The Story of ‘Papa’ Dan
By: Kayla Bloom
Tags: Dads, Healing, Beyourself, Family, Godfather

They Say Family Isn’t Always Blood

The Story of ‘Papa’ Dan

I was adopted at age 6.

My biological mother was a heavy drug user & part time prostitute.

Trailer life in the projects of Phoenix Arizona with my 3 siblings and our mother’s abusive boyfriend (& friends), produced an atmosphere ripe for a mountain of early childhood trauma.

At age 3, after escaping to Alaska in a U-Haul without car seats, came the swift, shocking transfer to the ill-equipped early 90’s version of the foster system. We were tossed around in odd configurations of foster families. Sometimes with a sibling or two, other times alone.

After only a few months of being fostered by a 5th family, I was asked if I’d like to be adopted by them.

I learned years later that the State of Alaska, who was at max capacity with abandoned children at the time, gently convinced this set of parents to adopt me before I turned 7, when the chances of a family choosing to adopt you statistically, sharply declines.

I was told that ‘conversation’ went something like-

“Its down to you guys; it’s your decision but… if she isn’t a good fit for you, she’ll probably float around the foster system until she’s 18.”

NO PRESSURE.

My eager new ‘family’ came fully equipped with zero of my siblings, a closet pedophile for a father and a mother with a rare genetic disease called Turners Syndrome.

This made her very unstable and very immature; I intellectually surpassed her around age 9. She was unable to deeply connect, experienced learning disabilities and a significant speech impediment, infertility, a near inability to emotionally regulate, and intense jealousy around the relationship I had with my adoptive dad.

I also never knew my biological father.

What I did have on him was a few pieces of ‘information’ that didn’t get me very far.

Not that I tried that hard to find him. Not in the way that I tried to find my mother, by calling everyone in the Anchorage and Phoenix area phone book with the last name that she’d originally given me.

With what I had though, I did my due diligence… via google, in the 90’s.

That was —

His extremely common first and last name.

He owned a Harley shop somewhere in Oregon.

He had a sister named Brenda.

He had two other kids, a boy and a girl, shortly after I was born at the end of 1989.

Fast forward to the year after I had my first child and I once again felt compelled to put feelers out for any biological family that may or may not have existed at the time.

Enter the ever useful Facebook where, over the years, I’d messaged several people that had the same name as my supposed sperm donor. If ever there was a response, it fell along the lines of “nope sorry but good luck!”

I was slowly losing motivation, and even more slowly coming to terms with the fact that my child probably wouldn’t get to have the experience of grandparents in this lifetime.

Until one night when I decided to search again and came across yet another person with the same name. This time, his location was more promising, and I noticed a motorcycle in one of his profile pictures.

So I messaged him.

But instead of spouting off the whole, “I’m so & so and this and that happened and now I’m looking for bla bla” spiel, I simply wrote —

“Any chance you had a daughter about 30 years ago?”

To my surprise, he wrote back almost immediately.

His response confirmed that he did indeed have a daughter, 26 years ago, who lives in Oregon like he does, and “who might I be?”

I found out later that he’d had a rumor following him throughout his life, about the possibility of having another kid out there somewhere.

I replied with a “hmm, interesting,” and shared with him what I knew, just to lay it all out there in order to get to the disappointment stage of this go-round.

After sharing with Dan that, as far as I knew, my mystery dad had two other kids very shortly after me, I mentioned the bit about his association with Harley Davidson but I kept it vague, just in case things got weird.

I felt prone to ‘weirdness’ when it came to older men.

I wrote —

“I was told he might like motorcycles and have a sister named Brenda.”

To which he responded —

“Two outa three ain’t bad kid…”

“…but anyone who looks at my Facebook page would know I own a Harley shop in Oregon.”

This is when I began to slowly allow myself to enter into a state of shock.. because I hadn’t mentioned a Harley shop, but there it was!

I told him that because we weren’t friends on Facebook, I wasn’t able to see anything on his Facebook page beside his profile picture, and “did he seriously own a Harley shop?!”

We compared timelines, and everything lined up perfectly.

Except for the fact that he did not have a sister named Brenda.

He did, however, have two kids. The first one, his son, was born only 9 months after me on 7–7–90. My birthday, for the record, is 11–11–89, and yes I sure do find those numbers interesting.

He then told me, about his son, that “..his mothers name is, hold on to your hat, Brenda!”

My mouth actually fell open. Eyes as wide as could be.

NOW it felt real! How could that be a coincidence?

This had to at least be who my mother THOUGHT was my father, right?

Oddly opposing emotions flooded my body in that moment.

I wanted to close my computer and run away, AND jump up and down with excitement, while simultaneously feeling frozen. There I sat in a confusing ball of fear, joy, disbelief, grief, hope, doubt, gratitude, and so much more.

I was all over the place, internally.

After 28 years of feeling like I had no real family, I thought I’d found my biological father.

We shared bits of our life stories, became Facebook friends and chatted back and forth for several hours that night. Conversation with him felt easy, and the banter flowed well between us. He seemed like such a genuine, salt of the earth kind of guy, and we connected unexpectedly well.

At the end of that evening, I asked if he might be open to a paternity test. He said it wasn’t the first time he’d taken one, that he was on board, and we’d chat more the next day.

Wow.

After all of this, I was basically floating around with my heart racing, trying to find things to do around my apartment to keep me grounded.

