Biological...Father?

I stood on the stoop outside of a small white house with red shutters about a thousand miles from home. The house was in a nice neighborhood in the suburbs. There were rows of identical houses next to it with similar small patches of lawns and plain black mailboxes. All of the houses appeared to be single-story ranch-style houses and the only thing that made them different was the colors. Some were white, some red, and others were blue. They had a wide array of shutters.

I only mention all of this because, if I had driven down this road just a year earlier and passed all of these houses I wouldn't have noticed the one house I was standing at. This little white house with red shutters would have melted passed me in the car and I would never have given it a second thought. It was so much like all the other ones. Of course, a year ago I wouldn't be standing on the door a thousand miles away from home regardless of how unique it was.

I was standing at this particular door because I was on a mission. It had begun over a year ago, on my 18th birthday. My birthday is in June and I had a combined birthday party/graduation party and all of my friends came over. My mom did a fantastic job of setting up decorations and everything. It was a really fun night. We'd only managed to get everyone out of the house at 2 o'clock in the morning. When we finally had some peace, mom and I flopped down on the couch. We were too tired to sleep, so we just sat there. My mom turned and looked at me.

"Kara, I am so proud of you," she said and I blushed.

"You have been saying that all day mom, you are making me self-conscious," I said and she smiled at me in that motherly way.

"You did such a good job in school. I was never very good in school, but you are smart as a whip. And you are so beautiful, so much more attractive than your old mother. I just can't believe how perfect you are. I just wish I could tell you how much I love you," she said and she pulled me tightly into her arms. I was rolling my eyes but laughing.

"Mom, you are so silly. You tell me all the time how much you love me. And hey if I am so smart and so beautiful, it must be because of the way you raised me and your genes, right?" I said, breaking the hug. My mother is always putting down her looks and I guess she isn't what you'd call beautiful, although I have always thought she was pretty, if a little dumpy and motherly.

But it was certainly true that we didn't look alike. She had a matronly, middle-aged looked sure, but even things that weren't the result of age were different. I am much shorter than my mother at only 5'2 (while she is almost 5'8), I have long, straight dark red hair that contrasts with her curly black hair. My mother has small eyes and a thin mouth but I have wide, bright blue eyes and thick, light pink lips. My mother's skin is dark while mine is very fair and lightly freckled. My mother's build is very straight and pictures of her when she was young show a woman with large breasts but very narrow hips. I, on the other hand, have very small breasts, (32-A actually), and hips a bit wider than my chest. I also have muscular legs and the build of an athlete while my mother is a klutz.

"I think you must get your looks and your brains from your father," my mom said at long last. I crinkled my nose and stuck out my tongue. I didn't like when she said stuff like that. I had no reason to want any part of my existence to be in any way connected with my father. I had never met my father. He was long gone before I was born and never made even the slightest attempt to get in contact with me. My mother always tried to rationalize it. She never really told me anything specifically about him, but she always tried to tell me to be easy on him. But I couldn't. I didn't even have a picture of him in my head, but I hated the idea of him.

"Anything good about me is because of you mom," I said and she chuckled and hugged me again. She just held me for a long time and didn't say anything. But then I felt her shoulders start to shake. I pulled back from the hug and she was crying. I was so shocked, it wasn't like "I am so proud of my daughter" tears, she looked miserable.

"What is wrong?" I asked, distraught. I took her hand in mine, stroking it and trying to get her to calm down.

"Honey," she said, "I am so sorry."

"Why?" I asked. She hadn't said or done anything wrong. It was such a great day; we'd had so much fun.

"I have been so selfish," She said, and then she stood up and started pacing the living room. I was very confused.

"Mom, are you feeling okay? You aren't making any sense," I said. She stopped pacing and walked over so that she standing right in front of me.

"Kara, there is something I never told you. I wanted to tell you so many times. I didn't plan on telling you tonight, but I feel like I have to. I can't keep this secret any longer and you are old enough to know. And hopefully you are compassionate enough to forgive me," She said. She looked like she was about to start crying again so I reached out and grabbed her hand.

