As a child, holidays often involved only dinner for our little family of three: my mother, father, and myself. I would remain seated at the table as expected before quickly heading over to a friend’s place to partake in their celebrations.
As an only child Family didn't serve as the foundation of my existence like it did for many of my peers. Let me clarify—I cherished my parents deeply, and our bond was strong. However, our household had limited members. My mother came from a single-child lineage, and my father remained disconnected from his siblings, who were considerably elder than he was.
But after my mother’s death in 2005, my dad and I became best friends. Not a day went by without us talking, though the calls were rarely longer than two minutes — just enough time to check in and find out what he had for dinner. We’d text after every New York Rangers game. He’d join my wife, Jennifer, and me at her family gatherings for holidays.
One month following his demise in 2018, I got a message on X inquiring whether I was connected to Joan and Wally. My parents? I thought. Of course I verified that I was indeed their nephew and discovered that the sender was a cousin from my father’s lineage. The news hit me particularly hard since I had been deeply affected by my father's passing. Thus, reconnecting with someone connected to him—our shared heritage—seemed like a ray of light amid my sorrow. We scheduled a brief telephone conversation lasting roughly 20 uncomfortable minutes, during which we agreed to stay in contact. It wasn’t quite the heartwarming reunion I had anticipated.
The discussion did pique my curiosity somewhat: Maybe there were extended relatives out there with whom I might share a stronger bond.
On 23AndMe.com However, what caught my attention right away was how unfamiliar all the names seemed; none of them felt recognizable, including the surnames.
I was lost in thought. There was a mysterious aspect about my parents that intrigued me. Our home never listed our telephone number publicly. Whenever we picked up takeaway orders, we'd employ a pseudonym—typically Matthews—a nod to my middle name. Until then, I attributed these quirks to just that: peculiar habits of theirs. Yet, this time, doubts crept in; perhaps they were masking some concealed truth.
I opted to reach out to what appeared to be my closest relative—a person whose genetic makeup shared nearly one-quarter similarity with mine, according to the website. Crafting this initial message took several days as I meticulously picked each word, trying not to appear overly eager. To my surprise, I received an answer after only a short wait. She introduced herself as Anna. Right away, she surmised that our link must come through her dad, whom she hadn’t known personally. This sparked numerous thoughts for me: Could Wally possibly be the father of Anna via another child he sired? Alternatively, might my own father secretly have had a daughter who then became Anna’s mother? It seemed clear to me that I had unraveled the mystery; perhaps Anna was indeed my niece. Possibly, this was the hidden truth about which I felt certain but could never confirm—that something significant remained undisclosed between me and my folks.
One day, Anna shared with me a tale about her mother, who passed away when Anna was only 11 years old. given up a baby for adoption years before she was born.
As I started to reply, I stopped and read what she wrote a second time. And a third time. Over and over again as my imagination ran.
What if I was the child her mother gave up for adoption?!?
What if my mom and dad...weren't actually my biological parents?
The secret comes unraveled
Anna verified with her mother, Kathi, that she had given birth to a boy, and guessed he might have been born around January 1972 (as I was born in March of that same year). This swiftly turned into our latest hypothesis, suggesting that I could be Anna’s brother.
I tentatively proposed that their findings might be confused with another person’s data or perhaps an error occurred at the laboratory. Since Anna had experience using Ancestry.com, I promptly purchased a test kit from there to verify our outcomes. In the meantime, we spent several additional weeks exchanging messages while waiting for the results, which helped us discover more details about one another. During this period, I took the opportunity to review all the family documents I had sorted out from Wally’s apartment earlier that year. There were no records indicating any possibility of adoption. Additionally, there weren’t any photographs showing me as a baby.
I sifted through all the available social media accounts related to Anna's family and noticed clear similarities between my appearance and pictures of Kathi and some of Anna's cousins. Occasionally, these resemblances were strikingly close.
Following what seemed like ages after three weeks, we finally received the results confirming our suspicions: I was indeed Anna’s sibling.
