No answers in sight

My daddy is the man who raised me. I know who he is. His name is Carl.

My biological father is the man who created me. I know who he is. His name is Harry.

Carl and Harry knew each other. Socialized together. Vacationed together. Spent holidays with their families together. 

Two very different men with two very different roles. I terribly wish I could speak with both of them, but to have very different conversations. 

If I had just 10 minutes with each man...

I'd simply hold my daddy's sweet hand, put my head on his strong shoulder, close my eyes, and just breath. Words would not be necessary. 

I'd ask my father one critical question:  Did you know about me? 

A few years ago, I learned via DNA that my mother had an affair with a man she worked for in the late 1950s. I knew this man. And his wife. And their son. They were close friends of my parents. When they retired to a sunny tropical place, we visited numerous times. I remember these folks very fondly. 

I've also discovered that my daddy was likely sterile. Possibly from war wounds, or possibly from his exposure to toxic chemicals in the drinking water at Camp Lejeune during his military service. That's a whole situation.  

So was daddy's likely inability to make a baby what spurred my mother's relationship with my father? Deliberately, so they could have a family? Or was it just a passionate moment that took an unexpected turn? Was it an ongoing relationship? Did his wife know? Did my daddy know? Shoot, I'll never know. But I speculate on this quite a lot.

I never would have pegged this man to be my father. Once DNA convinced me Carl was not my bio father, I started searching for him. I had a mental list of potential candidates. This man was not on my list. So when I saw his name, it hit me like a ton of bricks. 

Memories of time spent with both couples only add to my long list of questions.  Someone recently asked me "does it really matter"?  Well, yes. And no. 

Since I learned of this situation, I've done quite a lot of research on the biological family. Some living bio family members weren't thrilled about this. Offended even. Others didn't seem to care. A few have been very kind and supportive. The research allows me to feel like I knew these folks who were my family. I've even found some things about them that made me feel pride. And sadness. Even found a few scandals. No different from most families.

I will wrangle with this the rest of my life. Not in a bad way. I don't wring my hands, or have any negative emotions toward anyone over it. But I do have questions. Lots of questions. It changed everything. It changed nothing.

The real issue is what to do with the unknown. I'll admit that I even have a little geeky fun digging for answers. 

I'm still processing, even though it has now been years since I made the discovery. Good thing I'm a genealogist. I know which rocks to look under.

Who's your daddy?

Reading through a pile of Facebook posts past year or so, I see that many who received a DNA surprise express a lot of anger toward their mothers for "lying to me all these years". I've never experienced any anger toward my mom for not telling me the truth. Of course, she's deceased so I can't ask questions on the "why" but she loved me unconditionally and so did the man who raised me. I was lucky to have such giving and loving parents, no matter whose DNA created me.

I have to wonder if the anger gets in the way of truly processing the facts and accepting the reality. After all, our parents - if they did indeed intentionally lie to us - likely did it out of fear and love. Fear they would lose someone's love (a spouse or a child) and the love they felt toward the 'lil DNA surprise.

It just proves to me that our parents are in fact *human*. They made mistakes. They had sex. Sometimes with people they shouldn't have. They didn't tell the entire truth. They were infallible. Just like every other human on the earth. Just like us.

Now, that doesn't mean I just throw my hands up and completely accept the situation. Oh, no. I'm curious. I have questions that will never have answers and sometimes that makes me angry. I have moments of shame, even. Just shades of it, after all I'm not the one who made the mistake although I've made plenty of my own, just of a different flavor.

I'm sometimes sad that I don't really carry the blood of the wonderful man who raised me, cause who wouldn't be proud to be his child? He served his country for many years, he always put his family first. He loved his God. He was the finest man I've ever known. He loved to hold my hand. He was proud of me. I do sometimes wish he was "mine", but the fact that he didn't create me during a few moments of intimacy really doesn't mean a thing. Not a thing.

I know who my daddy is and it's not the man my mom had a momentary fling with. It's the fellow who thought I hung the moon. The feeling was mutual.

Forgiveness and Secret Burdens

I don’t often surprise myself, but my willingness to be open and forthcoming about my DNA discovery has surprised me. Oh I’ve hesitated a time or two, when I feel my story is painting my mother in a poor light.

After all, it makes her look like a promiscuous woman who had a torrid affair and shamed my father, not to mention the child borne of that affair.

But it’s not like that at all. Not at all. My mother was a real hoot. She was adventurous, generous, kind, and forgiving. She was not without her issues, as we all are, but it can absolutely be said that she was a GOOD woman. A lovely person on many levels.

