Sara Pic was born and raised in Uptown New Orleans (McMain ‘96!) and is a mom to a college-aged son (Geaux Tigers!) and twin elementary schoolers. She lives in River Ridge with her kids and her spouse in a (sob) newly petless home.
GENETICS (AND SO MUCH MORE)
Long before my children were born, when they were but a twinkle in my eye, we made a decision that I can only hope one day they will agree with. We chose to bring them into the world using donated genetic material.
Like most people who use donated genetic material to conceive, this was a choice born of necessity—neither myself nor my spouse produces sperm. It is a decision that I knew could have profound implications for my future children. They would be connected genetically to strangers: strangers who are also a form of family. Creating a “family tree” could potentially be a more complicated question for them, involving choices about who to signify. Or it could mean nothing to them.
Queer people are deeply familiar with the idea of “chosen family.” There is something disquieting about the idea that “blood” is what makes a family when for so many of us, our blood has rejected or even abused or assaulted us based on who we love. We have long found new “parents” in our queer communities, people who affirm and respect us unconditionally, the way family should.
And yet, for our children who are donor-conceived, there is often a deep desire to connect to their genetic relatives. Some donor-conceived people describe a desire for “genetic mirroring”—the joy of seeing yourself in someone else’s face. This desire to connect to so-called “blood” relatives can feel uncomfortable for any family, queer or not, who has used a donor to help make their children. Parents may feel “less than.” But it is undeniable that it is a part of who they are. It is their story—our children get to decide what kind of meaning that one part of their story holds for them.
From the jump, I removed the struggle about when to tell my kids they were donor-conceived—my children have always known. We have told them often and repeatedly since before they could talk. For my younger children, I have described what a donor is in age-appropriate ways using books like What Makes a Baby by Cory Silverberg. And I made a decision that we would always do everything we could to let them know their genetic donor siblings, as much as was within my power. We are connected to many of their genetic siblings through social media (using it in a way that it is actually intended—to connect people!). We exchange holiday cards and “first day of school” pictures. Their donor siblings are mostly far-flung, all over the country and even in Europe. But their families all know that if we are visiting their area, I will be hitting them up for a playdate.
We have now met up with four of their donor siblings, one of whom is local and we are able to see with some frequency. I was not prepared the first time I met one of my kids’ donor siblings for the surge of warmth and, well, love I would feel towards this stranger child, a child who is not “mine” at all, and yet looks so much like mine. There are, of course, also so many differences, particularly in personality. Even among genetic siblings raised by the same parents, there can be hugely significant differences. But the connection among them is so very clear—in their eyes, or nose, or ears, or smile. My daughter and one of her genetic sisters laugh in the exact same way.
But genetic connection has very little meaning to little kids. They are only focused on playing and having fun. My younger kids are twins and can (to my dismay) sometimes shut out other kids and just play in their own twin world if they are so inclined. And so my heart utterly melted right out of my body the day my son went dashing over to his local donor sibling, joyously hugging him and screaming his name. Their connection was real—and though it began with genetics, it became so much more than that.
My older son, who is now a young adult, had never expressed much interest in his donor or his potential donor siblings when he was younger. He was conceived before social media and from a much smaller sperm bank than my younger kids, and so we were never able to find any connections for him online. Every so often, maybe once a year or so, we would ask if he had any desire to try to connect through a DNA test—and were a little surprised when, as an older teen, he said he would be interested. As the Black Friday sales commenced last year, the year he turned 18, I let him know I would purchase him a kit as a gift, but only if he wanted one. He thought about it a moment and agreed.
When the Ancestry kit arrived, he was prompted by the app to create a “family tree.” This immediately caused a bit of chaos and consternation for him—Ancestry does not consider me, his adoptive stepmother, to be his default “family.” I gently, trying to hold back my own frustration with this mild homophobia, explained to him that Ancestry is primarily interested in genetics—his sperm donor would be in the default place of his other parent, not me (though there is a way to add additional parent branches). Confronting this stark reality made me momentarily question if I had, out of a desire to make sure all parts of my child were seen and known, actually placed too much emphasis on this genetic connection. Seeing me cut out of his family tree reduced the complexity and intricacy of his own lived experience. But also, I gave myself that perennial reminder all decent parents give themselves weekly if not daily: This is not about me.
After receiving his DNA results about six weeks later, he immediately connected with several donor siblings, but not his donor or any of his donor’s family. Only one donor sibling reciprocated his desire to connect—they began texting frequently, talking about all the highs and lows of their lives, from the mundane to the serious. Within just a few very emotional months, they developed their relationship to the point that he now refers to her as his “half-sister.” It may only be one connection, but that one has been extraordinarily meaningful to him. A relationship of a lifetime built in less than a year.
My goal in vigorously pursuing and supporting these relationships for my children is to hopefully build them a bridge. One day, they can decide if they want to walk over it, leap across it, go halfway and back again, or even just look over to the other side once in a while. I can only hope, as all parents do, that the decisions I make today on their behalf will one day bring them contentment and peace.
illustration by Victoria Allen
