Discovery
I am a Late Discovery Adoptee. This is a term I only discovered fairly recently in August of 2019. I was browsing the web, looking for any sort of answer to understand this crazy new discovery about myself. But, yeah, turns out I'm adopted. And I found this out at 34.
Some of you reading this already know me. Some longer than others. For those that either didn't grow up with me and know how I was brought up, or just don't know me at all, let me start at the beginning for you.
I was born to a Cuban mother and an Indian father in February of 1985. It was 10:55 pm, in a hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Well, this is what I was told by my parents.
I had an older sister at the time, and we were a family of 4.
Growing up, I never questioned our parents who I was. They, and by they I mostly mean our mother, shared stories about the day I was born. There was never any question about it.
My older sister and I were and obviously still are brown. My older sister however, has a little lighter complexion. And so, the four of us together look like a biracial family.
As a child, I did feel a little different, but being young and naive, it never really became more than a thought.
As time went on, I remember people questioning my parents about whether I was adopted. Clearly I did not look like our mother. But to me, I mostly looked like my father, because that's what I was always told. And that typically was the response given to those that asked, “His father is from India and he takes more after him.” And, the funny thing is, I’ve always thought that I looked like a lot of my cousins on my father’s side.
11 years after I was “born”, our mother got pregnant. It was a surprise to our parents. I remember my mother going to the hospital to confirm she was pregnant. I remember picking up our father afterwards from work and my mother telling him she was indeed pregnant. His reaction was one of surprise and shock. The first words out of his mouth were, “But how? How is it possible?”
At the time, we didn't think much of my father's reaction. But the fact that my mother was pregnant just made it feel more real that yes, she was pregnant with me as well.
In my teenage years, I do recall more friends being curious about the fact that I did not look anything like my mother or sisters. They too could kind of see the resemblance with my father. But it got to a point that eventually it became a running joke between my older sister and I. We would introduce ourselves and say that I was the adopted one. Heck, even my mother would have a laugh about it. She would even joke that my nose came from the milkman.
I remember many moments as a child thinking why I was so different. Why nobody in my family understood me. Like, neither my mother or father could relate to me and the thoughts I had. It all definitely makes sense now.
But how did I get here to this discovery? It's simple really. I took a DNA test. Earlier this year, my father-in-law took one and was able to locate a half brother. My wife then took one just for fun. Shortly after, I decided to take one too.
How cool would it have been to see all the different countries show up in my results. India, Spain, and wherever else in Europe that made up my mother's side.
So I sent in my spit to AncestryDNA, and it was received on May 24th, 2019. 15 days later on June 8th I received the notification that my results were ready. It was a Saturday. I remember laying on the bed with my youngest next to me. Getting ready to put her down for a nap. I called out to my wife before opening the app on my phone for the results. Together, with her by my side, I opened up the app to view my genetic results.
My results revealed to me that I was 100% Eastern Indian. Not a single percent of Spanish in me. Or anywhere in Europe. I was shocked. I don’t think I really knew what to do in the moment. Or how to feel. What to think. I was speechless, however, in that moment, it was as though everything I knew about myself shattered. Everything I believed I was, was false.
In the 48 hours to follow, a million scenarios ran through my head regarding my biological mother and father. I shared the results with my parents seeking an explanation for such pure Indian descent. My parents surprisingly (not surprisingly) denied the validity of the DNA results.
It took another test from a different company (23andme), for my parents to finally acknowledge this discovery. It took a hell of a lot more to finally get them to admit that yes, I was indeed adopted.
I want to say now, I have no issues with being adopted. I think adoption can be a beautiful thing, when done right. Because as beautiful as it is, it is also complicated and messy.
The more I think about all the little things now, the more it angers me. How stupid was I to believe the lies. For 34 years. I look back at all my memories growing up, pondering every moment, and keep thinking, is that the one where I should have seen it. Where I should have questioned it. That I was not theirs. But the fact is, I believed them. They always had an answer ready.
I hold no ill will towards my parents. I guess I just feel indifferent now. They made a decision, albeit a wrong one in my opinion. Everything I have read today has said the best thing to do is to let the truth of adoption be known. From what I know today, my adoptive mother has always wanted to keep this a secret. My adoptive father wanted to tell us when the time was right. Whatever their reasoning may be, I just want the truth to what is rightfully mine.
Of course I am angry, and hurt by their actions. And yes, before you even think about it, I am grateful to have been loved and raised to the best that they could. But at the same time, I was deceived. So I can only be grateful to them as the people that raised me.
I want to end this here, for now, because there’s still a lot left in me that I could write down. I hope that my story can help out someone else that is in the same situation. Reading and learning of other late discovery adoptees has been incredibly helpful to me. Help put words to a lot of the emotions and things I didn’t know how to describe at first. So if I can help someone else, that works for me. Feel free to reach as well if need be.
So to my friends and family members that grew up with me that read this, just know that I’m still in a small way the person you knew. However, this discovery has and will continue to change me immensely.
*Since writing this post, I have met with both my parents. The thoughts I have shared here, are prior to this meeting, and I am leaving them here unedited. Because it is indeed how I felt in those moments. I will make a future post about my meeting with them, but all in all, it went as well as it could be. It was definitely not all sunshine and rainbows.
