
Late last week, I edited a two-part story by Amy Taxin that, at its core, is about the very definition of family ties.
Since both days (read PART 1 and PART 2 here) are available on line, I can spill the beans: In the course of trying to get U.S. citizenship, a young woman learned that she isn’t biologically related to either of the people she’s grown up calling “Mom” and “Dad.”
What makes the story rise above the ho-hum undisclosed adoption tale is that Mom and Dad didn’t know this either.
That’s right. Mom went into an Equadoran hospital 20-some years ago, had a kid, came home with a kid and, with Dad, raised that kid. Then, a few years ago a DNA test (and, later, a re-test) told Mom, Dad and kid that they’re as related, biologically, as strangers sharing a cab.
What’s cool about the story is how much this family, now in Fullerton, has been un-changed by it all.
Sure, the young woman wouldn’t mind knowing who gave birth to her. And, yeah, the mom would like to meet the child she actually gave birth to. But, when asked, both women hug and cry and say that they’re as connected to each other as ever, DNA notwithstanding.
And Dad…
Dad is an interesting character. He says, without question, that this daughter is his favorite kid. (There’s probably a blog item or two thousand on the idea of declaring a “favorite” kid, but this one isn’t it.) He likes her strong opinions and her general disposition.
And he’s willing to spend his last dime sorting out the whole “mess.”
For me, it all raises a question:
What mess?
I don’t think I’d get too sweaty about biology if this happened at my house. But, hey, it didn’t happen at my house. (And it won’t. If you saw my kids and saw me, you’d realize the only possible non-biological connection at home involves their mother, not me. … And that’s weird.)
Whatever. Here’s my question to others out there:
How big a deal is your biological connection to your kids?
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