Inheritance: A Memoir of Genealogy, Paternity, and Love

by Dani Shapiro

The two prior times in my life I had experienced shock and terror—my parents’ accident and Jacob’s illness—it seemed an impossible affront that people were going about their daily business and that in fact no one’s life had changed but mine and those of people I loved. Here I was again. Except a parent’s death, shivering over a child—these were common experiences. You could say my father died or my baby’s sick to just about anybody, and they would respond with compassion and understanding. But how about: I just found out that my dad wasn’t my biological father and that apparently I come from an anonymous sperm donor.

What never fail to draw me in, however, are secrets. Secrets within families. Secrets we keep out of shame, or self-protectiveness, or denial. Secrets and their corrosive power. Secrets we keep from one another in the name of love.

It turns out that it is possible to live an entire life—even an examined life, to the degree that I had relentlessly examined mine—and still not know the truth of oneself.

But hers was one of those warm acquaintanceships born of Twitter. Her handle, @CleverTitleTK, often appeared in my Twitter stream, and we had engaged with each other over the years in a way native to our cultural moment. A decade earlier, such a relationship would have made no sense. A decade hence, Twitter might well be obsolete, replaced by another mode of rapid-fire communication. But in June 2016, it was simple enough for me to direct-message @CleverTitleTK, whose brief Twitter bio read: Old school journo. Genealogy geek.

A seam ripped open in my mother that night that allowed me access to a vital clue, though I didn’t know it at the time.

My very existence was due to the fact that he never dreamt he’d have to deal with such a thing.

Presentism: the anachronistic introduction of present-day ideas and perspectives into depictions or interpretations of the past. It would be easy to fall into such thinking.

The four of us met at a steak house on the thirtieth floor of an office building, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city and the distant, foggy outline of the Cascade Mountains.

I have been to this place!