By Kellie Schwartz
Many times in our lives we are told things we assume to be true. Some of these are harmless. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy all visited me, and I didn’t feel betrayed or harmed when I found out the truth. I continued these traditions with my children and love that they’ve continued them with my grandchildren.
Sometimes the things we are told simply prove to be less valid over time. In 1988, my eighth-grade pre-algebra teacher didn’t believe he was lying when he said, “You have to learn and memorize all of these algorithms because it’s not like you are always going to carry a calculator everywhere you go.” At that time, he was right. Fast forward 25 years, and we do carry a calculator everywhere we go, and it takes great pictures too! And we even use it to make phone calls and receive text messages. He had no idea what the future had in store. Nevertheless, we don’t have to know everything because… well … Google.
Other times, we’re told falsehoods that have a profound effect on our lives and the lives of others around us.
I was born in 1975 in El Paso, Texas. I went home with my mom and my beloved grandparents, whom I affectionately called Gaga and Papa. My mom married when I was about 18 months old, and although I have no memories of those first months, I vividly recall my life with her and her husband. I called him Dad. They went on to have three more children, two girls and then a boy. I was the oldest and always different in looks and personality. I cried easily, wore my feelings on my sleeve, and was treated differently. Dad was a mean SOB, and I was his favorite target. When I was about six years old, my mom and dad separated again, and then we lived with Gaga and Papa.
Gaga pulled me onto her lap, played with my hair, and rubbed my chin (all the things she did to calm me and show me affection). She then let me know she had something she needed to tell me. I can remember so many things about this moment—the gold crushed velvet chair, the end table with a lamp next to it, a few tears in her eyes, and her hands. One on my back, rubbing softly, and one under my chin so I was looking directly at her. She took a deep breath and said, “Kellie Lynn, I feel like you need to know that Bill is not your real dad. Your mom and he married when you were very young. I love you, and I didn’t think it was fair for your mom to not tell you.” Even at six years old, I felt an incredible sense of relief. Although it would change nothing about my daily home life (my mom went back to Bill soon after this), things made sense. He treated me differently, and badly, because to him, I was different. I wasn’t his. The other revelation that followed was that my mom was not my protector. Maybe she wasn’t capable of it. She didn’t come to my rescue nearly as often as I needed to feel safe and loved.
For the following six years, life was status quo. I thrived at school academically. I was very quiet, read everything I could get my hands on, made great grades, and, thankfully, was a part of a loving church family. My mom left Bill a couple more times, and finally, on their wedding anniversary in 1987, she packed us into a rental car with a couple suitcases and we left. We went back to live with Gaga and Papa, where I felt safe and loved. There were nine people living in a crowded double-wide mobile home, but there was no more screaming, yelling, hitting, or name calling.
The following summer, I reached out to my mom’s older sister, writing to tell her I wanted to contact my real dad. I knew that if anyone would help me, it would be her. I sent the letter on a Tuesday, and on the following Thursday evening the phone rang. Papa always answered the phone, and after a few minutes, he said, “Kellie Lynn, it’s for you.” It was my aunt, Carollyn. She asked if my mom knew I’d sent the letter to her. When I told her she did not, Carollyn said I had to tell her. She added that she and my uncle were going to pick me up over the weekend, and I would meet my dad on Monday. I was terrified. I knew my mom would be angry; I was scared of an in-person meeting with my father and yet a little excited. This was the heyday of the daytime talk-show, and that week several had episodes about people meeting birth parents and it going terribly wrong. Oprah, Donohue, Geraldo, and Sally Jesse did nothing to ease my mind. But there was no turning back. I went with my aunt and uncle, and less than 24 hours later a blond guy walked through the door with flowers, a stuffed dog, and a card. He showed me pictures of my grandparents, great grandparents, and a brother and a sister. I was shy and said very little. He was nervous, too. We ended the evening at Pizza Hut. I remember eating next to nothing and staring at my Dr. Pepper a lot. My mom came to town a few days later and they had a talk. Our relationship grew as best as it can with a teenage girl and a single guy who worked full-time.
