215: Searching for My Birth Father

One of the more popular topics from past episodes has been the story of Gail Rohde who was adopted as an infant, and her search as an adult for her birth mother. Then several years after finding her, she searched for her birth father - and found him, too. I’ll have links to those episodes at the bottom of the show notes. 

It can be a relational minefield in dealing with the dynamics of adoptees wanting to know where they’ve come from, especially when it’s been hidden from them.

I have a similar story about searching for my birth father that I wrote about in my book, THEM.  Today’s episode is about that search. 

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An invitation from a friend

One day my retired friend Bill told me he was starting to get interested in his family history. He wanted to learn more about where he came from and then pass this information down to his children and grandchildren. To help with this, Bill decided to attend a meeting of the Milwaukee Genealogical Society at the main library downtown. And he wanted to know if I would like to come with him. 

I wanted to know where I came from, too, particularly as it related to my birth father, the man who brought me into this world in a one-night stand with my mother. The man who abandoned us and who made life very difficult for my farm-girl mother from Staples, Minnesota. The man who was having a greater and greater unwelcome influence in my life, though we had never met. Discovering who he was might help me discover who I was.

So with all this in mind, I decided to go with Bill. We went to the first meeting and both of us became hooked on discovering our roots. This was in the early 1990s, before the Internet was widely available. So playing family detective and historian was a bit more challenging than it is today. 

Wondering about my birth father

From the time my mother first told me I was born out of wedlock and later adopted by my father, I wondered a lot about who my biological father was. And a lot about who I was. I always felt different as a kid. I was taller than my siblings, and as a teenager, was much taller than my parents. Maybe the circumstances surrounding my birth explained why I was depressed much of the time growing up. 

“How you came into the world is not how it’s done. You never should have been born” was a feeling that kept repeating itself over and over again in my soul, like a song on a damaged CD that skips because of a scratched track. Maybe if I knew more about my birth father and where I came from, I would be less depressed.

Long before attending the Milwaukee Genealogical Society meetings with Bill, I began the search for the mystery man from my past. One morning, when I was twenty years old and home from college, I sat at the kitchen table of our small house, just with my mother and father, as my brother and sisters were in school. Fighting back my fear of not knowing what would happen next, I summoned all the courage I could muster to continue the conversation my mother started with me ten years earlier.

Picking up a conversation from ten years ago

“Mom, do you remember when I was about ten and you told me Dad was not my natural father? I was wondering whatever happened to my…”

With that, my father quickly jumped up from the table, forcefully cutting me off and pounding his fist on the kitchen table next to his coffee cup, blurting out, “He was a truck driver and was killed in an accident. That’s all we’re ever going to talk about this!”

Something inside told me he was not telling the truth as he stormed out of the room.

For the next twenty years, I wondered about that conversation. Especially around the time of my birthday. I could never enjoy my birthday, for it would once again bring up the “how you came into the world is not how it’s done; you never should have been born” theme from the basement of my heart. It would start a cycle of depression that would last