I didn’t want to get ahead of myself before we knew more.

I stepped outside to get some fresh air and to tell my fiance, who was watching a meteor shower, what had happened.

As much as I LOVE meteor showers, I didn’t expect to see any shooting stars that night because I was a tiny bit distracted, there was a good amount of cloud cover, and the meteor count for this shower was expected to be pretty low overall.

After coming down from my emotional high, I looked up at the small black patch of sky above me where I was standing on our back deck, for just a few seconds, soaking in gratitude, and I remember thinking, asking-

“If this is something.. even if its not him… can I have a sign that this is something good, something nourishing, and worth pursuing?’’

And of course, per my request to the universe, in the EXACT moment that I finished my thought, I saw a meteor shoot in and then back out of our atmosphere. Which instantly brought me to tears, because I’m a big woo-woo baby who believes wholeheartedly in synchronicities and ‘coincidences.’

:)

Still gives me goosebumps to think about.

Dan and I talked on the phone several times, and exchanged messages about our lives in the weeks leading up to the results of the paternity test. We both had no doubt in our minds, it just felt right. It had to be true.

There was hope in our hearts.

We even talked about how his elderly mother was still living in Alaska, where I live, where he used to live a lifetime ago.. and how much she would enjoy meeting my son, if it turned out that we were indeed related. He told me how she used to run a daycare, and I was thrilled about that because I’d worked with kids for years.

Dan also just so HAPPENS to have the same birthday as my son.

Regardless of these compelling synchronicities, the paternity test came back negative.

I was fucking crushed.

I couldn’t even believe it, we were both so sure.

I’ll never forget the phone call that I received from Dan that day.

I was house sitting with my tiny toddler, taking care of two giant kitties, enjoying a change of scenery. Grateful to just be chatting with him, as it always felt easy. He told me how he was riding his Harley down to Arizona that week with his church group, and at the end before he had to get going, he let me know that he had gotten back the results of our DNA tests.

My heart basically stopped and a massive smile spread across my face… until he told me that the results read something like ‘zero probability’ or ‘not possible.’

I have no idea which words were exchanged after that, other than a “WHAT?” falling out of my mouth.

I think he said something like, “I know.”

As I started to process this information, I unintentionally burst into tears.

Deep, hard to breathe, core wound sadness.

I tried to respond more tactfully, like I wasn’t as deeply effected by this news, but the lump in my throat was being waffled around by the tears blasting their way up through my being and I felt so embarrassed that I apologized.

When I finally got a few actual words out, I told him I didn’t expect to have this kind of reaction, nor did I expect those results!

He was empathetic and clearly shared my disappointment. He also needed to get going on his mission trip and reiterated that he wanted to call me beforehand to let me know the results, as he’d be out of cell service area for a bit.

So I mourned the loss of a potential father figure and cursed the universe for letting me go through this uniquely heart shattering experience. One that I imagine hurt more than the pain of not having a father in the first place.

I fully expected that Dan had let go of all of this, and gotten back to his own life, as I didn’t hear from him again for a while.

Fast forward a few weeks to my 29th birthday, where I received the sweetest letter I’ve ever read in my entire life. From Dan, of course, who we know at this point is not my biological father.

In this letter-

He began with beautiful birthday wishes, and then wrote —

“First, I wanted to tell you that I too felt great disappointment when I read the test results ruling out paternity, we connected so well that it seemed to be a sure thing.”

He shared with me that he spent some time reviewing our communications to date, and that it occurred to him, that “although we have never met face-to-face, we share a surprisingly intimate kinship despite nearly unimaginable circumstances.”

He wrote —

“What a time we live in when years and miles can be melted away with an almost random message, much as a note in a bottle cast into a vast ocean, what are the chances?”

Along with —

“Although I cannot fill the empty space where your real father is supposed to be, I can give you this perspective on your search: don’t put too much value on your ancestry,” and later continues with, “you CAN shake off disappointments of the past like water off a duck’s back; never let what was keep you from what can be.”

He says, “Regardless of our upbringing, we hold the keys to success in our belief of our own capabilities; these do not necessarily come from our parents, they come from our experiences, what we know.”

He goes on to say —

“Though I don’t know you very well, I can tell you are an amazing young woman, a wonderful mother, a caring partner to your man. There isn’t anything you cannot attain if you follow your heart, and yours is indeed a strong one. Never let others define you, thus squelching who you truly are. Only you can decide who you are, what you are, and what you really want in life. Then, go after it. Claim it. It’s yours.”

Then, completely turning me into a puddle, he says —

“I envy your biological father, wherever he may be. I would have been proud to say ‘this is my beloved daughter.’ Should you find him, examine him closely, I pray you find him worthy. I hope that he is able and willing to fill the void in your life. But if you find him wanting, don’t hesitate to close this chapter unfinished, you already have all you need.”

The last part of Dan’s letter that I will forever cherish, along with a Marlon Brando joke, said this —

“In closing, I would like to offer my services as your godfather, should the need arise. And if there’s no one else when the time comes, it would be my honor to stand with you and symbolically give you away to your husband, on your wedding day!”

YOU WIN, UNIVERSE. Take all of my happy tears.

Since this chapter, Papa Dan and I have been able to get together a few times in person, and to this day, I talk to him more than any other parental figure in my life. He also sends my son Highlights Magazines, and calls me ‘mija’ (which means daughter in Spanish) and I love him to pieces.

..to be continued ❤