"Mom, chill out. I can't imagine you could ever do anything that I would be unable to forgive you for," I said and she nodded solemnly. But finally, at long last, she started talking.

"Honey, I have not told you the truth about your father," She said and my mind was reeling. What did that mean?

"Did he want to see me?" I asked and she raised her hand and shook her head. I got the hint. This was hard for her to say, I wasn't allowed to interrupt.

"When I was 28 years old, I had just ended a very long term relationship. I wanted children and the man did not. I realized that, for the time, I was getting a little older and I wanted a family now. I was a single woman, so I didn't think adoption was a viable option. So I went to a sperm bank. I knew that as a single mother with only a high school education I was not going to provide a good future for my child. But I was so... selfish. I just wanted a little girl or a little boy. So I picked out a donor and I had the procedure. Nine months later, you were born.

"I basically pretended that the man I had broken up with before I went to the sperm bank was your father. He did leave before you were born and he wouldn't care you were born. Of course, he'd have no reason to. Anytime we had difficulties, I let you blame your father. When we didn't have money or when you felt like you didn't have a good male presence in your life, I selfishly let you blame your father, an anonymous donor, for something that was my fault. I haven't given you as good a life as you deserve and I have made you hate and resent a man who helped me conceive you but who neither of us has ever met. I am so sorry," she said. Finishing up her speech, she was exhausted and collapsed back onto the couch.

I was shocked. Everything I had ever thought about where I'd come from was thrown out the window. The faceless man who I hated was faceless even to my mother. And in fairness he'd done nothing to warrant my hatred. In fact, he had admirably done the only thing I could have expected of him, provide genes for my birth. But I had more immediate concerns. My mother was still crying.

"Mom, please stop crying, I am not mad at you at all," I said and I meant it, "If you hadn't done what you did I wouldn't even be here today. And sure we never had a ton of money but I always got what everyone else did on Christmas. Being hungry or something worse was never even on our radar. And as for this guy, this sperm donor. I don't know what to think about him. I don't hate him, that's for sure. But I don't want you to feel guilty about this anymore."

"Oh Kara, you are so sweet," My mother said, calming. She put her arms around me again, "I love you honey."

"I love you too Mom." I replied and I meant it.

That summer nothing really changed between my mom and me. I mean, I had this new information that she was terrified would destroy our relationship, but I wasn't angry at her. But I was curious. I would look at myself in the mirror and wonder what my father looked like. He must look more like me than my mother did. I wondered if he was smart and handsome. I wondered if he would like me.

I went off to college the next spring to a small liberal arts college just a few dozen miles from my house. My mother cried and made a big deal about me leaving, but she seemed pretty happy that I wasn't going far away. It was a small school in a small town, but it was also a big party school. I had never been much of a partier in high school and I found that, despite their reputations, I liked college parties even less. People think I am a cute girl so I got invited to lots of parties, but I rarely went. I spent most of my free time studying, trying to make sure that I was in the top 5% of my class, so I could go to medical school.

But in the little free time I had where I wasn't working on chemistry or biology, I spent investigating genetics. Specifically, my own genetics. I was torn inside out by curiosity. I have no idea why it was so important for me to find out details about my father. When I thought he was a deadbeat dad I had never cared to know anything about him. Now that I knew he was a sperm donor, I had to know everything.

I talked to my mom and found the name of the clinic where she'd conceived me and even some of the names of doctors who worked there. I spent a lot of time online, trying to find out ways to get the confidential donor information. I even talked to my professors and ethicists at a nearby medical school to find out if there was any practical way to learn the information I wanted. The general consensus seemed to be that there was no way for me to find out the identity of my father.

Finally, as the year was winding down (I got great grades by the way! Yay!), I decided to go for broke. I took the ancient used car my grandfather purchased for me for graduation and drove to the fertility clinic. I told the receptionist what I was looking for. She sighed and smiled wearily like she'd heard similar futile requests in the past. But she paged a doctor.

