Tag Archives: Bio dad

I met Stephanie, my sister and a blood relative, for the first time in New York City.

Meeting My Blood Relatives For the First Time

I was a bundle of nerves as I drove to JFK to meet my sister, Stephanie, and niece, Rachel, for the first time. We made plans to spend three days together several months ago and while I felt good about these people, they nevertheless were strangers, unknown blood relatives that I found through DNA testing.

Late Discovery Adoptee’s Search Ends

I’m a late discovery adoptee, born in the 1960s when adoptions were kept secret from the children who were adopted. I didn’t know Stephanie existed until 2017 when I hit a breakthrough in my search for my biological father. Stephanie and I have the same father, Steve, who is deceased, and different mothers.

I wanted this first meeting with Stephanie and Rachel to be perfect. Irrationally, I worried that they would find the accommodations at my home inadequate even though the twin beds in my finished basement are comfortable with a bathroom nearby. Everything that could possibly go wrong crossed my mind. What if my nervous beagle, Lainie, bites them, what if they don’t connect with my husband, Tom, or our son, Jake, or worst of all, what if the three of us run out of things to talk about?

But I had a feeling we’d hit it off. Stephanie and I had discussed personal things on the phone, exchanged text messages and liked each other’s posts on Facebook. Rachel and I also had friendly conversations via Facebook. We all seem to prefer digital communication.

DNA Test Helps Adoptee Find Bio Father’s Kin

Stephanie and I found each other after I’d nearly given up searching for my biological father. My cousin, Shannon, a genealogist, pushed me back into active search mode. After reviewing my DNA matches on Ancestry, she encouraged me to reach out to my matches named Green. I contacted a match named Janis, who is my first cousin once removed, and she encouraged me to look up her grandmother’s tree in Ancestry’s database. After poring over that one and other trees and jotting down notes on a spreadsheet, I focused on Steve. I thought he’s either my father or my uncle. His obituary, which I found online, listed Stephanie as his daughter and fortunately for me, Stephanie has an uncommon surname. I found her on LinkedIn and luckily, her profile includes her work email address.

In my first email, I told her we were related somehow, possibly first cousins. I never raised the possibility that we could be sisters. In an email the next day, Stephanie, told me she knew she had a half-sibling and, based on the circumstances of my birth, location and my birth date, Stephanie believed we could be sisters. Looking at photos of each other, we saw an uncanny resemblance. Tom saw it, too.

“You have the same eyes,” he remarked.

Now I know where my blue eyes came from. In a photo she sent me of Steve, I saw a young man with light-colored eyes, like mine, looking tentative in his Navy uniform. The way he gazed at the camera, with one eye looking a little off, reminded me of the way my eyes looked in photos. In my son, I saw a resemblance to Steve.

Having found my blog, Stephanie knew about my long and frustrating effort to find the parents who brought me into the world.

“My heart immediately went out to you,” Stephanie wrote in an email. “You’ve been searching for your biological father for so long.  If it is Steve and we are sisters, it could be life changing for both of us.”

Though she’s not adopted, Stephanie understood where I was coming from with my questions and desire to know my father’s identity. In my experience, it’s unusual for people who are not adopted to understand what drives adult adoptees to search for their blood relatives.

Stephanie took Family Tree DNA’s Family Finder test and, after what seemed like an eternity, the results confirmed what we had suspected. On the phone that evening, I was struck by her openness to this new relationship. I bombarded her with questions about Steve and she was forthcoming with family anecdotes and more photos.

In JFK’s baggage claims area, I glanced at the travelers and didn’t see my sister and niece. Minutes later, I stepped out of the restroom and there they were near a baggage carrel. Stephanie turned in my direction and let out a little shriek when she saw me.

Adoptee Meets New Sister and Niece

We’d all been waiting for this moment, ever since Stephanie booked the flights months earlier. Stephanie and I hugged, Rachel and I hugged and I felt my eyes tear up.

“I’m seeing double,” Rachel said, glancing at the two of us.

Stephanie and I like to keep our thick hair smooth and straight. We have big light colored eyes (my sister’s are green and mine are blue), round faces and similar smiles.

In the car, we talked so much so that I missed the exit, adding a few minutes to the drive home to Brooklyn.

“What’s your favorite food?” Stephanie inquired.

“Greek,” I said.

