My Mom Dropped A Shocking Family Secret In My Lap. I Never Looked At My Father The Same Way Again.

My half-brother reached out to see if our donor would like to meet, but he declined. I understood. Our half-sibling group has since grown from three to 10, and there are probably more of us out there. By that point, our biological father was in his 80s, with children and likely grandchildren. I didn’t imagine he wanted the risk of getting to know who-knows-how-many additional progeny. What if we wanted support — emotional or financial? 

I didn’t want anything from him other than an answer to one question: Why did you do it? I wondered if it was it to help couples have children, to feel virile, to make some extra money — I believe sperm donors were paid for their contributions ― or something else.

But I could live with not knowing the answer because it was only thanks to my donor that I was living at all. 

One man was responsible for the beginning of my life, and another for everything that came after. As I got older, I came to see that my father didn’t really look to me to make him happy, the way my mother did. He wanted to take care of me, not the other way around. This was why we were sometimes at odds — we both felt more comfortable giving support than receiving it.  

My mom and I used to joke about “The Father Book of Knowledge,” since he seemed to know everything about anything. But I truly trusted his advice over any doctor or expert. When I went into labor with my son and was terrified, my father drove four hours nonstop to hold my hand. 

In his hands, I felt safe. 

My mother was there for chats about family and friends and the day-to-day stuff of life, but my dad was always the first person I called whenever something went really right — or really wrong.

Where was he when I needed him? Always a phone call away.