Mom was a very complex person. She was drop dead gorgeous and I suspect she often used her beauty to manipulate men.  I don’t believe she ever understood this about herself.  Later in life, she developed health issues that are often the result of bad habits like a lifetime of heavy smoking and drinking.  She was always somewhere between being proud of the life she built and feeling disappointed about the life she didn’t live. I get that; I’ve experienced the same emotion.

Daddy wasn’t nearly as complicated as mom. He was a proud and simple man. All he ever wanted was a better life than the one he was born into on the wrong side of the tracks in Raleigh, NC. And he was willing to work hard for that better life. He was shining proof that hard work pays off. He is my hero in so many ways. I wish I was more like him, though maybe I’m more like him than I appreciate.  I sure hope so. I want to be the best of both parents – I want to live my life in a way that represents the very best they had to give.

I’ll never know the real story behind my mom’s relationship with my biological father. I do

know the two families were close and remained close long after my birth. My current theory is that daddy was sterile due to his war injuries. Mom and dad had been married 8 years when I was born and had no children after me. Perhaps Harry was a means to an end…the only way for them to have a child? Perhaps the relationship had nothing to do with torrid affairs and clandestine meetings in cheap motels. Maybe everyone knew the score.

I consider it both a blessing and a curse that there is no one left for me to ask. I’ll never really know the truth. There is some sense of loss in that, but there is also an understanding that being an adult is complicated. Life is complicated.

Indeed.

Just to be perfectly clear...

In the days since DNA led me to discover my true biological father, I've experienced many different emotions. Mostly, I've just felt so sad that Carl Stancil wasn't my biological father.  In the larger scheme of life, it really doesn't matter who my bio father may be. What matters is who raised me to be the woman I am today. And that man was Carl Donald Stancil - the finest man I've ever known.

I've written a great deal about him on this blog. He was so proud to be an American, a Christian, and my father. He was kind, compassionate, loving, patient, and so very sweet. I wish I could hold his hand one more time. Just for a minute.

So while I'm off exploring my biological family, I'll never forget who raised me. I'm the luckiest girl on earth.



Carl Donald Stancil
 1930-1997

Perseverance + serendipity = Success

I found my biological father. 

I feel both grateful and guilty – at the same time. Grateful to my friends who encouraged me to dig and helped me analyze data but guilty that I found him so quickly when others have searched for years.

Were it not for DNA testing, I would have never known my father was not my biological father. I would have been blissfully ignorant the rest of my life, chasing dead Stancil family members until the cows came home never knowing I was pouring my soul into finding people who not my blood relatives. Would that have been a terrible thing? Not really. However...

Were it not for DNA testing, I would have never found my biological father. I would have never known my own truth.

DNA testing can be a blessing and a curse. As they say, don't ask the question if you can't take the answer.

One day. On a whim. Because it was on sale. Because all my friends were doing it. Because I was curious about my ethnicity. Because I wanted to expand my research skills. Because I wanted to know more about my family. Because it seemed like innocent fun…I took a DNA test.

It changed everything.

It changed nothing.

How I found my biological father in 10 easy steps:

1. First, tested with AncestryDNA. Results = 40% Ashkenazi Jewish ancestry. Whaaatttt? Not what I expected. Nah, not possible.  
2. Next, tested with FamilyTreeDNA. Results = 43% Ashkenazi Jewish ancestry. Umm...there are no Jews in my ancestry. What’s going on here?  
3. Then, tested with 23andMe. Results = 47.7% Ashkenazi Jewish ancestry. Uh Oh. Oh gosh. No. Could it be? Oh goodness.
4.  The unthinkable hit me: one or both of my parents may not be a biological parent. Seriously?!? I stared at my results in disbelief. Went to that night bed dazed and confused. The obsession set in. 
5. Attended DNA workshops, joined a DNA Special Interest Group, read DNA how-to books at night until I couldn’t hold my eyes open, bugged my knowledgeable friends endlessly. Saints they are, my friends. 
6. Sent many many many emails to my matches; most total strangers. Got 1 or 2 responses.
7. Discovered one 1^st cousin match and one 2^nd cousin match online. Focused on those.  Like a laser, I did.  
8. Couldn’t make contact with either until I found the 2^nd cousin’s address via a Google search (i.e. Internet Stalking).  Mailed him an old-fashioned letter. The kind you put in an envelope and drop in a metal box.    
9. A week later, he called and gave me names to research.  The entire family were German and Russian Jews.  My 2^nd cousin handed me the key to the truth. God bless him. 
10. Created a family tree based on those names. Lo and behold…staring at the 1940 census for Lenoir County, NC…I knew I’d found my man. A family friend from my childhood. I knew him well. Apparently, so did my mother.

