When a DNA Test Shatters Your Identity
The man St Clair thought of as her brother only shared enough DNA with her to be a half sibling. In fact, she didn’t match any family members on her father’s side. Her biological father must be someone else.
“I looked into a mirror and started crying,” says St Clair, now 56. “I’ve taken for granted my whole life that what I was looking at in the mirror was part my mother and part my dad. And now that half of that person I was looking at in the mirror, I didn’t know who that was.”
The DNA test didn’t erase her happy childhood memories, but it recast her entire life up to now.
I’m always wondering why white people will tell me that the color of my skin doesn’t matter but as soon as DNA is telling them that that’s not really their sibling or father here, they cry and lose their shit, starting FB groups support and all. LMAO. It’s a trip.
Of course there are plenty of secrets and affairs and stuff. It’s as old as the world. But white folks are discovering that, for some reason. Thinking they’re “perfect”. No, you might be the result of a mess. It’s fine.
Who you are is who you are. Your experiences. The way you treat others. That’s you. That’s all. Who made you doesn’t matter. How, doesn’t matter either. You are you. If you’re older, had kids, own a house then be fucking happy and/or learn new shit but don’t dwell on how your dad wasn’t really the one you thought he was. That’s completely unproductive.
So when a DNA test in 2015 revealed her biological father was likely African American, it clicked into place. But her mom denied it. “She wouldn’t answer me. She would change the subject,” recalls Lisa. When she kept pressing, her mother broke down, saying it would destroy the family and that her dad—the man she grew up with—would kill her. She refused to say anything else about Lisa’s biological father.
Wow.
But once again, that doesn’t change your life now or in the future. You are who you are. If she had a little thing for black music or spices well now she knows why. That’s it. Yes, your mom had sex with a black man. That sex stuff happens a lot, it turns out. Move on. This weird “but what does this mean?” question? It doesn’t mean anything. There’s no meaning in having kids, people. Ideally you want them, sometimes you don’t. They just happen, we happen.
Personally I might have been the result of rape. Or tender love. Or something in between. I will never know! It doesn’t really matter. It’s cool to know I guess, but it objectively doesn’t matter once you’re an adult.
Freaking out about your DNA ancestry is some kind of privilege.