Skeleton in the Closet

At the age of 20 I had no interest in babies. Puppies, yes. Kitties, maybe. Babies? Absolutely not. I wouldn't even baby-sit children under the age of three. I didn't see melt into a puddle of hormonal goo at the sight of a little one. In fact, the sight was quite likely to frighten me.

That's why I was very surprised to find myself staring intently at a little boy happily burbling away in a grocery-cart seat one day. There was something familiar about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. The woman he was with, most likely his grandma, was a complete stranger, but I was sure I had seen the boy before.

As my stare became obvious, my mother gave me a quick elbow in the ribs and whispered completely incomprehensible words in my ear: "That's your nephew."

Nephew? The revelation was so stunning I couldn't even process the information. I didn't have a nephew. My only sibling had never given birth. I stared after the baby in the cart, suddenly realizing why he looked so familiar. He was a diapered carbon copy of my dad.

My mom grabbed my arm and dragged me into the produce section, well away from my newly-acquired relative. I have no doubt that complete bewilderment was etched across my face.

"Lexie had a baby?" I asked incredulously. My sister was only 17, but teen motherhood is not unheard of. I was away at college a good part of the year, but surely someone would have mentioned a pregnancy.

"No, he belongs to your dad's other daughter."

Stunned silence.

Since when did my dad have another daughter? I was 20 years old. Why hadn't I heard of this particular skeleton before?

I know some people would have reacted with anger, but I was too astounded to do anything more than make sure we bought my favorite flavors of Hot Pockets and ice cream.

By the time we hit the checkout line I knew as much of the story as I was ever going to know. My dad had fathered a child when he was only 16 years old. Instead of doing the right thing and standing by his girlfriend, he completely dumped her and refused to have any contact with the baby girl. Eventually the mother of his child married a nice man who officially adopted my half-sister.

The year before, my half-sister's husband was killed in a car accident. At that time my mother sent her flowers from my dad, my sister and me, despite strong protests from my father. She also sent a note giving my half-sister contact details and inviting her to write or call either me or my sister. My mother never received any acknowledgment of her gesture and we've never been contacted by my sister.

I guess we've all seen the cheesy made-for-TV movies where a young adult finds out she has half-siblings. Usually there is much drama--anger, sadness, and eventually a tearful reunion as everyone becomes a big, happy family. I can't even begin to imagine such a scenario happening in my family. I don't know if I even want to meet this half-sister of mine. I found out about her over 10 years ago and I have never even asked for her last name. Google has not been searched. Letters have not been sent. I usually don't even think about her. In a way I would like to satisfy my curiosity: What does she look like? What do her children look like? What was her childhood like? But another part of me simply doesn't care. She may share some genes, but we don't share anything else. She can't possibly imagine what my childhood was like, just as I can't imagine what hers coould have entailed.

Sometimes I wonder if she hates my sister and me. After all, our father apparently wanted us. He stayed with our family. He totally denied her existence. Is she jealous? Is that why she didn't want to contact us? Did she used to fantasize about her real father--my father--coming to rescue her from a grim childhood?

I hope she didn't.

In fact, if I ever do meet her I'll tell her that I am jealous of her. I used to fantasize that my father would go away and leave my family alone. I wanted nothing more than peace and he was the bringer of chaos. He may have put a roof over our heads and food on the table, but he didn't provide any emotional support, any nurturing or any sign of love. He did provide us with enough yelling and screaming to last a lifetime.

I would like to tell my half-sister about the kind of father she missed out on. I wonder if she suspects it already or if she feels only the cold sting of rejection.

I suppose I'll never know the answer to any of my questions. I don't have any plans to contact this stranger who shares my genetic material. I simply wouldn't know what to say.