King's Corner: Discovering Your Full Story

King's Corner column for the July 18, 2025 issue

I always knew I was adopted. There’s something profound about knowing your father and mother, knowing where you came from, hugging someone who’s your flesh-and-blood. When you’re adopted you don’t know any of that. You don’t know who you are.

Some people are fine with that; others want to know. I’ve spent time with people looking for their birth parents, and I’ve discovered everyone has some sense in advance of how it might turn out. One found her mother in an aged care home, and the woman wouldn’t turn to speak with her. When I found mine, one of her first questions was, “What took you so long?” as we hugged, looked each other up and down in amazement and delight, and hugged some more.

Everyone has a story. While growing up you get to hear all the family stories. When instead you first catch up in later life, there are so many stories yet to hear. Each of them is, in some little or large way, a story of you. Of who you are, with hints of who you could become.

Pregnancy out of wedlock used to be very shameful, and everyone went to lengths to hide it. My mother from northern California was sent to live with her grandparents in the bay area, a type of hiding. The adoption was arranged before my birth, and an alternate birth certificate was issued soon after showing only my adoptive parents’ names. Unlike now, government tried to lock away any trace that might say otherwise.

But there’s always a trace. The birth certificate number had an “a” on the end for “alternate”. A tiny clue.

By my 20’s I cracked the code and mom – Darien – was a short drive away, having built her single life around her passion of boating. She quickly adjusted to having an adult son, and told me of my dad who was still in the bay area. I had a friend Mom’s age – Phyllis – who welcomed mom and I to visit her at her bay area home. Dad – Mark King – came nervously knocking the next morning. We went to a lunch on the Jack London Square in Oakland that stretched almost to dinner time.

We told stories, shared laughter, exchanged long-held secrets, and had the incredible experience of being a family for an afternoon. I learned that mom couldn’t conceive again after I was born, and dad never had further children, so this was a precious moment in time. When we returned, Mark and I sat on one living room couch while Darien and Phyllis sat on the one opposite, whispering to each other and laughing at how, despite just meeting, dad and I had identical mannerisms.

That night I asked my birth mom what she thought of the day. “I learned two things today. I learned why I fell in love with him, and I learned why I didn’t marry him.” Of course I asked for details. “Well, first, my mom pushed me not to. But the real reason was he told such wild and wonderful stories that I was afraid to believe they could possibly be true, and that I could be part of that life. Your dad was many things but not safe, and I was told to hold onto what was safe.”

This is from a woman who founded a boating magazine in Marina del Rey that prospered for decades. Who sailed a tri-hull over open ocean to Tahiti. Who wrote the lease that was adopted as the national standard for everyone living on boats. Who wrote the standard adopted by Los Angeles police for managing relationships with gangs in West LA. Who stood up to a developer to stop the closure of a major hospital, so it was still there when she and others needed it. At her huge funeral years later, the list of speakers was amazing.

This woman who accomplished so much told me that at least some of it was compensation for her regret of the opportunities she missed with Mark and me.

Have you also discovered that accomplishments can only go so far in covering up regret?

In a Cornell University study, it was found that the biggest regret among older adults was not following their dreams and passions. Life can be a complicated web of responsibilities and commitments that seem to take precedence over our deepest desires. Many wish they had spent more time pursuing what they were truly passionate about or what set their souls on fire, instead of settling for what was practical or expected.

I’ll bet you already know that somewhere deep inside. You know the regrets you have, the opportunities you’ve missed, the moments of “What if…” that occasionally haunt your quiet times. Not for what happened, or didn’t happen, but for wondering who you might have become if you’d gone down that path. How you might have discovered – in some new way – what you’re capable of, and who you could be.

Are you willing to ask God who you’re capable of being, and who you really are? In my case I was fortunate to find my birth mother and father when chasing that question. I’ve been even more fortunate to find my heavenly father and ask him that question. Only by asking him, and listening, can we have peace about the answer. Because he will answer.

Who are you? Who were you meant to be? Who are you willing to ask about that? And are you ready to discover your full story?