Obama's Courage To Rescue Our Country Reminds Me of the Man Who Saved Me

The need to meet my father consumed me like a raging fire. I desperately wanted to dive into those flames, rescue whatever I could from this all-consuming, beastly blaze and walk away from the wounds of the past and move forward towards resolution and healing with whatever was salvageable.

By Citizen Correspondent Dianne Perea

Date Posted: 07/27/08

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The instinct to know oneself is a force so strong, it transcends our human thinking.-- Dianne Perea. I never knew my biological father. He and my mother went their separate ways when I was barely two and my brother had just been born. My mom remarried soon after my brother's birth and had two more children with the man who is my father today. Like Barack Obama, I know what it's like to feel half of you is a total mystery, and how this pulls at your soul every day. You want to reach out and discover this missing side of you so badly, it tears you up inside.

When I was 29, after the birth of my first child, I decided it was time to send a letter to my biological father. I had known his whereabouts for many years, but never had the courage to write him. It was a simple letter with a few photos of me, my husband, my new daughter and my brother. It wasn't an easy letter to write, although I had written a thousand of them in my head over the years.

I thought this man would have tried to reach me at some point over the years, so I worried if he would be receptive to the letter. I also worried about the repercussions this contact might have on my mother and beloved stepfather, the only father I had ever known. But I was tired of the unknown. So with a lick and a stamp, I put the letter in the mail. Then the waiting and the questioning began. Would he write back? Would he board a plane and show up on my doorstep? Or perhaps would I hear nothing at all.

About two weeks later, a response letter came in my mailbox. I remember the day so vividly. It was a cold day in January. I couldn't get back inside from the mailbox fast enough. My husband was home at the time and we ceremoniously opened the letter together. My hands were trembling. After the first three warm and inviting sentences, I was so encouraged. But nothing could prepare me for what I was about to read next.

"Dianne, honey, this is your grandmother and grandfather. Your Dad died 3 years ago. He was 46." The rest was a blur.