A Family Secret

I am not a child. At least not chronologically. I was born during the JFK administration. You do the math. And, just recently, I found out that I am not the person I thought I was my entire life. You see, I found out that the man listed on my Birth Certificate may not actually be my father.

This discovery came about during an investigation into a different family mystery. I had grown my entire childhood under the impression that I had only one surviving grandparent, my Me mere. It wasn't until two years ago I learned her husband, my pep ere, didn't pass until I was six.

Six was a strange year for me. It was the first time I met my father. I'll call him "E" in this blog. It was the last time I saw the man who was around our house while I was growing up. I'll call him "F". My Mom brought me to my Me mere's house, where my dad lived. My six year-old brain couldn't grasp this concept. Anyhow, I digress.

Upon the discovery that Pep ere was alive until I was six, I wondered why I wasn't allowed to know him. By this time, everyone I could think of to ask was gone...except my older brother. And he wasn't saying. Fast forward.

It was during a conversation with another relative I had not seen in a long time that I was told the reason I was never introduced to my pep ere. He would have told me that "E', his son, was not my father. My father was "F".

I was stunned. So was the relative. They were under the impression I had known already. This gave me many questions to answer.

I did some research on the internet. "F" had passed away in 2006. 76 Years-old...the same age as my mom when she passed. "F" had two daughters...whoa! I have two half-sisters? And then it hit me...my big brother is just my half-brother! I was overwhelmed at this thought. You see, in my eyes my big brother (13 years older) was my father figure. He was the one who bought me my first glove. He was the one who bought me my first ten-speed bike. He was the one who took me deep-sea fishing. He took me everywhere, and treated me like gold. I've always said I hit the brother Jackpot with him. And now I find he might only be my half-brother? I had an OMG moment....did he KNOW?

I finally got the nerve to ask him. He said he didn't know anything about it. He asked me what I thought. I said its "E"'s name on my birth certificate. I'll go with that. Then a couple days ago I found an old picture of "F". It is more than obvious that "F" was my dad, not "E". I started thinking about things that might change because of this knowledge. There are many questions:

• Did my brother really know?
• Did "F"'s daughters know about me?
• Why didn't my mom ever tell me the truth?
• Did "F" have medical history I should know about?
• What nationality am I?
• Are my sisters alive?
• If so, where are they?
• Would they want to meet me?

Then I asked myself one last question.

Does this change my relationship with my big brother?

One of my Facebook friends posted a picture. The timing couldn't have been better.

"Family is not about blood. It's about who is willing to hold your hand when you need it most." The words struck me like a sledgehammer in my chest. You see, it doesn't matter if "E" or "F" is my father...neither one was there for me at anytime in my life. Sure one of them is my biological dad, but the man who has gone above and beyond the call for over and over again, the man who cheered me on when I performed onstage, who brought to and from the hospitals when I had no one, the man who has always, and I mean ALWAYS been the stabilizing influence in my life, the one person was, and still is, "...willing to hold your hand when you need it most" is my brother. I am tremendously blessed to have him in my life. To have him...in my family.

Take care my friends.