My mom moved us to the same town, and the relationship ebbed and flowed. He remarried, I made a few life choices he didn’t agree with, and we ended up with no contact for a few years. He missed my wedding and the births of my first two children. He eventually called and wanted to talk. I agreed, but wouldn’t let him meet my kids quite yet. We went to a local park and he said the words I had always worried he would. “I should have asked your mother for a paternity test.” I was devastated. It had been 15 years since we met at this point and a test seemed like such a moot point. Then he refused to acknowledge that he said it, but I could never unhear those words. They haunted me.
Life continued, and our relationship stayed very cordial, but not close. I didn’t know what to say or what he wanted to know. In 2015, my life took another unexpected turn. My mom was diagnosed with stage 4 triple negative breast cancer. Four months from the date of diagnosis, she was gone, and my life continued to change. I was left with three of my four kids still at home, and my husband and I inherited three additional kids that my mom had adopted from foster care. So we had two 13- year-olds, a 14-year old, two 15-year olds, and an 18-year-old. My house was chaos.
I took a 23andMe test, and when my results came in, I looked at the DNA matches and recognized only one name, but this maternal side would be easy to trace. Gaga had done extensive family research, and the one name was a second cousin once removed on my mom’s side. I closed the app and really never thought about it again. Life continued, and due to other hurdles in our lives, I put this on a back burner. Maybe not even on a burner really, just not even thought about.
In August 2020, I took an Ancestry DNA test. This time I was determined to prove to my dad that he was, without a doubt, my dad. As I looked at my results, I found numerous matches on my maternal side and I worked to try to connect other matches to my dad. The matches not from my mom’s side were further down, and I couldn’t figure it out. But again, life got busy, and I put the results away. In hindsight, I think I realized that something wasn’t quite right, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it.
In November 2021, I couldn’t attend church with my family because I had bronchitis. Thinking I had nothing to lose, I messaged the top nonmaternal match and asked if she had any family living in the El Paso, Texas or Las Cruces, New Mexico areas in 1974. Within a few minutes, she messaged back saying she had grandparents and an aunt and uncle who lived there at that time. The aunt had two kids who then would have been in their early twenties—a son and a daughter. These were my match’s only relatives, so the logical conclusion was that the son was my biological father. I sent another message for more information and soon discovered that the uncle worked for the same company as my grandfather. The pieces started to fit together, but my life felt as if it were falling apart. It was like a puzzle I’d spent my life putting together was suddenly put through a paper shredder and made absolutely no sense. The pieces no longer fit, and I had no one to ask questions. My mom and both my grandparents were gone. My aunt tried to be helpful, and she was supportive, but she was also shocked. My goal of proving myself to my dad had backfired. I’d proved that he had every reason to be suspicious.
Unbeknownst to me or his other daughter, sometime around Christmas 2022, my birth father took an Ancestry DNA test as well, and his results show us as a parent/child match. My goal for the next year is to grow our relationship. I want him to meet my kids and my grandkids and for them to know him as well. I want my new sister to meet her nieces and nephews and for our relationship to become closer. All of this takes time, energy, and willingness to step out of our boxes.
I will never know why my mom made the decisions she made, and I have no idea whether she lied because she thought there was no way we’d ever know or if she simply guessed about my paternity and picked the wrong man. I wish she would have been honest with me, but to say my mom was slightly “truth challenged” is a huge understatement. As hard as it would have been to hear, “I’m just not sure who your dad is,” it would have saved so much heartbreak. Being an NPE (not parent expected) is tough enough; being a double NPE is even harder. Meeting a biological parent you were unaware of profoundly changes you, but I have now done that twice. Or so I thought. Not knowing how to handle a changed family dynamic makes you feel alone and completely misunderstood.
So the next time you choose to withhold the truth, stretch the truth, or just lie by omission, please think of the ramifications of that decision years later. Who will be impacted? What will it do to your relationships? And how will affect another’s memory of you?
Truth is powerful, and at times painful. But without the truth, healing will never be complete.
Kellie Schwartz is a wife to Doug, a mom to Kelsie, Kyle, Cassidy and Caden, and a Lolli to Kendrick, Karston, Caylie and Aubrey. She’s made her home in Eastern New Mexico since 1988. She sews, quilts, crafts, and reads when she’s not working or enjoying time with kids and grandkids. She and her husband enjoy fishing and spending time outdoors. She’s a double NPE. Follow her on Instagram @Kellie.Schwartz.
