The secrets hidden in our DNA

Early in my childhood I felt like I did not belong. Something was different. At the age of 9 I started to question things. Why don't I look like anyone in our family? Did they look like me when I was a baby? How about mannerisms? My younger sister on the other hand looked like everyone. She had my fathers eyes and my mothers hair. When I looked at my grandparents, she looked like them too.

Sometimes I resembled my mother, but I never looked like my grandparents and other than having brown eyes, I did not look like my father. My questions turned into a tongue in cheek joke. When I was feeling like an outsider, I would say that I hoped one day my real parents would come and collect me.

When I started middle school, right after my 12th birthday, I made new friends. My best friend was adopted. Her siblings were all adopted. Even they looked more alike than I looked like my family. That is when I said to my mom, "I wish I was adopted, I would know that I was wanted and belonged." This did not go over well. My mother insisted that she wanted me, otherwise I would not be there.

Soon after, my parents decided that I should see a psychologist. Maybe he'd be able to fix me. Fix me, I wasn't broken. For almost a 2 years, I visited Dr. Plotkin weekly. It is crazy that I remember his name. I cannot remember teachers I had in high school or college, but I remember this man for my early teen years.

Several things came out of my visits with Dr. Plotkin. First, my IQ was tested. Then a battery of ink blots and other testing models used in the 70's were practiced. We met, we talked, I thought it was a complete waste of time but liked having someone listen to me.

Then one day my parents were called in and I was asked to leave. Sitting in the waiting room listening to the white noise meant to cancel the sound from the office where they were meeting, I could not hear a thing. Even with my ear to the door, nothing, no sound.

I sat there biting my nails like usual, waiting. The door opened, "Shari, will you please join us?" I heard Dr. Plotkin say. I stood up and walked in to join them. Mom and Dad were in chairs and Dr. Plotkin sat behind his desk. He never sat there when it was just the two of us. Oh boy, now I am going to get it, I remember thinking.

Boy was I wrong! I didn't get it at all. Instead, I listened to the Dr. tell my parents that I did not need to keep coming to him. There was nothing wrong with me at all. He went on to say that any problems I was having had to do with my IQ and that my parents needed to learn how to work with me better. That was the end of that!

It was years before my IQ was shared. I did not understand everything about that experience, but I learned not to question my identity. I was not adopted and my imagination was just overactive. Okay, subject dropped.

Birthday's passed and as I got older, the differences became more noticeable. I really did not look like anyone. I was a little bit like my mother, I had dark skin, but nothing like my father. My younger sister was fair & treated differently, not just by my father, but by my grandparents too. I just thought they liked her better.

After college, I got married and had my first child. She was and is my mini-me. No doubt who her parents are. Then my son, Josh was born. He too looked like us. He looked more like his father because of his coloring, but definitely our son. When my third child was born, he looked like both of my other children, and its obvious they are siblings.

Let's cut to the chase and fast forward to 2015. It's February and my mother is in Orlando, FL visiting me. We are sitting in a booth at a restaurant, & just finished our breakfast before I was to take her to the airport. My mother all of a sudden did not look well. "Are you ok," I asked.

She said, "I have something I want to share with you. I wanted to share it all weekend, it just never seemed right." My heart skipped a beat. I asked if she was dying or had a bad illness. My sister had died only months before and I was prepared for about anything.

No, "I am fine," she said. "This has to do with you." Me, I was thinking. Oh boy this ought to be a whopper. What came out of her mouth next shocked me. I tried to stay calm, but I could feel anger welling up. I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms as she talked. "There's a chance your father may not be your father," as I heard those words I sat there still digging my nails into my palms, stunned and in disbelief.

"Is this a joke," I asked, "because it is not funny!" So I sat there and listened. My mom went on to tell me a story about a period in time when she and my father were on a relationship break. It is not my place to share her story, so I won't. What I will share is that my mom found herself pregnant with me.

She told my father. He knew that I might not be his. I immediately called him from my cell phone to verify this crazy story. It couldn't be true. Why wait a lifetime to come clean. All those years of not fitting in, sending me to a shrink. This has got to be a nightmare.

Nope, my father confirmed. I asked my dad if he would take a DNA test. He told me that he'd already registered his DNA with 23 & Me and to go ahead and submit mine for analysis. They'd decided to get married and the only people that knew where... Are you ready for this? All 4 of my grandparents knew, my sister knew, and my stepfather knew. I could not hold my anger in. I lost it.

So I dropped my mother off and went home to order the DNA test. It arrived days later, I spit in the tube, sealed it, mailed it off and waited. The six weeks it took waiting for the results are still a blur. I spent most of the time convincing myself that I could not have known as a child. The DNA will come back and everything will be as it has been my entire life.

Then the day came, the results were in. I logged in, and was excited, I had matches to my DNA. There it was, I sat there staring at the screen. There was a whole list of folks I was related too. They rank the connections by percentage of DNA shared.

My closest contact was a man I had never heard of. His name was David R. We shared 25% of the same DNA. Nobody else was even close. The next closest match was .0125, what does this all mean?

Acting on complete pilot mode, I wanted to verify that there had been a mistake. Nope, no mistake. The other relatives on my fathers side of the family that also had their DNA match on 23 & me were not to be found anywhere in my list.

Settling down, but still on autopilot, I messaged David R. I asked if he knew how we were related. He responded and told me that he did not know his mothers side of the family and maybe that was it. Knowing better, I asked questions about his father and was able to learn that he had indeed gone to the same college my mother attended.

BINGO, he's my half-brother, and his father is my genetic father. People search their whole lives for their genetic relations and here I found mine day one! Then, silence. David ghosted me. I was devastated. I fell into a deep depression.

My whole life had been a sham. Who am I? What is real? What have I missed? Geez, I have a brother. Maybe there are others, and the search began.

After a long 2 years, I found my biological father. He is a well known Professor in Austin, TX. He's taught social work and authored many books used for teaching. He has 2 sisters, is married, and has 3 children. His oldest is a girl, and the other 2 are boys. Just like me. His middle son and mine even share the same name, Josh.

It is amazing how much I look like my biological father and my brother Josh. Maybe one day I will get to know them. Time is running out, he's already in his 70's. He wants nothing to do with me. He's even asked his sister, who is also an LCSW, not to communicate with me.

He created me, yet he's chosen to blame me. I do not want a father, I have one. I do not want another family, I have one. I have enough love and compassion to invite others into my circle. Maybe none of us will have anything in common and we all go our separate ways. Maybe we like each other and have something in common. Everyone can use a friend.

To all the broken hearts out there, I know exactly how you feel.

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