This set off a myriad of questions for myself. How could I not have figured out that I was adopted in my 47 years of life? Why was I never told this? How was this secret kept and why? Now that the secret of my mother was revealed, I started to wonder: Who was my real father?
Anna’s family remembered the relationship that led to Kathi’s pregnancy all those years before. While never certain, they theorized that his name was Jack and he was a bartender in 1971 on Long Island, New York.
I reviewed additional connections for further clues. Armed with the limited knowledge I had of Jack, I asked a newfound cousin if she knew of him. What she told me stopped me in my tracks: Not only was Jack alive and still in New York, he had been working as an actor for the past 30+ years. I went to IMDB and couldn’t believe what I saw. Jack was a character actor frequently portraying bartenders, doormen, cab drivers and the like on TV, movies and in commercials. I was floored.
Even though I’d never met him, I’d seen his face hundreds of times through appearances on shows like “The Sopranos,” “The Americans,” “Boardwalk Empire” and “Law and Order.” Or movies like “Men In Black,” “The Yards” and “Requiem for A Dream.” He’d even appeared in a New York Lottery commercial that used to air all the time during the New York Rangers telecasts that I knew Wally was glued to at home in New Jersey.
In time, I obtained Jack’s telephone number from his sibling, who I had similarly established contact with.
I made the call, and a friendly voice enthusiastically picked up. It was the first time I spoke directly with my biological dad. Instead of an emotional floodgate opening, we conversed like mature adults meeting for the first time at a local pub. I shared details about myself—my upbringing and place of residence—and so did he. He mentioned having been married twice and being a parent to seven other kids—I became number eight. Just six weeks prior, I was an only child who lost both parents. Suddenly, I found myself part of a large family; besides learning that my father was very much alive, I discovered he was also a famous actor.
In just a short time, he introduced me to my birthmother, Kathi, along with their past together. At that point she was quite young; it had been nothing more than a brief affair. Her parents persuaded her to put me up for adoption—a choice I understand must not have been simple for her. We talked also about my adopting parents whom I swiftly recognized as the true protagonists of this narrative. The reasons behind keeping my adoption hidden from me will forever remain unknown, yet I am deeply thankful for all they've done for me.
Meeting my new family
Several weeks later, I journeyed to Connecticut to reconnect with Anna as well as my local aunts, uncles, and cousins, an encounter that stirred up myriad feelings among everyone involved. It seemed familiar, almost like coming back home when I visited Aunt Mimi’s cozy abode which made me feel truly part of the family. Once back, I enthusiastically phoned Jack to recount the highlights of my travels, and we planned another get-together soon after, setting the date for him to host at his residence.
My spouse and I embarked on a two-hour journey from our home in New Jersey, closely monitoring the GPS as it updated our estimated time of arrival progressively. Upon arriving at the residence, I caught sight of my dad for the very first time outside of television appearances and cinematic portrayals. It was just like when I experienced similar feelings of warmth and acceptance with Anna’s clan alongside Jack and his partner, Margaret. We uncorked several bottles of wine together, akin to long-lost buddies catching up after ages apart. Beyond being kinfolk, we discovered numerous mutual interests including an affinity for music, cinema, and metropolitan New York lifestyle elements.
In the five years since we met, I have kept in touch with all of my new family, and met my siblings. I’ve shared the joys of birth, the sadness of passings and the celebrations of family weddings that I missed out on growing up.
On a few different occasions I’ve been able to seamlessly bring the two sides of my family together, advancing my story. I now have quite the extended family. I have realized that my genetics had just as large of a role in making up my characteristics and personality as my environment did. I recognize this when I hear of stories of my mother’s magnetic personality, or when I identify with my father’s theatrical mannerisms.
I've developed a new appreciation for my adoptive parents as well. For some reason, they kept this secret until their last days. They came forward and provided me with an incredible life that I might not have had otherwise.
I can't stop thinking that perhaps if I had known sooner, I might have been able to meet my mother. However, I am thankful for my newly found family—along with the raucous joy I longed for throughout those many years.
The article was initially posted on Pawonation.com
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