Introduction
This collection of work was written after learning four “truths”.
To begin, let me say that never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I would one day attempt to write poetry or prose. Having it published and subjected to the critique of the literary community—well, that would have just been crazy talk. But life happens. We often get pushed in different directions than the ones we had planned for ourselves. This book is a direct result of being pushed. I was pushed very hard as a result of the disclosure of a deep, dark secret. This secret was safely held tight by one person for over 50 years. Learning the secret devastated me utterly. I continued to put on a happy face every day for my family, friends, and coworkers, but I was in a strange mental state. My mind was swamped by a fusion of abandonment, depression, and disbelief. For a couple of years there was not a day that went by in which I did not think about my origins and drift into this strange blend of emotions. It was by pure accidental luck that I discovered that the act of writing poetry provides a release from this mental state. This book includes many of these writings; my innermost thoughts, spanning from the time of the big secret’s revelation to where I am today. To be honest, I know my life will never be as it was prior to learning this secret, but today I don’t have to put on a happy face. I am happy. I am content. However, I also know I am still recovering from the deep wound to my soul. Only four people on this planet know the big secret; my mother, my brother, my wife and, of course, myself. Holding on to the secret protects many good and innocent people. There is part of me that wants to share the secret with my close friends and relatives; however, the emotional cost would be devastating for too many others who are distantly linked to the secret. Publishing this book is a way of sharing the secret anonymously and hopefully taking another step forward in the restoration of my spirit.
It was a Thursday evening in May of 2019 when I learned that the man I had always thought to be my father was not my biological father; the first “truth”. My brother and I thought DNA testing would be fun and introduce us to distant relatives. Unfortunately, we discovered something that neither of us were prepared to learn. My brother turned out to be my half-brother. At first, I thought it was no big deal. Since we both had the same mother, it was obvious that the parent that we didn’t share was our father. We thought that perhaps my mother had had a brief affair before meeting our father and that I had been conceived from this pre-marriage relationship. Or that perhaps my mother had engaged in an affair after I was born which had resulted in my brother’s birth. Neither of these scenarios really disturbed me so I decided to not dig any deeper. My father had already passed away a few years earlier. I was very happy holding on to the belief I was his son, and his lineage was my lineage. A lineage with a robust history as told to me by grandparents through many family narratives. I was extremely proud of this lineage, which I believed to be essential to my core being. My brother, however, continued to dig into the matter and within a few weeks he discovered my biological father’s name and the names of several of his family members. He informed me that my biological father had passed away a few years earlier but I had half-siblings through him living in a different state. Learning my biological father’s name and the names of my half-siblings was the second “truth”. I tried to move on and not think about these family members that I knew in name only, but curiosity eventually overcame me. Late one night, I contacted one of my half-siblings on social media. One thing led to another, and within a few weeks I decided to make the trip out to meet my half-siblings and several of their relatives. My newfound relatives seemed eager to embrace me; they had no doubts about my relation to them and welcomed me with hugs and a pot-luck dinner. I was pleased to learn that my half-siblings and their relatives were good people. At that time, I thought I would be accepting of my newfound kinfolk; however, I cannot describe the feelings I experienced—a mixture of awkwardness, detachment, and fear. The next day, I called my brother to tell him about my experience. During this conversation, I mentioned that I was grateful that our dad had already passed away because he hadn’t needed to learn that he was not my birth father, as there was no doubt in my mind that he had never been aware of the truth. My brother believed that he could reassure me by telling me the third “truth”. According to him, when I was two years old, our mom and dad experienced some troubles in their marriage and dad decided to leave our mom. He’d packed his belongings and left, taking me with him. My brother told me that he didn’t think our dad would’ve taken me with him if he’d known I wasn’t his biological son—although he was trying to comfort me, the story was painful to hear.
As difficult as the first three “truths” had been to hear, the fourth was the most painful. Along with the other investigations that my brother had undergone, he revealed that he had committed to hounding our mother until she revealed how I came to be. After revealing the third “truth”, he went on to tell me that I had not been conceived as a result of a one-night stand or short-lived affair, but that our mother had explained to him that she had been date-raped by a young man that had driven her home from a Saturday night dance. She had never told anyone about this tragic event, including the man who raised me, my father. Our mother had started dating our father soon after the date-rape incident. A few months into this relationship, she found out she was pregnant, and naturally believed him to be my biological father. It was not until I had submitted myself to DNA testing that she, too, found out the truth. Our mother shared her secret with my brother because she felt she had no choice. Our mother did not expect my brother to tell me the specifics of how I was conceived. I would never have reached out to my biological father’s family if I had known how I was conceived. My half-siblings and their families can never know the truth; and if I have anything to do with it, they never will. They do not deserve to feel the anguish I have experienced since learning the truth. Logically, I understand that it does not really matter who my biological father is. For me, my father will always be the man who raised me with love, kindness, and compassion. Unfortunately, we cannot always force our brains to think logically and forget everything else. The emotional side of ourselves has a way of monopolizing our thoughts and feelings.
I love my brother, and I know he was trying to help. I’m sure he thought that providing me with this knowledge would somehow make me feel better about my circumstances even though he knew that what he had to share would break my heart and forever change my life. Perhaps it helped him. I often feel that lies would have been better than the truth. I still struggle to accept “how” I was conceived. At first, my solution was to focus on the future and look forward rather than backward, but it turns out that I was wrong to narrow my sights. I learned that my focus couldn’t stay solely on the future; that I needed to focus on the good yet to come and the good from the past. Everything else was little more than residual baggage. Life can be good, but we need to focus on the good of every day instead of just the potential good of the future.
I was fortunate enough to learn that writing helps me with my struggles. Who Am I is a collection of poems and prose; a manifestation of the innermost feelings that were spawned from learning my mother’s big secret. The exceptions to this are two works in Part One—titled Impetus. These writings illuminate the beginning of my journey into writing. The remaining poems chronologically follow my journey from initial hurt to where I am at today. The seven poems in Part Two—Discovery—were authored during the time I was at my lowest. This darkness is reflected in the poetry. Part Three—Healing—is made up of 14 pieces which were inspired by my progress healing and rediscovering, or perhaps reinventing, my definition of who I am.
