Broken Record

I used to think that all donor conceived children and adults were under this giant imaginary umbrella. I thought we all had the same opinions, until I had conversation with two of my half sisters. Maybe it’s how I was raised I guess, because the thought of having half of my family tree be a mystery has always been an issue for me. Not them. Just me. I used to get mad — how can someone just NOT CARE. Not care about where half of them comes from? Who their biological father is? Why their face is a literal puzzle with missing pieces? How can someone just ignore the fact that the blood rushing through their veins has come to be from the help of a stranger. I guess it’s how I was brought up. Maybe coming from a single mom sealed the deal — I always felt like something was missing. Something would and will always be missing.

I am not saying that having children via donor conception is wrong, immoral, or bad. What I am trying to say is that if you are taking this route, remember that chances could be that you’ll bring someone into this world who is like me: curious and deserving of answers she will never receive due to an unruly combination of Cryobank policies and a mom who stays quiet.

Some days you don’t think about him at all. Where he is, what he is doing, WHO he is. But then other days it hits you like a moving bus. He doesn’t leave your mind.

I’m like a broken record honestly. It’s as if some days I feel normal, but then on days like Father’s Day I feel displaced. Or what about those days in elementary school when fathers walked their kids to school and I just walked all by myself? Or that time at sleep away camp when we took a photo to send home to all of our dads? Nothing is normal for me. It never will be. Who could forget the day I went to the school nurse in high school because I felt sick. When my mom didn’t answer the phone I was repeatedly asked what my father’s phone number was. “I don’t know,” I repeated over and over again. Broken record,

I am literally a broken record. It’s nobody’s fault but my own, but I can’t help but feel like I just care too much. There are two of many half siblings of mine that do not care about this man or his life or what he is up to no matter the fact that he is OUR biological father. All I have learned is that the umbrella hanging over all those conceived via sperm donation is an illusion. Not all people within a category share the same opinion. You can’t expect everyone to feel the same way, but what you can do is prepare and assume the worst, because I can only hope that someone does not bring a child into this world and stay quiet about everything. Quiet is silent. Quiet is horrible. And quiet is the reason I feel like a broken record.