He arrived a few seconds later and ushered me into a nicely furnished office. He offered me a seat and then sat opposite me. I told him my entire story. He paid attention to me, mostly. Sometimes he typed on his computer, but I think that he was genuinely interested in what I had to say. I told him about all of the research I'd done and the people I'd talked to in my quest. I told him about my mother and her guilt. I told him about not looking anything like her and wondering who my father was. I kept myself from crying, but some reason in that office, knowing that he was about to say 'no' made me want to cry. Finally I laid it on thick.

"Listen Dr. Farmer, I know everything you are going to say to me. About your liability or whatever. I know you are going to tell me that you wish you could help, but you can't. I know that. All I want to tell you is that a year ago I found out that I was something different that I thought I was. I thought I was the daughter of a single mother who had been abandoned. Now I know that I was never abandoned. I just want to meet my father. I don't want to ask him for money, I don't want to harass him; I just want to thank him for helping my mother. I want to see my features in his features. I want to know where I come from, can't you understand that?" I asked, my throat was dry from talking and I was so, incredibly nervous. The doctor tapped his pen against his chin and gave me a sad look. I felt defeated.

"Kara," he said, "You're right. I can't help you."

"I know," I said. Then he looked directly into my eyes.

"Well, I pulled up your mother's file here while you were talking. It breaks my heart, because right now, on the screen, is the information you are looking for. A name and an address that was updated as recently as 7 years ago. But I can't show that to you. Do you understand?"

"Yes Doctor," I said, wondering what he was getting at.

"Damn," he said, "Did you hear that?"

"No," I said. He picked up a beeper that was attached to his belt.

"I am getting paged. I will be back in a few minutes and I can answer any questions you might have, with the understanding that I will not discuss anything about your father. The man whose information is on the screen right now." And with that he got up and left. I felt giddy. I bolted out of the seat and ran behind the desk. I looked at the screen and I saw a name: Donald O'Houlihan. I wrote down the name and address. I was gone before the doctor got back.

And that, essentially, is how I got on the stood in front of the white house with red shutters. I took the information from the clinic and I did a bunch of research. I found out that my father had lived in the same town as me, all those years, until just five years earlier, and then he'd moved out of state, to this address. I found the address that he'd given in his new state and then he'd disappeared from the records. This was the end of the line. I hoped that the person living in this house would know where my father was next. I hoped even more that he was inside. There was a car in the driveway. Someone was home. Steeling my nerves, I reached up and knocked on the door.

"Hello, can I help you?" A stunningly gorgeous woman said as she opened the front door. She was a little taller than me at 5'6 and probably weighed around 115lbs. She had long platinum blonde hair and the high cheekbones and icy look of a super model. But she was more voluptuous than a super model. She had a cute hourglass shape with large breasts and an even fuller backside. Her stomach was flat. Her legs were thin, spindly. And she had very small feet. She was giving me a warm, slightly bemused look like she was waiting for me to tell her all about Jesus or steak knives. After I got over this woman's immense good looks, I stammered out a response.

"Yes, I am looking for Donald O'Houlihan," I said. Her smile faltered for a minute and she looked very surprised by my request.

"Mr. O'Houlihan no longer lives here," she said woodenly. She seemed so awkward; maybe this was an ex-wife or something. He must've been a pretty handsome or impressive man to grab a catch like her. But I was dejected. He wasn't here.

"Oh, I am sorry to have bothered you," I said. I was clearly making her uncomfortable; I didn't want to take up anymore of her time.

"No... honey you didn't bother me. I am just sorry he isn't here," she said. She looked like she was about to close the door, wrestling with herself, "You know I used to be... pretty close with Donald. Why are you looking for him?" My heart soared. I couldn't believe it.

"Do you know where he lives now?" I asked and she smiled.

"Why don't you come inside and we can talk about it. I am a little nervous about giving out private information when I don't know what you want." That seemed reasonable to me and a few seconds later I was sitting in the woman's living room, drinking coffee. She was doing the same.

"What is your name honey?" She asked me in a southern accent, even though we were a thousand miles from the South.

"Kara Gotlieb," I said and she nodded.

"I am Danica Harlow," she said and I liked that name. It sounded mysterious.

