The first thing I did was tell her that the results verify that Dee was, in fact, not my dad-and so I wanted to know if she knew who my biological dad is. When my mother and I finally spoke about this, my heart was racing. He scanned the email, looked at me and read the results over the sound of my heart beating like an anxious drum. I sat on the couch next to my husband, Shai, and told him the results were in. When I saw the DNA email in my inbox, I couldn’t open it. I asked my dad, Dee, to take a paternity test. One time, just one, my grandmother had alluded to my dad maybe not being my dad. And then the next day, a family member told me. I asked a few of my family members about who Lil Man was. Were his comparably small? Internally, I was having a conversation with myself: “Blair, he doesn’t resemble you at all.” I stopped talking. But my dad was at my grandmother’s funeral-and later that day, as we were talking, I found myself closely examining my father’s hands, his face, his ears. My dad had not been around much while I was growing up-he and my mother were not together by the time I made my entrance into the world, and when I was 3 my mother moved us to California, chasing a film-star dream for her daughters.
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