A few months later, on a visit to Colorado, I drove north to meet Antonio for the first time.We met at a truck stop between Cheyenne, Wyoming, where he was living, and Fort Collins, Colorado, where I was visiting my parents, on an overcast day in November.
But, like America itself, I represent all these people, and despite what some of my fellow citizens — including the president — may believe, every part of me is American.
Mary didn’t feel she could give her child the life he deserved, so she arranged for an adoption.
Hours after I was born, a middle-aged couple from Fort Collins adopted me.
In my early 30s, I lived on Washington’s Olympic Peninsula, and there met a woman from Mexico who made old-style tacos with wild chanterelle mushrooms.
The tacos were delicious, and on one of my many trips to see her, I told the woman of my biological father and his unknown story. Her insistence catalyzed a deep desire within me I hadn’t been fully aware of. I called my biological mother, whom I’d met when I was 18, and I asked her to connect me with him.