Stephanie loves Mediterranean food, too and like me, wants to visit Greece someday.

Finding a Kindred Spirit

The first time I talked to Stephanie on the phone, I felt like I’d found a kindred spirit.

Stephanie was friendly, interested in my search and open to the possibility of having a new sister. She grew up in the northern suburbs of Chicago while I grew up 35 miles away in the Gage Park neighborhood of Chicago. We both saw marital combat up close, raised by parents who bickered. Maybe that’s why as adults we avoid conflict.

Our father, Steve, was a talented auto mechanic, the youngest of several children who grew up in rural Arkansas. He was an agnostic like me and an introvert. At Thanksgiving dinner at the home of one of his sisters, Steve left after just a couple of hours. He didn’t enjoy chitchat.

Stephanie describes herself as an introvert and while I like talking to people, I tend to be introverted. When I’m alone, I feel comfortable, creative, able to think clearly and come up with ideas.

Stephanie and I have similar political views. We voted for the same candidate for president in 2016.

After lunch at my home, we walked to Seventh Avenue and turned north. It’s sunny and mild, a perfect day to walk and talk about our likes and dislikes. We turned around at Grand Army Plaza and headed back to Windsor Terrace where we ordered pizza for dinner. Tired from their traveling, Stephanie and Rachel turned in early.

On Monday morning, the three of us took the subway to Midtown where we soaked up the natural beauty in Central Park, checked out the skaters at Rockefeller Center and took lots of photos.

I met Stephanie, my sister and a blood relative, for the first time in New York City.
Stephanie and I have the same dad, Steve, my biological father.
My niece, Rachel, is a college student.
My niece, Rachel, is a college student who plans to teach.

For lunch, Stephanie and I noshed on salads while Rachel enjoyed truffle fries and asparagas at Anassa Taverna across from Bloomingdale’s. After lunch, we admired the beauty and architecture at St. Patrick’s Cathedral. By the time we had walked south to Times Square, it was time to take the crowded F train back to my neighborhood.

Stephanie and I were well into our 30s before we had our children. We love White Castle hamburgers, NYDJ jeans and shopping. We both followed the adventures of Carrie Bradshaw and her friends on “Sex and the City.”

On Tuesday, the three of us took the F train to Dumbo and walked up a flight of stairs to the Brooklyn Bridge. It’s a glorious and windy walk to lower Manhattan. On Broadway in Soho. Stephanie was thrilled to find her favorite store, White House Black Market. At Uniqlo, she and I fell for the same lightweight quilted down vest, a beige one for Stephanie and an off-white one for me.

Blood Relatives Bond

That evening, our last one together, we joined Tom, Jake, and my mother-in-law, Helene, for dinner around the kitchen table. It felt comfortable and cozy. I made meatballs in marinara sauce that morning so all I had to do was warm it up, boil water for pasta and make a salad. My sous chef, Jake, served the sauce over spaghetti. The conversation and the red wine flowed.

I put myself out there when I started this search. I know adoptees who searched for years only to be rebuffed by the blood relatives they worked so hard to find. Adoptee rejection is common. So far, I’ve been fortunate not to have experienced the pain of adoptee rejection.

My other half-sister, Michelle welcomed me the first time we talked on the phone. Michelle and I had the same mother, Lillian. When we met for the first time in Galveston, Texas in 2015, we were nervous wrecks. Michelle was smoking and pacing outside her home as I drove up. Within minutes, though, the anxiety passed and Michelle and her daughter, Chrissy, spent a lovely afternoon getting to know one another. Michelle and I have stayed in touch since that first meeting.

I didn’t know what to expect from this first meeting with Stephanie and Rachel but our three days together felt easy and comfortable. We’re strangers no more. I consider it a gift to be related to these awesome women who welcomed me with open hearts and minds.

What’s in a Name?

I am preoccupied with names. As an adoptee of course, I wonder what my name would have been if I had been raised by both of my natural parents.

I could have been a Winter had I grown up with Lillian and her husband as parents. Winter sounds kind of elegant, less common than Miller and not a name you associate with beer. (My high school geometry teacher used to greet me by saying “It’s Miller time.” That’s all I remember about geometry.)

Winter wasn’t my natural father. I think bio dad was some other guy, a nameless, faceless fellow who may remain a mystery to me forever.