All the pieces fell into place. Certain things now make perfect sense. A fellow named Harry, for whom my mother worked in the late 1950s, a family friend (and his wife) we visited often even after they retired to Florida in the mid-1960s. 

I still have lots of questions and loads to process. But even if I never get those answers, I’ve answered the most important question of all. I feel more peaceful today that I have in the weeks since learning of my “situation”. I can breathe without strategizing the next step in my search.

I have always been very proud of the fact that my roots run deep in North Carolina. Thankfully, Harry continues that tradition; he was born and grew up one county over from mine. Whew. I coulda been half New Yorker or something. Close call!

Is closure in sight? Not really. Probably not ever. The upside is 1) I have an answer, 2) I have a new family to research, and 3) I understand my mother just a little bit better now. All good things. 

More questions than answers

Clyde the Bulldog

How it is that I got one answer but it led me to about 1000 new questions? Is that crazy?


I received news of my mom's blood type. The news is bad. She doesn't match.

Mom = O+
Dad = O-
Potential Baby = O

Uh oh. 

Carla = A+

It's not possible for two O parents to produce an A child. Unless they're mutants, which they aren't. This means one or both of my parents are not my biological parents. Now, everyone keeps reminding me what an awesome childhood I had, so what does it matter, blah, blah, blah.

Seriously?

Yes, I had a great childhood and as I keep saying, I will love my parents until the end of time.

But.

Can you imagine what it might be like to discover in mid-life that the one constant you would have forever is now a mystery? 

I've lived a great life, but like all lives it's not been without it's bumps. All the usual stuff, such as crazy teenagers, divorce, cancer. Now this. Now I discover my parents are UNKNOWN. 

I don't come from the type of people who have unknown parents. But...guess what? I do!

One of the following 4 things will become my new constant:

1) NPE. Non-parental event. (Is that a cold term for the matter or what?)
2) Adoption (birth certificate faked, family member got in the "family way", etc)
3) Switched at birth (these words still make my head spin)
4) Sperm donor. Really? In 1959?

So I'm seriously chasing the DNA matches to see where they lead me. One in particular is intriguing...a FIRST cousin. Problem is he has a fairly common name but heck he is a FIRST cousin AND is of Jewish descent. So I'm bugging total strangers to help me with a mystery that isn't even theirs.

Just call me the "BULLDOG". Cause that's what I'm gonna be until I get some answers!

Anticipation

Oh gosh, the A-N-T-I-C-I-P-A-T-I-O-N is just killin' me.

I've been anxiously (and impatiently) waiting for my mom's medical records to show up in the mail. I ordered them from 3 different places.

Today, WakeMed called to ask a few questions and said they'd be mailing records including her blood type TODAY. They wouldn't give me the blood type over the phone, dang it.

I might know as soon as TOMORROW if Mom is potentially my biological Mom.

Dad's blood type = O+

My blood type = A+

Mom's blood type = must be A+ or she can't be my mom

If she is A+, then I can at least leave her on my list of potential biological mothers. If she isn't, she falls off the list and I'm in a bigger tizzy than I am now, but at least I'll have a definitive fact. Right now, definitive facts are in mighty short supply.

In the meantime, enjoy Carly's blast from the past. I was 12 years old in 1971 and in middle school at Jacksonville Junior High School in...where else...Jacksonville, NC. I wasn't allowed to listen to Rock and Roll but would sneak my little transistor radio into bed with me and listen to it under the sheets. WKIX in Raleigh. Now THERE is a blast from the past!

What is Inheritance?

My beautiful and wonderful friend Cyndi pointed me toward this really cute two minute animation on how we get our DNA. 

Perfect for beginners and for those of us who get things scrambled in their head and need to come back down to earth (ie real science). 

Check out my little buddies below by clicking here. 

Read a Book: The Stranger in my Genes

My DNA quandary has led me to read books and watch TV shows that never would have caught my attention otherwise. 

TV. Really. I can take it or leave it. I usually leave it. I almost always regret whatever time I've spent watching TV. It rots the brain, you know. I have enough issues in that department.

On the up side, I've just finished an excellent book entitled The Stranger in my Genes. It was a short but powerful read  by Bill Griffeth, the financial wizard who leads us through the finance news each day at 3pm on CNBC just before the closing bell. 

Who knew he was an amateur genealogist?

AND who knew he experienced a great DNA surprise similar to mine? Bill discovered his dad wasn't his dad. He explains the emotions and process a thousand times better than I ever could. 

Bill drives home the point that if you must have your DNA analyzed, you should be prepared for the results, whatever they may be. DNA is science. It's real. It does not lie or tell stories. It doesn't care if it turns your world upside down.