"So why are you looking for Donald?" she asked, taking a sip of her hot coffee. I wondered whether it would be smart to lie to her, but I decided that she seemed nice enough and I didn't want to screw with karma.

"Well, I guess to put it shortly, Mr. O'Houlihan is my father," I said. Danica's eyes got wide and it looked like she was using all of her restraint to avoid spitting out her coffee.

"Father?" she choked, "Someone told you that Donald O'Houlihan is your dad?" She sounded amazed. I felt like this was a strange reaction.

"How do you know Mr. O'Houlihan?" I asked. I felt certain this was his ex-wife now. I didn't want to get him in trouble for some reason before I even met him.

"First, you tell me why you think Donald is your father," she said. I didn't want to, but I was in her house, drinking her coffee. So I told her the whole story. I told her about my mom, my graduation present, my research at college, my trip to the clinic, and my drive out to her house. It took much longer than I thought it would. She sat across from me, nodding occasionally but listening intensely.

"Oh," she said, "well I guess that makes more sense that I was thinking. I should've known that's what you meant." She leaned back in her chair, looking contemplative. The sun shone in through her windows, striking her beautiful pale skin and throwing gently relief on her light freckles. She looked gorgeous. And worried. Why should she have known? Did she know that Donald donated sperm?

"Is something wrong?" I asked, feeling very nervous now, "I don't want to get Mr. O'Houlihan in any trouble. I don't want any money from him or anything. I just want to meet him and see what he is like." I explained. Her expression softened.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I didn't mean to make you nervous. This is just so...unexpected."

"How do you know Mr. O'Houlihan? I mean you clearly didn't just meet him when you bought the house from him or something. You know him better; you seem really worried for him." I said and she stared directly into my soul with her penetrating blue eyes.

"You know, I dye my hair," she said, "I usually have very dark red hair, honey" I was taken aback by that. I realized then that she called me honey, the way my mother calls me honey. The way all the women in my little town call all younger women 'honey.' I noticed her freckles, her build, those eyes. I couldn't believe what I was thinking.

"Wha..." I started, but she cut me off.

"I know Mr. Houlihan very well. I didn't meet him when I bought this house. I finally got to say goodbye to him. I used to be Mr. Houlihan. Now I am Danica." She said. Her face flushed. She looked terrified. My jaw dropped to the floor. This beautiful woman was...my father. And she looked a lot like me.

I felt a little dizzy and I must have looked a little sick because Danica set her coffee down gently and walked over to the love seat I was sitting on and put her arm around me. She was wearing perfume and it was intoxicating, I breathed it in deeply, but it just made my head swim faster.

"I don't understand..." I said and rubbed her hand in a motherly fashion on my shoulder. I turned and looked at her face. I saw my own eyes looking back at me. She had my forehead, and the same nose bridge. And all of the sudden it was so obvious, she looked so much like me. If people saw her next to me they would think she was my mother. Or sister. Even if my actual mother was with us.

"Well, the doctor's at the donor clinic didn't understand either; when I came to donate sperm. I have been living as 'Danica' since I was 13. I was in desperate need of money, so I decided to sell my sperm. It took a lot of convincing to get them to allow me to donate. I was saving up money to move to a state that would allow me to change my birth certificate to 'Danica.' It took years (not just sperm donation, of course, but other considerations) and I moved here, got a house, and then changed my name. That's probably why the trail went cold" she explained. She looked nervous. I think she was afraid I was judging her. I was too cloudy to do anything.

I also found myself strangely drawn to her. I don't think it was just narcissism, I thought she was prettier than me.  At the time, I was a virgin. I'd never had anything close to a serious relationship. I thought boys were cute and everything, I guess. I never thought I was a lesbian. But this woman, she touched some sort of primal live wire inside of me that I'd never felt before. I know now that I wanted her badly. But it was all too mixed up with other swirling emotions to allow me to full understand what I was feeling. I think my confusion heightened my sexuality. I think now, with the benefit of hindsight, that if I had just seen her I would have thought she was gorgeous, but would not have thought anything sexual. But add to that her exotic sexuality, my childhood hatred for an invisible father, and the fact that this woman...was that father, churned up something bizarre.