In order to understand the significance of finding my dad, it may be helpful to take a step back to the beginning.
My story began unexpectedly. A summer romance under the palm trees in Waikiki between a native Hawaiian and a deeply Catholic, Caucasian woman from Portland, Oregon. My mother had graduated from high school and joined her two sisters in Hawaii for the summer. She found a job at the Celebrity Inn in Waikiki as a Hostess. The bouncer who worked in the bar was a very handsome Hawaiian (according to her description) who was a few years older than she was. They spent time together in groups.
The brief relationship culminated when the woman was called home with the news of her father’s terminal diagnosis. Once at home, she learns of her pregnancy. Her family angry, disappointed, surprised and sad, encourages her to give her child (me) up for adoption. She chooses to reach out to my father letting the Hawaiian know of their pregnancy news. The Hawaiian, shocked and uncertain, doesn’t know how to respond. Meanwhile her mother begins the paperwork to ensure the adoption is ready for the impending delivery. Continually hoping for the fairy-tale rescue by her Prince, she is stunned when in fact her baby is born, whisked off to an adoptive family and she is left crying without a baby in her arms. Three lives forever changed and the beginning of my unexpected story.