Growing up I frequently was asked the question, “what are you?”. Fortunately and unfortunately for me, I was blessed with a naturally tan olive complexion that prompted people to ask me this. This came even more so in my small town where diversity was well– questionable. My last name sounded like a pasta dish so my Italian roots were definitely verified. My grandpa would speak about his parents coming to America from Italy through Ellis Island and the stories he remembered hearing. The issue however with only calling myself Italian is that it was painfully obvious that’s not all that I was. My direct blood relatives all had fairly light skin and lighter hair. My mom’s eyes were green and she easily turned red in the sun. Me on the other had, had dark black curly hair, dark eyes and tanned the second I stepped outside. As I got older I would look at family pictures and make jokes about “the little Spanish kid that didn’t belong”. In my teenage years is when I got really curious about what I was. I told myself I would do a DNA test and just find out once and for all but, I never did it. I settled on telling people “I’m mixed” and just went with it. When filling out paperwork I always checked the “other” box because it seemed fitting.

This acceptance of not knowing what I was all changed after my trip to Morocco. In every single city we went to I was met by locals who were both fascinated and excited by me because I was an American that “looked like them”. They would tell me I was Moroccan because I had Moroccan skin and asked if I knew how to speak Arabic. I even had one group of women pull me aside and dress me in their clothes to show off how much I “fit in”. After this it bothered me that I didn’t know because for all I knew, I could’ve been Moroccan! I had ordered a DNA kit to take but I had it sitting in my kitchen for months. Eventually about two months after my trip I stood in my kitchen and swabbed my cheek. Little did I know what I was going to find out.

The results took a few weeks to come back and I remember being really excited about getting them back. I vividly remember the moment that I got the notification they had arrived. I was standing in a community aid thrift store with my boyfriend at the time and I saw the notification on my phone. He told me not to open them until I got home, not in the middle of the thrift store. We quickly checked out and went back to his dorm because I was too nervous to open them alone. The next time I looked at my phone I was flooded with notifications about DNA matches. This was the reality of doing a DNA test and submitting it to a database but after all, it wasn’t something I had completely decided on pursuing. When returning to the dorm I could see my results of my ethnic background which confirmed I was in fact not only Italian (not shocking). There was also a mix of Puerto Rican, some Spanish, Nigerian and tons of other results I was not exactly expecting. I took a quick glance at my DNA matches and had a sigh of relief, with a hint of disappointment at the same time of course, because there were no “parent” matches.

The whole reason I did not know my full ethnicity was because I grew up not knowing who my dad was. This of course was something I was curious about but was a huge can of worms to open. I went back to my DNA result and my most prominent match was someone who I shared 24% or so of DNA with. I decided to send a message and reach out. Extremely nervous, but assuming I was reaching out to a cousin of some sort. Turns out the person I contacted was my half brother and very quickly his mom was able to put the puzzle pieces together. She told me that she knew my dad, he was alive and he was a good person and he could contact me if I wanted. The he was alive and he was a good person part were very specific questions asked by me of course. Shocked, stunned and anxious is the least of the terms I can use to describe how I felt. Within forty-five minutes of being on this site I had found the mystery man that was quite literally the elephant in the room my entire childhood. I ended up talking on the phone with my dad that very night. When we exchanged pictures of each other we were astounded at the resemblance. We had starling resemblance including similar skin complexion, nose, eyebrows, beauty marks, everything. It was mind blowing to me. The story of how not growing up with my dad is now things ended up is not mine to tell but, in that moment I was faced with a choice. A choice to pursue a relationship with him and meet a part of my family that didn’t even know I existed, or to walk away from it all and not look back. Luckily, I decided to go forward with a relationship and it shocked my world. Not knowing who I was, and not knowing my dad unknowingly became part of my identity and now that all changed. Not only that but I went from being a single child to have four half siblings, including an older sister that welcomed me with open arms.

This complete 180 was something that I was genuinely happy about but getting used to it took time and quite frankly still is taking time. I am not used to having a large immediate family or having another parent figure honestly. It’s a massive change but one that I am super grateful for. Many people tell me that I am an Ancestry success story and I’m not even going to deny it, I feel like I am! It is not often that finding the other half of your family comes with better opportunity and less stress. This only was one piece of the puzzle about figuring out who I am. Now I have an entire family to meet and a culture that is both mine to claim whilst being unfamiliar to me. I am slowly getting to know my dad at 23 years old which takes patience and nurturing. Opening this door meant letting another one close, which was a difficult decision to make, but I am glad I did it.