Let me start off by stating that I’m an Obama supporter. No doubt, I read this morning that his half brother George was arrested in Kenya on possession of marijuana and resisting arrest. George’s first call was to CNN and NOT to the White House. This raises the question of how strong the “family unit” is within the Obama circle. Now, I’m going to go on a personal journey in this entry, as I have a few things in common with this story (sans marijuana), as it pertains to divorce, death and father’s who remarry and start new families.
I have four half-brothers and one half-sister from my father’s previous five marriages. He separated from my mother just before I was born. Mom moved my brother and I to New York City and she made a life for herself as an executive secretary to a well-known architect. After a few years, she met another man, got remarried and we moved to the suburbs. In the meantime, my biological father was already on marriage number two. As in some cases, for those born in the mid 1950’s, “secrets of the past” are sometimes left unspoken. In my case, I was totally unaware that my father (mom’s second marriage) was NOT my biological father. I went through life (into my early 20’s) thinking that the man who raised me was indeed my bio-dad.
Then came the day my brother was to be married and that’s when the “secrets of the past” began to surface quickly. My brother needed to be told that he was NOT who he thought he was (in name – for twenty-five years) as he needed to be legally married and as he was not legally adopted by our stepfather, he was simply using the last name of our stepfather (as I had) for years without knowing that our mother had been divorced and remarried.
Our stepfather was a pretty powerful figure in our lives and in the corporate world. He had 100’s of employees and was a pretty stern fellow – all the way around. He was also very bright and decided that when he married a woman with two children, a few things had to be cleaned up before, during and after his marriage to our mother.
First, there were the birth certificates with the biological father’s name written on them, they had to go, so, the story is told that when were we one and two years of age, the New York apartment caught on fire and all of the important documents (like Birth Certificates) went up in flames.
Next, we could not go through life without a legal identity and dad had already thought this one through. He arranged to have us baptized and issued Baptismal Certificates. Let’s keep in mind that back then everything was on paper and one could get a driver’s license with a Baptismal Certificate if they did not present a Birth Certificate. However, one other piece paper worked in conjunction with the Baptismal Certificate and that was a Social Security Card, which acted as a second form of identification. With Baptismal Certificate in hand, we went to the Social Security Office (at age 14) to pick up our SSN cards and then with those two pieces of I.D. picked up our driver’s permits at age 17. Again, back then no one asked questions like “where’s your Birth Certificate?” It was the perfect storm to create the perfect storm 6 years later.
So, my brother falls head over heels for a beautiful woman, pops the question and she gives him the resounding “yes” tears and all. Mom and dad were none to happy with his choice in mates and they did whatever they could do to discourage the marriage. However, my brother was set in his ways and was not going to be told who to spend the rest of his life with (his mind was made up).
A few months after the marriage announcement, I was going to Germany for a three-month internship and needed to get a passport. Dad told me he would take care of getting the passport but, I decided to go get it on my own. Armed with Birth Certificate, DL and SSN card, I headed on over to the post office and they told me I needed a birth certificate, so, I got in the car and drove 75 miles to the Bureau of Vital Statistics. I presented all of my information to the clerk. As the clerk walked up to the counter (with birth certificate in hand), she asked me if I was sure of my last name. Huh?
She didn’t want to hand over the certificate. She told me to go home and talk to my parents. Now, I’m over eighteen years of age and knew I had a right to have it in my hands and I reminded the clerk that I had such a right. She reluctantly handed over the certificate and all the information was correct except for one minor detail. The name of my father was not correct. I looked up at the clerk and told her there must be some mistake and she informed me that all the information matched up except for the father’s name. I paid my few dollars for an original copy of the certificate and headed home to mother.
