Adoptee Learns About Birth Father, Meets Cousins

My sister Stephanie and I traveled to Arkansas to explore my birth father Steve’s old stomping grounds and meet family.

Beautiful, green, quiet, peaceful and rural – those words came to mind as I took in the scenery on the drive from the Clinton National Airport to Logan County, a small county in western Arkansas. I looked out the windows and saw acres of flat farmland, grazing cows, bales of hay, stands of tall trees and hilly curving ribbons of two-lane roads. That landscape repeated itself many times. Car horns, alarms and the rumble of vehicles don’t seem to exist in this serene place.

Learning About My Bio Dad’s Arkansas Roots

Steve was born in Logan County in 1927, the youngest of about eight children born to John and Ella, a couple of long-married farmers. We drove to what used to be John and Ella’s farm near Scranton (estimated population of 222 people in 2017).

Stephanie pulled over and stopped. We got out of the car and walked toward a grassy site.  Standing on the gravel, I gazed at an abundantly green expanse of acreage, my eyes drawn to the one thing that wasn’t green, an orange shipping container next to a tree. That’s all I can see using my eyes. Using my imagination, I pictured what used to be there, my grandparents’ house and farm buildings.  A house that was home to 10 people must have been noisy, energetic and well worn. Taking care of a farm and raising a large family must have been exhausting for Ella and John. No doubt they expected their offspring to pitch in with chores.

This peaceful place was my biological father’s childhood home and the home he returned to after his marriage collapsed in the late 1960s.

Maybe this is where my birth father felt most at home. It’s almost 700 miles from the suburban house in Wheeling, Illinois that he had shared with his wife and two daughters. Six miles from Wheeling is the suburb of Northbrook, where my birth mother, Lillian, lived with her husband and four kids in a little home on a grassy lot. How my biological parents met, I cannot say. How long their relationship lasted, I do not know. All I know is it probably happened one night, perhaps after the bars had closed. My biological parents conceived me one July day in the mid 1960s.

In the process of relinquishing me for adoption, my birth mother Lillian told the social worker my biological father had not known about me. Maybe she told the truth or maybe she lied to expedite the adoption.

Marriage Breaks Up, Birth Father Returns Home

Around 1967, his marriage in tatters, my biological father left his family in Wheeling and moved back to Logan County, where several of his brothers, sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews lived. An excellent auto mechanic, my biological father worked off and on at a local guy’s repair shop. Growing tomatoes and jalapeno peppers probably came naturally to my bio dad, who was the son of farmers. My birth father enjoyed reading and being alone. After the farmhouse burned down, he lived in a one-room dwelling without a lot of possessions. He never remarried.

Along State Highway 393 lies McKendree Cemetery. A chain link fence wraps around the cemetery. Purple and yellow wildflowers and weeds grow around headstones and grave markers set flush to the ground. Bouquets of faux flowers rest at some gravesites.

A bouquet of yellow, white and purple flowers stands in front of Steve’s family headstone, in the first row by the chain link fence. Steve’s headstone from the Navy recognizes the two years he served in the that branch of the armed services.

Seeing My Birth Father’s Grave

Here rests my biological father, the man from whom I inherited blue eyes, fair skin, introverted tendencies and probably other characteristics. I never got to meet my bio dad and I regret that. Visiting his final resting place is the best I can do.

Stephanie broke the silence by introducing me to the father who was a stranger to me. “Dad, this is your daughter, Lynne. You never knew her but if you had, you would have loved her like I do.”

My sister’s words caught me off guard. Tears filled my eyes. Stephanie looked at me with sympathy in her eyes. We hugged.

Stephanie and I have known each other for only a couple of years. Finding my birth father  became a priority in 2017 and during my search, I found Stephanie through an obituary and her work email through LinkedIn. In my first email,  I introduced myself, explained the purpose of my search to find my biological roots and noted the physical resemblance between us. (I found her photo on LinkedIn.) In her email, Stephanie told me about her childhood and family life but the part that made my jaw drop came near the end. Stephanie said her mother had told her that Steve had fathered a child, a boy, she thought.

After exchanging emails, we talked by phone. Hearing the warmth in her voice, I felt like I had found a kindred spirit in Stephanie.

Without meaning to, my biological father brought us together.

Near Steve’s gravesite, I saw the headstones for my bio father’s parents, siblings and other family members. Seeing all of them at rest together felt comforting to me. It looked right and proper, the way families should be.

Meeting First Cousins, Learning About Grandparents

Many of my birth father’s nieces and nephews live in this part of Arkansas and we planned to meet one of our first cousins. We picked up cousin Gary, a beef farmer who had been expecting us. Relaxed and friendly, Gary took a seat in front and led us to the home of cousin Bobby, who was mowing the lawn in his backyard. Bobby took a break from mowing and invited us to sit down in the car port. After chatting for several minutes, we said our good-byes and Gary guided us to cousin Vicky’s home. She and her husband, George, made us feel at home in the living room.  We looked at family photos and newspaper clippings, they told stories about the grandparents, aunts and uncles and swapped updates on health. I asked questions, took notes.

Reading a profile of John and Ella that was published in the local newspaper in March 1973, I learned that my grandfather John liked chewing tobacco, a habit he acquired at a young age, from his grandmother. Married for 68 years, John and Ella grew cotton, corn, wheat and oats and kept stands of bees.

As I said goodbye to Gary, he said he could understand why I would want to learn about my roots. It made me happy to hear that.

I am a leaf from a tree with many branches and deep roots. Exploring my Arkansas roots, learning about my birth father Steve, spending time with my dear sister Stephanie and meeting friendly cousins – my journey took me to a satisfying place.