I think it's safe to say I've gone through a lot in the last two years. Gut-wrenching divorce, new job, move to a new city, son with emotional/behavioral/academic issues, ... stop me when I've convinced you... Well, on top of all that, three weeks ago I was informed that my 20-year-old daughter, my cutie patootie, the girl whom I've known and loved since she breathed her first breath, and now since grown into a beautiful young woman, may not be my biological daughter. I will skip the unpleasant details of HOW this genetic quandry existed, and of WHY this information was not only withheld from me for 20 years (but not the other possible DNA donor), but also WHY IN THE HELL her mother chose to drop this bombshell on her children NEARLY TWO YEARS AGO without my knowledge. Suffice it to say, when I recently learned of the situation, it was like someone shot a cannonball into my stomach. You parents can imagine the emotions going through my head the last few weeks. Heartbreak, anger, fear, anger, dread, and anger. Some thoughts actually didn't involve the death and/or maiming of those responsible for putting my kids through Hell for the last 2 years as they tried to sort out their own existence, their relationship to each other, to me, and to their mother. What can be a known truth in their lives if this basic "known" element is suddenly cast into the "maybe not" category? My pain in this knowledge is multiplied tenfold because I now know they have been suffering through this for so long without my knowledge. I understand why the kids didn't tell me -- obviously they didn't want to hurt me, to feel like they did. But in the process, they bore the heavy burden themselves, living in doubt, unsure of anything they believed about their family. I can't erase that pain, but I did take steps to end the doubt. I struggled with the decision to take the paternity test -- what if it's true? What if she's really not my biological daughter? I know it wouldn't affect our relationship, but it would affect our lives, and change forever the way we looked at each other. I mean -- I always thought my daughter looked like me, but what if I've just been seeing what I want to see? She has my hair color, and that cowlick like I do -- but what if that's HIS hair color, HIS cowlick? The thought alone is enough to make one want to jump off the Skyway Bridge. But I couldn't live the rest of my life not knowing. Not knowing is an open wound. At least knowing, even if the test came back negative, would stop the bleeding. It would settle the question, we could learn to accept it, and move on with our lives. Not knowing is torture, better to know the worst than allow the cloud of doubt to continue its depressing vigil. And maybe, just maybe, the test would come back in my favor. So we took the test. Father's Day came this year while we waited to receive the test results. Father's Day. I spent the weekend with my daughter, wondering if this was the last Father's Day I could claim her as my "flesh and blood." I remembered all the handmade cards, the nightly kisses, the way she would welcome me home from work every day by excitedly clinging to my leg as I walked around the room. And I wondered -- was some other man due the blessings that I received for having her in my life? Does this other man have claim to any of the pride I have in her accomplishments, any of the credit when someone mentions her beauty, or any of the joy simply in knowing her as their daughter? These are painful thoughts. The results came back today. DNA paternity testing is very complicated, at least by looking at the printout before me. There are columns indicating the various DNA markers tested for in both our samples. There are phrases such as STR Locus, Allele Range, and Amelogenin. These things mean nothing to me. I am looking for the result, one of two possible conclusions. If enough genetic markers do not match, the probability of my being her biological father will be listed as 0%. ZERO. Not maybe, but NO. On the other hand, if the genetic markers match, the probability will be listed as 99.9% or so. That means I will be among the very small set of men in the general population who could possibly be the father. Since we have already eliminated all but two (including me) of all possible men in that set, a 99.9% probability would essentially be proof that I am indeed the father. Not maybe, but YES. Here's to no more maybe's. At the bottom, under the heading Statistical Results, is the following line: Probability = 99.999542030180% Of the genetic markers tested, 13 of 13 match (99.984241726192% of the Caucasian-American male population is excluded from the possibility of being the biological father). She is mine, all mine. Happy Father's Day.