Have a read. Especially before mailing off your DNA test. 

Ummm...we have a problem. A DNA problem. A big one.

Oh. My gosh. I've got a real mystery on my hands. A big one that will impact nearly 30 years of diligent genealogy research. Not to mention my psyche.

On a lark (and also to benefit my research), I took a DNA test. Results say I'm 40% Ashkenazi Jewish.

Ok. Took another test. 43% Jewish Diaspora. Huh.

Took a 3rd test. A whopping 47.7% Ashkenazi Jewish. Nearly 50%. Half. 

What does this mean? 

It means I'm 1/2 Ashkenazi Jew. You get 1/2 of your DNA from each parent. One of my parents was...Ashkenazi Jewish (AJ). Neither of my parents were AJ.

My son tested at 25% AJ. Exactly what you would expect if a maternal grandparent was nearly 100% AJ.

Why is that significant? 

Neither of my parents were of Jewish descent. Or my grandparents. Or my great grandparents. Or my great great grandparents. I know this for a fact. Although I can't DNA test dead people, I know these folks through and through. I can't know their ethnic origins, but I know they were all dyed in the wool Baptists. Every last one of them. Devoted Baptists.

Anyhow....50% means a PARENT. My mom or dad.

What does this REALLY mean?

It was hard to say out loud at first, but now I can say that it means one of my biological parents is unknown.

Was it mom? Maybe. She was "adventurous", shall we say.  However, we do know she was in fact pregnant at the right time and I have a certified birth certificate to show I was born to her and dad.

Was it dad? Maybe. He suffered serious war injuries. Could he have been sterile? They had been married 7 years when I came along. They've told me they had been trying since their wedding day to have a baby. They were unable to have other children, making me an only child.

Was I switched at birth? As ludicrous as this sounds, the answer is "maybe". Maybe. 

The Experts

I'm leaning heavily on my "DNA friends" to help me figure this out. One friend thinks it's on my maternal side, which lends a tad more more credibility to the "switched at birth" scenario. 

Together, we are chasing a lot of leads. I'm doing every single thing one of them tells me to do. 

I've requested both parents medical records from every hospital and doctor I can think of who may have treated them. 

Dad's blood type was O+. Mine is A+. I don't know mom's yet, but if it's not A+ then we know for a fact she is not my mother. A blood fact.

The Bottom Line

The bottom line is that my mom and dad gave me a wonderful childhood. Every family has their issues, but as things go, my issues were few. I was a well-loved and well-raised little girl. I will love my parents until the end of time. No matter what. 

Sure ain't.

My DNA Craze

I've become a DNA convert.  I didn't dabble in DNA before because, frankly, it intimidated me. And for good reason!  

The topic is complex and the learning curve steep. But I'm putting one foot in front of the other and learning as I go. I don't need to know everything about DNA to just get started. Right?

There are 3 major DNA tests. I've already done AncestryDNA and I'm waiting for results from 23andMe. I've tested my son with AncestryDNA (results pending) and I'm trying to convince him to also test with FamilyTreeDNA, but he is having a hard time understanding why we should spend another $69 on DNA testing. 

He asks "haven't you already done the family tree"?  And then there's "I've already done one test, why do I need to do another"?  If I pushed hard enough, he'd give in and do it. But I don't want to push him into it. I want him to understand the answers to his own questions. But I'm just a DNA fledging and I can't always answer him in a way that satisfies him. Or my answers lead to more questions. Wish he wasn't so dang smart that he wants to poke holes in all my answers!

I've already connected with a couple of cousins and that makes me very very happy. However, DNA has deepened the mystery of my Ashkenazi Jewish heritage, which just makes me even more determined to get to the bottom of it.

I'm attending a DNA Special Interest Group weekly and an intro and more advanced all day workshop. After all that...I'll be pretty DNA literate. I hope. 

So got my DNA test results back...

So I finally got my DNA test results back. And BOY OH BOY was I surprised!

40% European Jewish. Specifically, Ashkenazi Jew. Seriously?  I guess the data doesn't lie, but who ever would have thought??

What is most amazing about this is that when I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, my oncologist specifically asked me if I was of Ashkenazi Jewish descent. I said "no, of western European descent". Which was a kinda dumb answer cause I really didn't know the answer since I'd not done the DNA test. Turns out the kind of breast cancer I had was prevalent in the African American and Ashkenazi Jewish populations. I'm 1% African American. 40% European Jewish. Go figure.

Talk about knocking my socks off. For real.

Not that I have a single thing against being of Jewish descent. But golly...I come from a long long long line of Baptist preachers and moonshiners. There wasn't a Jew in the bunch, far as I knew.

