A Broken Tree Page 4
We put the samples in the freezer, and there they stayed for nearly two years. We kept putting off the testing of our own DNA samples, thinking we’d get it done when we had the money to pay for the tests. This wasn’t a pressing issue for Tim or me; we were both confident that we were Mark Anderson’s sons. We were doing this so we could provide a comparison base against which our brothers and sisters could be tested, if they so chose.
Now that we had the DNA we needed, we still needed to find a place to get the testing done. Our number one question was which of our brothers and sisters were fathered by Mark Anderson, the man who raised us. Our mother had admitted that Mark was not Neil’s father. (We still needed to do DNA testing on Neil to be 100 percent sure, but that would have to come at some future date, if Neil would agree to being tested.) None of us were 100 percent certain that Mark was Holly and Carlee’s father, but we thought the chances were very high that he was not. Our second question was, if Mark Anderson was not the father, then who was?
Actually, at that time, we didn’t expect that we would be the ones to find these answers; we would simply provide the standard and then let each sibling choose whether they wanted to pay for testing to find out for sure. Those who discovered that Mark was not their father would have to decide if and how they would take the next step to find out who their biological fathers were, and how much they would be willing to pay to learn that information. As far as I was concerned, that was a bridge we’d cross once we got there. For now, Tim and I needed to focus on creating the standard and then letting our brothers and sisters decide if they wanted to go any further.
We didn’t want a cheap company with little experience or with a shoddy reputation to do this job. But with two parents and nine children, we couldn’t afford to pay several hundred dollars for each person to be tested. We wanted to make sure that whoever we hired was AABB (American Association of Blood Banks) and CAP (College of American Pathologists) certified. These certifications generally ensure that the companies will provide the best possible results. We wanted to know the truth, but we didn’t have a lot of money to work with, nor did we have a lot of Dad’s DNA material to spare. We also weren’t sure that we could get more DNA from our mom, so we needed to be very careful about who we selected to do our testing.
Once again, the answer came from Tim. His good friend Jack Anderson (no relation) owned a genetic testing firm called Andergene Labs in Oceanside, California. The lab had a very good reputation for its work with paternity and other genetic testing services for people around the world. Tim had talked with Jack about what we hoped to do with our parents’ DNA, explaining that we wanted to learn whether our siblings were biologically linked to Mark Anderson. Jack was intrigued by our case and gave Tim some advice about how to move forward. He said that if we were interested in testing the samples we had, he would make it affordable for us. This was the man who could help us create the standard we were hoping to establish.
I told Tim that we had to move ahead on this and take Jack up on his offer. I decided that I would pay to have Mom and Dad’s DNA samples tested, and while I was at it, I would have mine tested as well. Things were starting to fall into place; I was excited to finally have our standard in place. I wasn’t concerned about my own DNA showing anything unusual. I knew I was Dad’s son. Just look at any picture of me with my dad and my uncles, and you will see that there is no doubt I am an Anderson all the way. Nor was there any doubt that Tim and I were full brothers. For years, if anyone called our home, they could never tell whether they were speaking with me or with Tim. I can’t even begin to count the times that people told us we sounded exactly alike. Not only did we sound alike, but we looked alike; Tim looked even more like Dad than I did.
So for us, the issue of finding out whether we were related to Mark Anderson wasn’t even up for consideration. However, I did want to have my DNA tested to see if there was anything interesting that Jack could tell me. Although this wasn’t one of our main research goals, I thought it would be informative. Besides, it would be good to have my genetic information readily available if I ever needed to determine if there were any diseases I might be susceptible to, or anything serious that I should be aware of. I thought it would be a good investment.
Tim gave Jack the samples he had gathered from our parents, and I provided Jack with some of my own DNA. I was surprised by how simple and painless it was to provide my material for testing. All he needed was a couple of cheek swabs. This was a matter of taking two long cotton swabs and rubbing them along the inside of my mouth. Each cheek was rubbed with a different cotton swab; it was that simple. No blood was needed, and there was nothing that had to be poked or inserted into my body. With the cheek swabs ready, we were good to go. The adventure was moving to the next level. It was getting exciting now!
Jack told us that it would be a month or two before he could provide us with the results of our tests. I wasn’t concerned; after all, these samples had been sitting in Tim’s freezer for nearly two years. I could wait a couple more months.
We now had a way to get the answers to our first question, about who is, or is not, biologically related to our dad, Mark Anderson. Jack was going to provide this information for us. The answers to our second question—if any of our siblings discovered that Mark Anderson was not their biological father, how would we find out the identity of their fathers—would have to come from online genealogy database companies like AncestryDNA, 23andMe, and others. For now, we were focused on answering our first question.
I was at work when I got a call from Jack. He had the results of our DNA tests and was ready to explain what they revealed. I was excited to hear what he had learned about Mom and Dad, and to see whether he had found any unusual health issues from my own DNA sample. While the main purpose of this test was to establish the standard against which we all could be tested, regarding our biological link to our parents, my interest was to see if I had inherited any physical traits or genetic tendencies that I needed to be concerned about. With this test, the standard would be in place and I could leave the rest up to each individual sibling to decide how far they would take this journey. It would be the scientific, unquestionable proof of parentage. For me, I was done. My story was set in stone, assuming Jack did not find any genetic markers for worrisome health problems.