Every time I log into my Family Tree DNA account, I look for new names among my living cousins and their ancestors. My bio father’s surname is in here somewhere but how to find it? Could he be a Smith, a Jones or a Wilson? Those are the top three surnames among my DNA matches.

Is my bio dad's name here?
Is my bio dad’s name here?

One of my new cousins contacted me recently. She comes from a family with many Millers and wanted to know about me. Bob Miller was my father but he adopted me so we don’t have any biological connection, at least not one I know about.

I have at least eight Millers among my DNA matches. If everyone explored their ancestry long enough, wouldn’t we all find at least a handful of Millers in the family? Seems likely. But wouldn’t it be funny if I found out there actually was a bio connection between me and Bob?

Either way, I like having a name that’s easy to say and spell. Miller reminds me of my wonderful father, the dad who drove me to school, played tennis with me and helped me learn to drive. Miller sounds friendlier and more approachable than Winter, don’t you think? Winter reminds me of Rebecca de Winter from the 1940 Hitchcock movie, Rebecca. The late Mrs. de Winter was beautiful and glamorous but more than a touch cold.

New Cousins

I took a DNA test to find blood relatives who might know my biological father’s identity.

me and my DNA
Me and my DNA

I am an adoptee on a mission. I’ve written about the mystery man before, the father who really wasn’t a father to me. I don’t need (or want) to meet bio dad. In fact, the thought of meeting him actually scares me. But I would like some answers. What’s his name, what did he do for a living, does he have a family, do I have other brothers and sisters? How did he meet Lillian, my birth mother? I wonder if he and I look anything alike. Photos along withfacts would be great.

I’ve talked to a handful of people who were close to Lillian, hoping they would know who my father was but nobody knows (or they’re not saying). Finding my bio dad is like locating an available New York taxi in a downpour. Still, I am giving it my best shot.

Well, I got my DNA test results and I am a little disappointed. None of the more than 600 matches are close relatives. There are no siblings or half siblings. I have cousins, hundreds of cousins, but they’re not exactly kissing cousins if you know what I mean. There’s not a single first cousin on my list of matches. The closest relatives are second cousins and many are even more distant on the family tree.

I knew a DNA test was a long shot. Taking the test was quick and painless.  Interpreting the results is time consuming and hard.

Using Family Tree DNA’s chromosome browser feature,  I try to separate the cousins on my maternal side from those on my father’s side. I have emailed a few of my DNA matches to introduce myself and delicately inquire about the nature of our relationship. I don’t use the “A” word (adopted) unless I know I’m talking to another adoptee. As my fellow adoptees know, that word makes some people nervous.

Three of my cousins got back to me and wouldn’t you know? They’re all from Lillian’s side of the family. Two are genealogy buffs. Shannon and I have exchanged several friendly emails. She’s shared many interesting stories about how our Irish ancestors scraped by and filled me in on the diseases that run in our family. That’s  valuable information. I like Shannon and hope we meet in person some day.

In a few hours, Sharon managed to put together a family tree for me. How did she do it so quickly? I was awed by her skill. Thanks to Shannon and Sharon, I know quite a bit about my ancestors on Lillian’s side of the family.

I shared the family tree with another cousin, Duane, who used it to create a tree of his own. Duane and I have gotten friendly. We’re both adopted, close in age and on similar missions. Duane and I are seeking answers to questions about our birth parents.

Two cousins never responded to my emails. I believe they are from my father’s side of the family. Wouldn’t you know?

I thought about calling one of them. He is a few years younger than me and looks friendly enough on his Facebook page. Most important, this guy is one of my closest DNA matches, and he has taken a Y-DNA test. Perhaps he knows who my father is. Maybe he is also adopted? Since he hasn’t responded to emails, would he be more receptive to a phone call?

For adoptees who have taken DNA tests, what would you do in my situation?  Have you called any of your matches directly? Is it taboo to call a match who doesn’t respond to emails?

I feel discouraged. I am no closer to answering the big question hanging over me: Who is my father.

This is hard work. I need encouragement so I am re-reading Richard Hill’s excellent book, “Finding Family”  for motivation and tips. An adoptee, Hill used DNA tests and old-fashioned detective work to learn the identity of his father.

I take comfort knowing it took Hill many years to dig up the truth. That could be my future, too.  I have a lot of spade work ahead of me.

