When I was a little girl, I enjoyed a typical life. My parents had divorced before I was born, but that never really bothered me. It was great having two birthdays and having different perks of being at each house, but when I was eight years old my father suddenly passed away from a heart attack. It was incredibly tragic for me, my siblings, and my mother, but I was so young that I didn’t fully understand what was going on. Eventually, my family and I had no choice but to keep going, so we moved to a full house instead of the apartment my mom had before, and we adjusted to this different way of living.

Skip ahead seven years; I was fifteen years old, and it was a beautiful summer day. My mother invited me to go to a popular spot in my hometown to take a walk with our dog. I accepted eagerly. Once we finished the walk, my mother turned to me. To keep a long story short, she told me that my deceased father and I were not biologically related. I thought she was joking, but she showed me pictures of the man who was actually my father. He had been trying to contact me for years, but my mom always intercepted his messages. I felt so many emotions: hurt, betrayal, anger, denial, sadness. At that moment, I couldn’t get any words out, and it was like my mind was in a whole different universe. All I did was stare out the window; it was like my brain shut down and suddenly I felt dizzy and couldn’t think properly. After an incredibly awkward drive home, I went to my room and lay there for hours, unable to think. When I finally processed everything, I didn’t want this to be my life. I hated the knowledge that my siblings were only half siblings. It was humiliating knowing that I was the odd one out, the only one with a different father. I wished this weren’t my life, and I wished my mom hadn’t kept this from me for so long.

After a few months of holding in my feelings, I got into a nasty fight with my mother. Something in me urged me to reach out to my biological father. It might have been spite or fear of having no parental figure, but that argument inspired me to text my father. My sister already knew my dad, so she gave me his number and I texted him, absolutely terrified of what he might say. Eventually he responded with a heartfelt message. It was incredibly odd for me, and it was the most unnatural feeling I have ever felt. However, over time I grew more comfortable, and I learned more about my roots and family. I have so many other siblings, cousins, aunts, and uncles that I had not known about for my whole life.

Our first and only meeting happened over winter break. He came over to my house one evening, and I didn’t know he was coming until he walked in. My whole family already knew him as a good family friend, but since I was much younger, I was essentially meeting him for the first time. He was quite pleasant and surprisingly funny. He was different than I imagined, and I got along well with him. The whole night I caught him staring at me in such a loving way. He had waited fifteen years to meet me, and I could tell that he was nervous. I was, too, of course. It felt bittersweet. It’s unfair that he never had the chance to watch me grow up, and I lived my first fifteen years in ignorance. Our relationship is still developing to date, and we have a long way to go, but slowly it’s becoming more natural. Steadily I am coming to accept my new life.

© Joey. All rights reserved. If you are interested in quoting this story, contact the national team and we can put you in touch with the author’s teacher.