Jack assured me that the samples Tim had stored in the freezer were still viable, and that he had everything we needed to create a good baseline against which to compare other DNA samples from our siblings. I asked Jack if he had found anything interesting in my DNA sample. Since Dad had struggled with diabetes starting in his early forties, and many of my Anderson relatives had died of both diabetes and stomach cancer, I was interested to learn whether I had inherited any of those traits that would make me a high-risk candidate for either of these two medical conditions.
He told me that yes, indeed, he had found something.
I knew it; it was time. I was ready to hear the bad news about which of those two diseases I was genetically prone to—but I was not ready to hear what Jack was about to tell me.
The good news was that I didn’t have any markers for early-onset diabetes or any unusually high markers for stomach cancer.
The bad news was, Mark Anderson was not my biological father.
1. Resnick, Richard. “Welcome to the Genomic Revolution.” TED Talk, July 2011. Boston, Massachusetts. https://www.ted.com/talks/richard_resnick_welcome_to_the_genomic_revolution
2. Russell, Judy G. “The Ethics of DNA Testing,” The Legal Genealogist, 2012. https://www.legalgenealogist.com/2012/11/18/the-ethics-of-dna-testing/#respond
Chapter 4
Surprise! Dealing with
the Results
I remember when I was about fifteen years old, I got into a fistfight with a kid in school. I don’t remember the details of how the fight started, or why I would have been stupid enough to allow myself to be sucked into this fight, but I did. The other kid delivered a gut punch that took my breath a
way. It felt like the longest twenty seconds of my life. I was panicking because I couldn’t get my lungs to suck in air. I was sure I was going to die.
When Jack told me that, according to the DNA sample I had provided him, Mark Anderson was not my biological father, I had that same sensation of panic. I couldn’t catch my breath. There was literally twenty seconds or so of silence before I could get my lungs to take in enough air to respond. At first, I thought I’d simply misunderstood what Jack was telling me. I asked him to repeat what he’d said, and to do it slowly, so I could take it all in. I had a small degree of hearing loss, a genetic trait common on my mother’s side of the family, so I thought that perhaps I hadn’t heard him quite right.
He humored me and slowly repeated what I had heard him say the first time. Jack sensed my shock, and was trying to be as reassuring as possible. I have no doubt that he’d dealt with this kind of response countless times as he delivered the results of paternity tests. I asked him to repeat the results a third time, just to make sure. He told me that these tests are never 100 percent accurate, which gave me a temporary sense of hope. However, he went on to say that he could assure me that the tests he runs are 99 percent accurate, with 1 degree of variability. So while he was 100 percent sure his test results were accurate, because statistics work the way they do, he had to legally state there was some degree of uncertainty that his testing might not be able to account for. That’s standard practice with this business. They say it’s 99 percent accurate only because in theory, there is no perfect test. As far as we were both concerned, the results of this test were 100 percent reliable. No mistakes were made. My dad was not my dad—at least, not biologically.
On September 7, 2018, Brianne Kirkpatrick, a genetic counselor, DNA consultant, and founder of the Internet site Watershed DNA, appeared on NBC’s Megyn Kelly Today show. She stated that by 2017, more than 50 million DNA kits had been ordered from online DNA companies. She estimated that 5 to 10 percent of those tests had revealed cases of “non-family” relationships—in other words, where one (or both) parents were not the biological parent of the person being tested.[1]
That’s an amazing statistic! This means that out of a random group of one hundred people, anywhere from five to ten people within that group could have a parent who is not biologically related to them. That’s shocking! Assuming that this statistic is true, then in 2012, when I got that first phone call from Jack, approximately 15.5 million to 31 million people in the United States faced the same situation I was facing. Today, DNA testing is rocking the world of many of those people by exposing the truth of their paternity. It’s been said that misery loves company. That may be true, but I was not comforted by knowing that more than 15 million people shared my story.
When I started this effort to find answers to our family’s questions of paternity, I had no doubt that I was Mark Anderson’s son. The possibility never even entered my mind that I might not be related to him. Both Tim and I were sure we were Mark’s sons. Now I’d found out that I was fathered by another man, maybe even a complete stranger. If true, this meant that Tim and I were most likely half-brothers. What just happened? With one phone call, my world had turned upside down. I’d started this effort to establish a standard to help my siblings discover their true genetic heritage, and to establish health histories for all of us, if needed. Now Jack was telling me that it was no longer just for my siblings, but for me and my own posterity as well.
I just couldn’t accept this result. I knew I was Mark’s child! I asked Jack if the fact that the samples had been kept in the freezer for so long could have made any difference. He assured me that the samples were fine. I asked him if there was any way we could do a second test on the samples. I just knew there had to be a problem somewhere in this process. This just wasn’t possible.