Some of you reading this already know me. Some longer than others. For those that either didn't grow up with me and know how I was brought up, or just don't know me at all, let me start at the beginning for you.
I was born to a Cuban mother and an Indian father in February of 1985. It was 10:55 pm, in a hospital in Tulsa, Oklahoma. Well, this is what I was told by my parents.
I had an older sister at the time, and we were a family of 4.
Growing up, I never questioned our parents who I was. They, and by they I mostly mean our mother, shared stories about the day I was born. There was never any question about it.
My older sister and I were and obviously still are brown. My older sister however, has a little lighter complexion. And so, the four of us together look like a biracial family.
As a child, I did feel a little different, but being young and naive, it never really became more than a thought.
As time went on, I remember people questioning my parents about whether I was adopted. Clearly I did not look like our mother. But to me, I mostly looked like my father, because that's what I was always told. And that typically was the response given to those that asked, “His father is from India and he takes more after him.” And, the funny thing is, I’ve always thought that I looked like a lot of my cousins on my father’s side.
11 years after I was “born”, our mother got pregnant. It was a surprise to our parents. I remember my mother going to the hospital to confirm she was pregnant. I remember picking up our father afterwards from work and my mother telling him she was indeed pregnant. His reaction was one of surprise and shock. The first words out of his mouth were, “But how? How is it possible?”
At the time, we didn't think much of my father's reaction. But the fact that my mother was pregnant just made it feel more real that yes, she was pregnant with me as well.
In my teenage years, I do recall more friends being curious about the fact that I did not look anything like my mother or sisters. They too could kind of see the resemblance with my father. But it got to a point that eventually it became a running joke between my older sister and I. We would introduce ourselves and say that I was the adopted one. Heck, even my mother would have a laugh about it. She would even joke that my nose came from the milkman.
I remember many moments as a child thinking why I was so different. Why nobody in my family understood me. Like, neither my mother or father could relate to me and the thoughts I had. It all definitely makes sense now.
But how did I get here to this discovery? It's simple really. I took a DNA test. Earlier this year, my father-in-law took one and was able to locate a half brother. My wife then took one just for fun. Shortly after, I decided to take one too.
How cool would it have been to see all the different countries show up in my results. India, Spain, and wherever else in Europe that made up my mother's side.
So I sent in my spit to AncestryDNA, and it was received on May 24th, 2019. 15 days later on June 8th I received the notification that my results were ready. It was a Saturday. I remember laying on the bed with my youngest next to me. Getting ready to put her down for a nap. I called out to my wife before opening the app on my phone for the results. Together, with her by my side, I opened up the app to view my genetic results.
My results revealed to me that I was 100% Eastern Indian. Not a single percent of Spanish in me. Or anywhere in Europe. I was shocked. I don’t think I really knew what to do in the moment. Or how to feel. What to think. I was speechless, however, in that moment, it was as though everything I knew about myself shattered. Everything I believed I was, was false.
In the 48 hours to follow, a million scenarios ran through my head regarding my biological mother and father. I shared the results with my parents seeking an explanation for such pure Indian descent. My parents surprisingly (not surprisingly) denied the validity of the DNA results.
It took another test from a different company (23andme), for my parents to finally acknowledge this discovery. It took a hell of a lot more to finally get them to admit that yes, I was indeed adopted.
I want to say now, I have no issues with being adopted. I think adoption can be a beautiful thing, when done right. Because as beautiful as it is, it is also complicated and messy.
The more I think about all the little things now, the more it angers me. How stupid was I to believe the lies. For 34 years. I look back at all my memories growing up, pondering every moment, and keep thinking, is that the one where I should have seen it. Where I should have questioned it. That I was not theirs. But the fact is, I believed them. They always had an answer ready.
I hold no ill will towards my parents. I guess I just feel indifferent now. They made a decision, albeit a wrong one in my opinion. Everything I have read today has said the best thing to do is to let the truth of adoption be known. From what I know today, my adoptive mother has always wanted to keep this a secret. My adoptive father wanted to tell us when the time was right. Whatever their reasoning may be, I just want the truth to what is rightfully mine.
Of course I am angry, and hurt by their actions. And yes, before you even think about it, I am grateful to have been loved and raised to the best that they could. But at the same time, I was deceived. So I can only be grateful to them as the people that raised me.
I want to end this here, for now, because there’s still a lot left in me that I could write down. I hope that my story can help out someone else that is in the same situation. Reading and learning of other late discovery adoptees has been incredibly helpful to me. Help put words to a lot of the emotions and things I didn’t know how to describe at first. So if I can help someone else, that works for me. Feel free to reach as well if need be.
So to my friends and family members that grew up with me that read this, just know that I’m still in a small way the person you knew. However, this discovery has and will continue to change me immensely.
*Since writing this post, I have met with both my parents. The thoughts I have shared here, are prior to this meeting, and I am leaving them here unedited. Because it is indeed how I felt in those moments. I will make a future post about my meeting with them, but all in all, it went as well as it could be. It was definitely not all sunshine and rainbows.
