No Matter What, I'm Part of the Story

Lisa Blinn? Hello! This is XXXX XXXXXXX, I received your letter and would like to first ask you a couple of questions so that we can be sure we are both talking about the same event, ok?

The warm voice on the end of the line was eager, persistent, and very excited as we asked each other questions that only the other might have the answer for. I asked him how many siblings he had (one that died, my brother, he answered) and how that brother died (leukemia, God bless him, we always thought he had gotten it because he had radiation to clear up acne earlier in his teenage years). He asked me what time & date I was born and if I knew the name of the case worker that had placed me through Catholic Charities. After only a couple of minutes, it was abundantly clear that I had found the person that had been identified to me as my alleged birth father, the man who had been interviewed by Catholic Charities case workers and psychologists, the man who held me in the hospital when I was born, and I was to find out, the man who had worried about me most of my life unbeknowst to me.

The man I was talking to on the phone had held me in the hospital. He had missed me and worried about me and thought about me throughout the years.

He is gregarious, talkative, excitable, a born story-teller. He told me of life in Cuba, of his early years in the states, his first wife, his four children with her, his many love affairs with many women (they couldn't help being attracted to me, he boasted, I was a good-looking devil back then, not that I'm bad-looking now, you understand), and most importantly, how he had met, seduced, and lived with my birth mother.

She worked in a bank and that bank sponsored the tournament that we met at, he told me. She was a volunteer for the tourney. She didn't know I was married, of course, and I didn't let on about that for many months because she didn't need to know. Oh, she was mad when she found out, but by then she was very pregnant with you.

The picture he painted, even from his own perspective, was a man very self-involved and promiscuous, heart-breaking for the women in his life, and unreliable on all accounts. On the other hand, he was charming, smooth, funny and fascinating to listen to. At one point, as he was telling me about his home in Cuba, he broke into the song Guantanamera and I was fully under his spell. His accent is similar in tone and cadence to a famous man also from Caney, Desi Arnez, and I was struck by his ability to be both self-deprecating and self-aggrandizing in almost the same sentence.

I don't want to hurt your feelings, but I must ask you a question, he said suddenly. Would you mind having a DNA test to establish paternity?

Since I have always been quite doubtful of the idea that my biological father was a dark-haired, dark-skinned, dark-eyed man from Cuba, of course, I was fully in agreement that this was an excellent idea & unknown to him, one I would have suggested even if he hadn't.

Two hours went by, mostly consumed by him telling me long stories about his life in Cuba, in New York in 50s, 60s, and early 70s, and his life now. While we talked (or I listened), I ordered our paternity test online from Genetrack, a lab that many other adoptees had used and had the kits slated for delivery to me the following day. Before we finished our conversation, I was able to explain the DNA collection process to him in detail (mouth swabs) and we planned to talk again when he received his kit in the mail.

As we were winding up the conversation, he pushed to reassure me that no matter what happened with the DNA test, he would help me find my mother. You may not know who the father is, but there is never a question about the mother, he confided, and I know who and where your mother is. No matter what, I'm a part of your story. I held you when you were born, I've worried about you all your life and I owe you my help. If I have anything to say about it, you will meet your mother.

We both cried and laughed a great deal in those two hours. It was better than I could have imagined. He was open to me and was delighted that I had found him. He would help me find my birth mother. I had actually found the man I set out to find. What more could I ask for?