The Missing Half: How I Found My Father Through DNA Testing

For some of us, finding our roots isn’t easy.

Meeting your parent for the first time as an adult is kind of like having a baby in reverse: suddenly, you have another person in the world who looks just like you.

In the months before I contacted my dad to alert him of my existence, I’d begun paying attention to the birds that frequented my backyard garden.

By that time, my husband and I had lived in our 1920's butter-yellow house in Seattle for a few years already, but this was the first year that the birds began catching my attention. As soon as the weather warmed up after a depressingly wet Northwest winter, I’d often take a break from working from home to head outside to check out the scene:

Chickadees — bouncy and small — swarmed the yard in all their cuteness, hanging around my giant sunflowers and generally being adorable as far as birds go. Crows posted on power lines and street lamps like gargoyles. Steller’s Jays confidently rolled into the yard like VIPs; their deep blue and black coloring left me in awe whenever I saw them sweep into the yard and strut around like they owned the place. They’re common, I’ve learned, but striking to see up close.

My backyard garden. Photo by Krista Welch.

In particular, though, the hummingbirds stood out to me. They seemed more…