My NPE Story

By Kelly Vela

I was born September 14, 1956, the third daughter to my mom and dad.

My parents were married in 1947 when my mother became pregnant with my sister. They moved to Los Angeles County and in 1951 they had another daughter who  was born with a hole in her heart and only lived for 9 months. Her death sent my mother into a depression which she couldn’t seem to kick.

I was never close to relatives or my dad. My sister was 9 years older than I, so we weren’t very close, even as we got older. I never felt a bond with my dad or my sister, but I never had any reason to think my dad was not my dad.

When I was about 6 years old, my mom became friends with a man next door. She would spend weekends with him and visit him during the week at his home. This affair went on until my parents divorced after 17 years. My parents had been married for 32 years. My dad, who was a functioning alcoholic, never knew about the affair.

I was 23 went they split and my mother moved in with the neighbor.

My sister sided with my dad, with whom she was close, and I sided with my mom, who always treated me special. My sister developed a strained relationship with our mother. They didn’t get along at all and fought since my sister was in her teens. I was the very quiet kid who never got into trouble. I just developed an eating disorder.

I didn’t marry until I was 37, probably because I saw the dysfunction in our family. By that time, my sister was on her third marriage, my mom married the neighbor, and my dad married a woman I never knew. He stayed married to her until he passed away in 1997. My mother stayed married to the neighbor until she passed away in November 2021.

So mom and dad are gone, and my sister and I do not speak at all, even though we live two miles from each other.

It is just me and husband, happy enjoying life, no more drama.

In January 2022, we decided to spit in a cup and see exactly what our nationality and ancestry is—how much English and how much Spanish. When the results came back in February, I was super excited, curious to see what I am. I’d heard rumors we were related to the Prince of Wales.

I saw the relatives on my mom’s side of the family, but none on   my dad’s side. I contacted my cousins on his side and ask if they saw me in their tree. They didn’t. And my sister appeared as a half sibling.

I couldn’t understand how this could happen. I didn’t know DNA could screw up. I spent months checking my DNA relatives every day on 23&Me and Ancestry; I knew somebody was going to show sooner or later.  I noticed that I had some Greek heritage, but my cousins had none.

I’m not the brightest bulb in the box, and by June I was still trying to figure out where everybody was. I was ready to hire a genealogist to help me.

My husband and I were on vacation in June, but I was still searching on both DNA sites. I started opening trees that belonged to relatives I’d never heard of and looked at their pictures.  I started seeing a pattern. I came across one photo from about 1944, a man in his military uniform. The photo was labeled “Johnny.”  I stared at the black and white photo, and  the hairs on my arms stood up. I had no idea who this man was but I could see myself in him.

I snagged the picture and put it next to a picture of me. I sent it to my cousins and asked if they thought  the man and I look alike. “Yes, they said. “who is this?” I had no idea.

I continued to research the new name and history. I wanted to reach out to these people but was too afraid to try.  I changed the family names on my bio to include theirs and boom! I got a message the next day. I showed up on their DNA connections, and they wanted to know who I was.

According to the DNA sites, I was chatting with my first cousin. As she explained who the people in the tree were, I blurted out that I thought Johnny is my father. After a few more emails, they agreed.

When I was growing up, my mom mentioned that she had had a boyfriend named Johnny. I never knew his last name or during what time frame they dated. Maybe she was dating Johnny and my dad at the same time? She might have become pregnant with my sister and had to marry my dad. Or maybe she met him later when she worked at Bank of America, where he and his wife banked. Maybe out of depression she reached out to Johnny after my middle sister died.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that she had numerous opportunities to tell me and she never did. She took this secret to her grave.

This explains why I never felt that bond with my birth certificate father or my half-sister. Maybe this was why she treated me special and maybe why my sister was jealous of me.

My Greek family and I met over lunch. They brought me family photos and gave me Johnny’s retired police badge. They had taken the time to make and share a CD of his funeral and memorial.  He passed away in 2009.

They told me I look and speak like him, and if he had known about me, he would have reached out.

So even though I never would have suspected my birth certificate dad was not my father, I felt there was somebody out there. A big brother is what I’d been hoping for. Someone to protect me.  Instead I had a father who was a police officer. That falls into the protective category!

In June, when we were on vacation, before I knew anything concrete, my husband and I were kayaking in the Ionian Sea off Sicily, across the water from the  Ionian Islands in Greece. I felt a pull to be in that water. It was a big deal to touch it. Now I know why.

My husband is Spanish and Indigenous. His son from a previous marriage is Spanish/Indigenous and African American and has daughter born four years who is African American, Spanish, and Irish. And they named her Athena, as in the Greek goddess.

I believe things come to you at the right time.

I’m 66 and have only been on this journey for four months. It’s overwhelming to have your world turned upside down in one click of a mouse. I’ve been through a wide range of emotions—  mad at my mother for never telling me.  She’d been adopted when she was three years old and found all of her family when she was 40.  She should have understood what would mean to me.

I was happy to know I looked like my biological dad, but then had to grieve his passing and the fact that I never knew him.

I’ve been so frustrated, sad, angry, and happy all at the same time. I’ve cried and yelled at mom’s picture.

Friends and family don’t really understand the full effect this can have on someone. I have a one friend and my husband who are supportive.

I have my art that I pour myself into. I joined NPE groups and listen to all the podcasts. Hearing all the others’ stories helps me know that what I’m experiencing is normal.

 We are on this journey together, and there is strength in numbers.

Kelly Vela is a retired photographer, woodworker, and watercolor artist.  She lives California with her husband, 1 dog, and five cats. She and her husband spend their free time traveling and wine tasting on their Victorian front porch. You can reach her at gkvela1@yahoo.com.