Jack asked if we had any other DNA samples from my dad. I reminded him that the samples we had obtained were from a dead body lying in a coffin, and that the body was now buried six feet underground. We were not about to request an exhumation. When I mentioned this to Jack, I was not only telling him that it was impossible to get any further samples from my dad’s body—I was also reminding him of Dad’s condition when we took the original samples. I was hoping that Jack would tell me there was a chance that the embalming process might have contaminated the hair samples. But this was not the case. He reminded me that after a person is dead, their body is no longer able to take nutrients or other chemicals into their hair or fingernails. This meant that none of the chemicals used in the embalming process would have had a chance to get into his hair.
Jack asked what kind of razor my dad used. I remembered that Dad always preferred an electric shaver over a straight-edge razor. I also recalled Tim telling me that when our sisters were cleaning out Dad’s stuff after his death, they had decided that Tim should have Dad’s electric shaver. Tim said that when he pulled it out of its carrying case, he noticed that the hair chamber was filled with stubble. He had put it away, never giving it a second thought. This electric shaver hadn’t been out of its case since Tim had gotten it more than two years ago.
I told Jack about the shaver, and that it had never been used by anyone else other than Dad. Jack was excited to hear it. I reminded him that there wouldn’t be any hair follicles on the stubble, since any whiskers in the hair chamber would have been cut off at skin level. Jack helped me to understand that it wasn’t the hair he was interested in. What he wanted were the flecks of skin that always come off the face when someone shaves, even with an electric shaver. He was sure that the chamber would have a rich supply of skin flecks, along with all the hair stubble. I told him that I’d call Tim and have him send all the hair in the chamber to Jack’s office so he could run a second test on the sample. By now I didn’t care how much it cost; I just wanted to know for sure whether or not I was Mark Anderson’s son.
Looking back at this turning point in my life, I am fascinated by the incredible flood of thoughts and emotions that filled my mind. In fact, my whole body was shaking. It surprised me, how strongly I reacted to this news. I’d never experienced anything like this before. It was like there were a thousand different emotions, all vying for my immediate attention. My mind was on overload in just a fraction of a second. It was quite a remarkable sensation. I’m not sure I
liked it.
I had always been very close to both my mom and my dad. Heaven knows, my mom had plenty of faults; some of them were serious. She had hurt a lot of people. Everyone in the world has some bad traits, and our mom had more than her fair share. But I must say that she was good to me, probably more so than she was to most of my siblings. In fact, all of my siblings continue to remind me that Mom always liked me best. I’m not sure if that’s true, but looking back on how things went, I suppose they may be right. We were closer than most.
Tim and I were especially close to Dad. I think he realized that he’d been a bit hard on the older kids, so he made an extra effort to be a little more patient and protective with us last three kids. I don’t have a lot of memories of Dad getting angry at me. I think I can remember being spanked by him just once, even though I gave him plenty of reasons to spank me more times than I care to think about. Now I was learning that Mark wasn’t really my father, and that Mom was getting frisky with more guys in town than I’d originally thought. This was more than I could handle at the time.
After I got off the phone with Jack, I just stood there, alone, in shock. I’d been at work when he called. Given the sensitive nature of the call, I’d decided to go outside to the parking lot for our conversation. Now here I was, standing in the lot, unable to move. I just stood there, completely still, wondering what had just happened. I had just been blindsided by news that I was totally unprepared for. I was stunned, and there was nothing I could do to help me deal with what I had just learned. It was like time was standing still, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to get it moving again.
When I finally got to the point where I
could move again, I couldn’t stop. I walked back and forth through the rows of cars. I simply didn’t know what else to do. I could put one foot in front of the other, but that was about it. I had to keep walking, because as long as I was moving, I had at least some sense of control over who I was. But then I realized that with this one phone call, this was no longer true. Science and technology had stripped me of whatever sense of identity I’d thought I had.
In a matter of minutes, my entire identity had changed. I was no longer the Steve Anderson I’d thought I was for the past fifty-eight years. I wasn’t even an Anderson. What made matters even worse was that I had no clue who I was. If I wasn’t an Anderson—if Mark Anderson was not my biological father—then who was I? I was going through a classic identity crisis. I felt like I was going to throw up, so I stayed outside and continued to walk through the parking lot. I can’t help but wonder what my coworkers must have thought when they saw me walking around the parking lot like an old homeless man with no place to go.
I’m sure this must have been what my brother Neil went through when he found out that Mark was not his father. He had it even worse than me, as he was only sixteen when he found out. Those teen years are hard enough for any kid, but to be told that the dad you grew up with and loved wasn’t really your dad, and to think you were the only kid in the family going through this—it must have been devastating for him. At least I was a fully grown adult and could share the experience with three other siblings who were confident that they had a different birth father. This gave me a profound sense of respect for my brother Neil, considering all of the emotional garbage he has had to deal with because of what he had learned at such a young age. It’s no wonder he’s never been very close to our mom.