness (birth mother's best friend), knowingly created other children and denied them the knowledge that they have an older, younger, or middle sister. He not only had children by one, not two, not three, but four women supposedly, including my mother. There were eight of us but his Junior passed away. I know that he hasn't told his children because with technology, I would have received some type of indication that knowledge was given to my birth siblings about me.

How could a man go on for 40 plus years knowing that he has a child that he never held, hugged, kissed on the forehead, taught to drove, taught about boys, stood proud at my graduations, or even cheered at my middle school and high school extra curricular activities?

 

How could he not acknowledge his grand kids that I had, not being there for their graduations, their extra curricular activities, their first time of saying PopPop, or denying them the opportunity to run to him whenever he came to visit for that big PopPop hug?

 

How could my birth father sleep every night feeling like nothing is missing from his life that he created and then his offspring carried out his DNA to carry on his bloodline?

My adopter father, without a DNA test needed, but the "test" of a witness (adoption agency), knowingly deny his "baby girl" the option of wanting to have the eternal state of confusion. He only had one son, but chose to "have" me as well.

How could a man go over 15 years, knowing he was not my father, holding, hugging, kissing my forehead, teaching me to drive, teaching me about boys, standing proud at my graduations, and cheering at some of my extra curricular activities?

 

How could he not acknowledge there maybe siblings that his adopted daughter has, not giving her the opportunity to possible know them, denying her a meeting and future visits?

 

How could my adopter father sleep every night feeling like nothing is missing from my life that he didn't create and then not allow me to decide if I want to have a relationship with the birth family?

These examples of fathers are both one in the same. Each have told stories to their children and to themselves. One told stories by way of denial of existence of me to his family and the other told stories by way of denial of existence of my birth family to me.

Two men, one tale!