Finding my Father’s Name
by Linda Chapman
As a child, I was aware that I was different from my three younger siblings. They were all taller than me, with brown eyes and dark hair. I was a petite, green-eyed blonde. Our mother had dark hair, as did the father of my siblings, and they all had similar features. They looked like they ‘belonged’ together, while I did not.
By the time I was nine, the father figure in our family was no longer there. I began to ask my mother who my father was and when I was fourteen, she admitted what I already knew: that my siblings’ father was not my father. However, she refused to give me a name. From time to time, she would tell me a few stories about him, but never a name, so I began to wonder if she was making the stories up or if she even knew herself who he was.
My siblings and I have always been close. Once we were in our 60s, they encouraged me to do a DNA test to see what I could find. Without a name, I thought it could not tell me who my father was, but it would at least give me information about my ethnicity.
I submitted my DNA to My Heritage in 2017. The results revealed I am mostly Northern/Western European with 10.3 percent Scandinavian. One of my sisters had her DNA done as well, and we shared 27 percent of our DNA—confirming us to be the half-siblings we knew we were. My sister was able to build out her family tree since she knew both of her parents’ names.
In subsequent years, both my brother and one of my sister’s daughters had their DNA testing done with My Heritage. They mapped out their family trees in the process, but there wasn’t any new information to be discovered.
By this time, our mother had suffered a stroke and was no longer able to speak. Even then, I continued to ask her about my father. She could still communicate a bit by writing things with pen and paper, so I held on to a small glimmer of hope that perhaps one day she would change her mind and relinquish a name. But that day never came.
My mother passed away in January 2019. She had given birth to seven children. Only four of us grew up together, myself being the eldest of that group. She had two other daughters with our stepfather, as well as a son who died shortly after birth. My mother abandoned those girls.
The daughters later found my mother, through searching on Ancestry. My mother had never had any DNA testing done, but the daughter and her husband were both avid genealogical researchers. Even though Mother had abandoned both of them—one while she was still a newborn and the other when she was two years old—they had forgiven her. At Mother’s funeral, all of her living children were present—a true testament to our strong character, despite our upbringing.
One of these half-sisters had done DNA testing at 23andMe because she had a grandchild with celiac disease. She asked me if I would do the testing too, because they were trying to establish whether it ran in the family. I put it off for a while, but in 2021, I finally decided to try my hand again at DNA testing, this time with 23andMe.
On March 13, 2021, I received the report from 23andMe and was shocked to discover another half brother and sister, children of my father. I could hardly believe it! Never once had I thought about finding siblings, but it made sense. I wondered about and pondered on this new information for a day or two, and then decided to reach out to my brother—who is 10 years younger than me and a few years older than his sister.
Knowing full well that it might come as a shock for them to discover a sister, I sent a message through the 23andMe program, assuring him I did not want to disrupt his life or to impose in any way, but I never knew who my father was and would be grateful to learn his name.
My brother graciously responded and confirmed that I was quite a surprise. He had contacted his sister and she encouraged him to give me the name—Leo Everett Gage. At last, I knew my father’s name.
We continued corresponding through the program over the next week or so. Buster—that’s my brother’s nickname—sent photos of our father and a picture of his gravestone. Leo had died of cancer in 1969, at the age of 47.
I was overjoyed to receive a very special phone call on March 21, 2021. My newly-found brother and sister called me that Sunday, and I heard their voices for the very first time. We talked for an hour and a half. I had questions for them and they had questions for me. Apparently, our father—who was unmarried at the time—had an affair with my mother over the Christmas holiday in 1947, and I was born on September 24, 1948. We seriously doubt he ever knew about me. I learned that I had another half-sister who had died a few years earlier. She had the same father but a different mother. This was before our father met his wife and settled down. Buster was the oldest, followed by a baby boy who died shortly after birth, and then two daughters, Rita and Lori.
I exchanged phone numbers and background information with my new siblings. I was overwhelmed by their kindness and willingness to give me so much information about the man who had fathered me. They invited me to meet them in person in Kansas City, Missouri, where I was born, and where they all live.
My maternal siblings were so happy for me. One of my sisters and her husband insisted on driving me to Missouri. On May 21, 2021, I met my brother, Buster! It was a magical moment I will never forget. He and his fiancé parked in front of our hotel and I walked through the revolving door and there he was—fair skin, with hazel eyes and light-colored hair, and not much taller than me. Finally! A sibling that looked like me!
I spent the entire weekend visiting with my brother. He took me to the cemetery and “introduced” me to my father. We prayed together as we stood at his grave. Buster showed me many of the places in Kansas City that had rich meaning for our father.
Buster still lives in the same house where he grew up. He bought it after his mother passed away. The basement was just as our father left it in 1969. Nothing had been disturbed. I was able to stand where my father had stood, even touch the tools he had used, while my brother told me more and more about him.
Saturday evening, I met my sister, Rita, and her husband. My father, Leo Everett Gage, had married a woman of Hispanic descent. Buster and his youngest sister Lori look very much like Leo, but Rita looks like her mother. This caused her to wonder if she had a different father. So, Buster gave her a DNA kit for Christmas and that is how I finally found my father.
I left Kansas City with a happy heart. My relationship with my newly found siblings has just begun. We keep in touch through phone calls, text messages, emails and Facebook! We are making plans to continue visiting with one another. They will be coming to Texas soon and I intend to take my husband with me to visit Kansas City in the fall.
I had spent a lifetime wondering and now, at the age of 72, I finally knew my father’s name.
Note: It is important to be considerate about publishing personal information for living people obtained from any genealogical research. Linda has approved publication of this story .
©2022 Linda Chapman
Published by Dallas Genealogical Society with the author’s permission
