Father Figure: My Journey to Find My Biological Father
Until two years ago, I had no doubt about the identity of my biological parents. None. Of course, my mother is clearly my mother. We look a lot alike, and she raised the five of us as a single parent. The man I believed to be my biological father denied paternity of all of us, which is patently untrue and which I rejected out of hand as a desire to shirk financial responsibility.
Just over two years ago, at the recommendation of a cousin, I decided to test my DNA through Ancestry.com. I thought it would be fun if not especially illuminating. I was eager to see where specifically from Africa my ancestors might have originated, whether I have any Native American ancestry (a quite common interest, I think!), and where else, including Europe, I might have ancestral ties.
Suffice it to say, the results kind of rocked my world. Turns out the man I had believed for over 50 years to be my father pretty clearly is not. It has been unsettling and difficult news to accept and wrap my head around. And neither he nor my mother is alive to answer any questions. So, for the past two years, in fits and starts (because this is a lot!), I have attempted to figure out exactly who my biological father is. I did some investigation, called a few relatives, asked a lot of questions, but did not make a lot of progress. Through Ancestry.com and 23andMe, I did identify many new relatives, but almost all on my mother’s side. Until this week.
On Monday, November 8, Debra Steidel Wall, a friend and colleague of my dear high-school friend, Sam Anthony, who had helped him identify his biological parents before he died in August, wrote to me with her latest findings. Sam had introduced us, and Deb had agreed to help me. Deb is an amateur genealogist — an extremely effective one (I have posted before the recent New York Times article about Sam that discusses her great work) — in her spare time. She had been able to identify my paternal great-great grandparents but unable to get any closer or identify my biological father. Ancestry work is harder with Black folks — there are fewer records, and limited mobility caused a lot of intermarriage and intermingling. Deb was just about to hit the send button on an email letting me know that she had not made significant further progress when she decided she would check my Ancestry results one last time to see if there was any helpful recent activity. There was.
When Deb identified and asked about the name attached to the latest activity, I recognized it right away. It is a very unique name and belongs to the son of a friend I have known for over 30 years. He appeared as my closest relative on Ancestry, behind my sisters, Fay and Merriette. I know now that he is my nephew. That was really all the evidence I needed to confirm the one suspicion I had as to the identity of my biological father.
It turns out the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. My biological father is also a lawyer and racial justice advocate and is someone I know well: Peter Grear, an attorney in my hometown, Wilmington, NC. In fact, Peter gave me my first legal job — I worked two college summers in his law office, where I met his other son, Tony Grear, who also worked there. Tony and I hit it off right away and over the years have developed profound respect, admiration and affection for each other. I love my siblings, but if I have to have another one, I couldn’t ask for a better one than Tony. We — Peter and I and Tony and I — have a very strong foundation on which to build our familial relationship.
Peter did not know he is my father until yesterday. He, like my mom, and most others, believed the other guy was my father. (Well, except the other guy.) But he is delighted by the news: “Who wouldn’t be proud to be your father?” We are all delighted. Everything makes far better sense now, including why I am the way I am (ha!) and care about the things I care about so passionately. I have never had a real father figure in my life — in fact, I have never called anyone “dad” before — so I expect it will take some getting used to. The great news is that we are all up to the challenge.
Oh, for those who believe in divine intervention, Tony’s son, my nephew, is named Trinity.