Looks like there was. A Jew in the bunch. How cool!

European Jews were primarily found in Poland, Belarus, Ukraine, Russia, Hungary and Israel with a smattering in Lithuania, Slovakia, Czech, Romania, Bosnia, Serbia and Estonia.

Ashkenazi Jews made up more than 2/3 of the souls killed in the Holocaust. Albert Einstein was an Ashkenazi Jew.  Genetic testing is highly recommended for folks descended from the Ashkenazi.  They are prone to Tay-Sacks Disease, Breast Cancer, Parkinson's and all sorts of other horrid illnesses. 

Lucky us.

Now I need to figure out what to do with the results. I attending an introductory DNA workshop over the weekend. It was about 75% over my head. The other 25% was very helpful. Hopefully, I can use my test results to connect with lots and lots of cousins who are rich in family information and pictures!  Keeping my fingers crossed.

Taking the DNA Plunge!

I did it. I finally did it! I forked over the $99 to have my DNA tested via Ancestry DNA. I'm very excited; 6 weeks seems like an awfully long time from now to wait for my results.

I've been thinking about taking the leap for a long time, but the price tag always stopped me. I'm stingy like that. BUT...then I read Judy Russell's blog post on getting the most bang for your DNA buck. Judy's known as The Legal Genealogist and writes some of the most clear and concise information I've found. Her post on DNA pushed me to DO IT!

So I forked over the $99 and spit in the little container and popped it in the mail. Now I wait.

Really...after all the money and HOURS I've spent over the past 30 years on my genealogy obsession, $99 is very little to pay to take it to the next level. And why not take full advantage of the newest DNA technology to learn more about my family?  After all, DNA testing told me that I carried the BRCA1 gene that gives me a 75% chance of having breast and ovarian cancer, and that turned out to be...well...sadly true. But I digress...

Once my DNA test results are in, I'll be able to link to them on Ancestry.com and hopefully connect with new cousins and dig even deeper into my ancestry.

You should do it too!  After all, the more DNA results we have in the pool, the greater the chance we will connect. Come on. Do it. It's just a little spit!

Baldness is Golden

I realize this may seem a bit of a stretch, but I thought we'd celebrate Be Bald and Free Day here on Diggin' for Clues. Walk with me, and I'll explain.

This time last year I was totally bald. I'd just finished treatment for breast cancer and I was marching toward a bi-lateral mastectomy. I can personally attest that baldness is freeing in many ways. Now, a year down the road, I'm recovering quickly and putting the ugliness behind me.

However, I've been struck by how many of my ancestors died from cancer. Talk about running in the family!  If simply having a family history of cancer of any sort put me line for breast AND ovarian cancer, then I came by it honestly.

• My mom, Ann Gladys ALLEN STANCIL, had stomach, lung, liver, and kidney cancer. 
• Her sister, Grace Elizabeth ALLEN LEE, had breast cancer.
• My first cousin, Brenda GLOVER MARCOM, died from ovarian cancer.
• My maternal grandmother, Ethel DAVIS ALLEN, died from pancreatic cancer.
• My paternal grandmother, Ada Lou JOHNSON STANCIL, died from ovarian cancer. 
• My great aunt, Meona DAVIS, died from thyroid cancer.

I am sure there were many more, perhaps undiagnosed or misdiagnosed in the time before modern medical practices. 

An important point here is around genetic testing. BRCA1 gene mutation points toward a ridiculously high opportunity for breast and ovarian cancer. BINGO!  Along with my grandmother's silk nightcap and my dad's Purple Heart, I inherited my breast and ovarian cancer. Gee, thanks, mom and dad.

Along with memories and quirky personality traits, our families can leave us with very serious health issues that - luckily - can be discovered via genetic testing and early diagnosis. I'm sitting here this morning writing this blog post thanks to both. That's genetic testing and early diagnosis, of course. Certainly no quirky personality traits here! Right.

If you have a family history of ANY SORT of cancer, please please consider getting the test to diagnose BRCA1 or BRCA2 gene mutations. A BRCA1 mutation leaves you with a whopping 75% chance of developing breast cancer in your lifetime. And a 50% chance of ovarian cancer. If you have a family history, it's likely your insurance company will pay for the test. It's a simple blood test. Better to know than not know to make informed decisions. 

Unlike my great aunt Meona. She could not have known she would develop thyroid cancer in 1964. Good thing we live in the 21st century where we can document our family's story on a computer AND discover if we are next in line for cancer.

So while we are busy doing our DNA tests to determine our ancestry, be sure to do the test that could ensure your future. Your great grandchildren will thank you.