My mother's father is proclaimed to be the best of the bunch of men that fathered my grandmother's children, but I've met him and I was not impressed. I can only remember meeting him once, but his presence had an effect on me. For the first time, I could see where my mother's broad shoulders and dimples came from. I could see where I came from. Up until the day I met my grandfather, I had often imagined and wished that I did not belong to my mother and father. I had frequently suggested to my mother that there had to have been a mix-up at the hospital-switched at birth. She always assured me that no such thing could have possibly occurred with me because I was the only black baby born in Mercy Hospital that day. Furthermore, she saw me immediately, and the nurses took great care with me; I was the star of the nursery.
To my disappointment, I knew without a doubt that I belonged to my mother by the time I was nine because I had met my grandfather, so I started imagining that it was my sister who did not belong to us. After all, she had no dimples. Perhaps, it was she who was switched at birth. My mother jokes lovingly that it's possible because there were other black babies born at Mercy Hospital on October 28, 1971, the day my sister pushed her way into this world. Plus, my mother did not get to see her immediately. But, as much as I would like to deny my sister, I simply can't. Even if the uniform she wears looks like she belongs to a different team than my mom, dad, or me, her children certainly are members of our team. October 28, 1992, the day that my youngest nephew, Jordan, escaped her womb, complete with the team logo, dimples, I knew I could deny her no more.