Who’s Your Daddy?

I will always think of Bob Miller as my real dad.

He did not pass his genes on to me but so what? Bob did all the things good fathers are supposed to do. He read stories to me before bedtime. He played tennis with me. He drove me and my sister, Melissa, to the piano teacher’s house for lessons. (He never covered his ears when we practiced.)

Me and Dad in Virginia Beach 1998
That’s me with Dad in Virginia Beach in 1998

When the fourth grade bully jumped on my back and knocked me down, Dad chased Maureen, grabbed her by the collar and hauled her into the principal’s office.

When I was in eighth grade, my parents wanted to get me into a high school in a better neighborhood. Dad talked to the principal. Tell the school your daughter wants to study cosmetology, the principal advised. Well what do you know? My make-believe interest in hair styling got me into a newer high school in a safer neighborhood on Chicago’s southwest side. Way to go, Bob, and good tip from Mr. Mulcahey.

Born in 1910, Bob Miller grew up in a big family – he had something like 10 brothers and sisters. They lived in Menominee, a tiny town in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. “God’s country,” was how he described the area.

Bob moved south, lived in a boardinghouse when he was young and single and worked as a linotype operator. My mother, Claire, accused him of having that “boardinghouse reach” whenever he helped himself to seconds at dinner. Dad could really eat, especially dessert. For a man with a hearty appetite, Bob was always slender, skinny actually. I used to think I inherited his appetite and metabolism. When I was a girl, I could pack the food away and never gain an ounce. I also have slender fingers which I used to think I got from my father.

claire, bob and bobby
My parents, Bob and Claire, with their son, Bobby, in the 1940s

Bob was an unrefined gentleman. He cursed freely but the words didn’t mean much. He would have been a better dad if he had stood up to Claire occasionally. He always deferred to our high-strung, self-centered mother.

The last time I saw my father, he was flat on his back on a hospital bed. Even though he was dying, Bob gave me a smile when I said good-bye.

Bob Miller was not my biological father but I didn’t know that when he passed away in 1999, less than a year after Claire died. My loving but secretive parents never told Melissa and me we were adopted. We never found a single document related to our adoptions.  One of our cousins told us the truth in 2002.

My biological dad is “not legally known,” as the birth certificate puts it. That makes me some man’s love child. He’s a mystery to me whoever he is. As I wrote earlier, my bio dad liked to play golf but that’s all I know about him. He may know even less about me.

Do you know who your dad is? What do you think of him?

Counting on DNA

Recently I wrote about hitting a dead end in my search for bio dad and other blood relatives. Well, the dead ends continue. Last week I learned one of my birth mother’s closest friends is deceased.

Nobody said searching for biological family would be fun. In my situation, I’ve learned many relatives and other potentially good sources are no longer alive. It’s depressing and frustrating.

I’m not ready to throw in the towel yet. I’ve read about DNA tests and how they can help adoptees track down relatives. The cost of these tests has also come down in recent years. I asked for recommendations and ended up- spending $104 for Family Tree DNA’s Family Finder test kit. This particular test can help men and women find biological relatives on both their mother’s and father’s sides within the last five generations.

dna test kit
Courtesy of Family Tree DNA

The help desk at Family Tree DNA told me the Family Finder autosomal DNA test is the only option for women interested in finding out about their father’s side of the family. Autosomal DNA is the only type of DNA inherited by women from their dads. It’s actually a mix of genetic material from both the mother and the father.

Of course, the test has its limits. I will only be matched up with family members who have also taken the test and the relatives I find are more likely to be cousins than brothers or sisters. My DNA will be compared to other people’s DNA in the company’s database, which holds more than 650,000 records. The test is painless. I will submit samples of my DNA taken from the inside of my cheek. No needles, thank you!

Maybe I’ll hook up with bio dad’s nieces and nephews and maybe they’ll fill in some blanks for me. Maybe they’ll slam the door in my face. Either way, I’ll be happy to come away with new information about my roots.

The test results will also shed light on my nationality, something I’ve wondered about ever since I found out I was adopted. The results will provide a breakdown of my ethnic makeup by percent. That’s pretty cool.

According to the New  York Times, a growing number of adopted adults are taking DNA tests in the hope of connecting with family. Have you used a DNA test to find family? What was your experience like?