No doubt, many things ran through my mind during that very long ride home. My biological father had been in the marines and I wondered if he was killed in action. Interesting that my first thought of a father, I never knew, was that he was a hero of some kind and the thought that he died for my country gave me a feeling of both pride and sorrow. I could forgive my mother for the “secrets of the past” if my bio-dad had died in action and she re-married for reasons like love. However, there never seemed to be much love around our household growing up. The word was seldom used by father and always bestowed by mother. When I got home and confronted mom with the certificate, she told me to go see my father. Interesting that she passed the buck back to step-dad.
So, I get in the car and drive to his office and we got to lunch. He was an all business type fellow and this revelation needed to be handled at a lunch meeting. When I presented him with the facts, he denied it all. In fact, he denied it five times and then I pulled out the birth certificate and he turned a bit pale. He told me to go home and talk to my mother about it. OK, the buck goes back to mom.
Mom had a sorted tale of betrayal, denial and a few other things I won’t go into. What I found out is that the cover-up began before I was born so, what was the harm in not knowing? In other words, I was in the womb during the divorce wars and sheltered by the fluid of love.
In a nutshell (a large one) I find out bio-dad is alive and well, living 50 miles from our home. He was in the marines but, left after his first tour of duty (no hero), he was married and divorced five times since his marriage to mom. He had fathered a brood to rival any Mormon and his chosen profession was that of a plumber. One condition of his divorce (from mom) was that he would not have to pay child support if he stayed away. Nice deal if you can get and he took the deal, however, I learned (in later years) that he would drive up once a month to watch his two kids playing the front yard of their nice big house.
Yes, we came from money and he did not. We got all the perks that he could not provide and this was one of many reasons mom bolted from the first marriage.
After the long sorted stories, I knew there would be much more to learn, however, I was asked not to tell my brother what I had learned, as they planned to sit him down in a month and tell him themselves. Remember, the nuptials were close at hand but, my brother could not be married until he was legal.
Thirty days to the day, mom and dad sit my brother down and break the news. He goes nuts, storms out of the house and all goes to hell in a hand basket. Now, mom and dad did one thing I just can’t forgive them for and that’s when they told my brother that I had found out that step-dad was not bio-dad a month before. To this very day, 30 years later, he still does not talk to me. I guess add an extra does of betrayal to “all-out betrayal” and one can’t get over it.
Both mom and dad die (30 days a part) 10 years ago and we attend funerals and memorials, but, my brother and I never communicate again. Bio-dad on the hand, has his own story of what happened and I meet him a number of times, go through the hugs and kisses (expected) and then we drift apart, never to meet again.
Here’s where the story gets interesting:-) While mom and dad are slumbering in their crypts and my brother does not talk to me, my half-brothers and sister become my family. You see, while bio-dad was out producing broods, the half brothers and sister were also going through divorces and marriages (and betrayal). In the end, all we had were the “loose ends” the kids left behind to fend for themselves in this quagmire of deception. No, none of my fellow half-siblings knew I existed until my early twenties (when I showed up on their door-steps). With the advent of Facebook, I’m sure there’s more of us about the place and I’m still searching the past for clues and plan to put a family tree together - with broken branches:-)
This brings us to Obama’s brother George (where we started). Nothing is ever what it may seem to be and I can see why George reached out to CNN, as opposed to his half-brother. Obama should keep in mind that bio-dad’s have a way of creating their own reality and that “reality” is NOT always shared with (or by) the half-siblings. The beliefs of the bio-dad are NOT always shared with the children and the stories are varied in both number and facts, as to the why and how bio-dad leaves mom and then easily moves on to the next womb.
George is reaching out to one of the most powerful men in the world – his brother. Yes, he’s a half-brother but, his brother nonetheless. Maybe he did get caught with marijuana and he wanted to be picked up in order to reach out. No doubt, he’s an attention-getter. Again, there’s always a back-story and each side has their own “truths”. Hopefully, George and Obama will come together and share their own “truths” with each other. Foregoing George and Obama having their own intervention, I’m sure the story will eventually unfold through the tabloids, a book or a movie of the week. Gotta love family:-)
Do you know if currency was discussed?