For years I had no idea the man I grew up calling "Dad" was not my biological father. It wasn't until about 12 years after he passed away and I was almost 30 years old that my mom told me the truth--or at least a very small portion of the truth.
I still have no idea who my biological father is, how they met, what became of him, or even what his name is--she refused to tell me. I do know that the only man I knew and believed to be my father adopted me a few years after they were married in 1964. They made a promise to each other never to divulge what happened in the past--especially to me.
But now, I made a conscious decision to discover who I am genetically and who my biological ancestors are. And, it's not just "about me". Now that my children are adults, they have a right to know, too. So here goes. I'm taking my Ancestry DNA package to the post office today and hopefully in 6-8 weeks I will begin my journey.
I do have one fear--and that is hurting someone or possibly even an entire family that has no idea that I'm alive and that I'm looking for answers. For the record, I'm not looking for a new "dad", but I can't deny some emotional need, pull, or whatever you call it, inside myself that's looking for a connection to my ancestors.
