The curious creation of Marc Snow

It was a cold fall day, Mom was bearing down and I was coming on through… Well not really, it was rural south Texas, it was never cold. It was in the 80s and the that part of the country was still in a tizzy about In Vitro Fertilization. Picketing and religious zealotry brewed hatred for the new technology heralding all but the end times for our sins. “How dare we play god” they would say. All things considered, it seems like there was only a fraction of a degree of separation between the anti-abortion fanatics and the anti-IVF fanatics. Turns out they are both too enthusiastic to spread raw hatred. That said, the technical details of my conception used techniques in practice since at least the 1940s. None the less, it was still quite a taboo especially considering the new monster we were asked to take up torches for. But before we get into that, let me back up a bit.

In the midst of the IVF chaos, a young couple, in a tiny Texas town, who were raised prim and proper, were desperate to give a loving home to children they would likely never have. Around them then, and still in the world today, are throngs of promiscuous sexual partners popping out kids like rabbits. Sadly, and too often, kids are referred to as “accidents”. Sometimes they come after a drunken night of partying, other times it’s two teenagers who explored without protection. Sometimes kids hold marriages together like glue, two people who hate each other stick together “for the kids” when it’s probably for the security of knowing they’re not going to suffer alone. There are all kinds of ways the miracle of life has a habit of popping up in the most unwanted places at the most unwanted times.

Despite all that, we desperately love our children. Accidents, oopsies, broken condoms and all, they represent the best of us even if they were conceived by some of our worst choices. Somehow, in a world with all of this tomfoolery, the idea had caught on that loving parents, desperate to have children, were jilting God if they used medical techniques rather than drunken asshattery to create those children.

It’s tough to do everything right and feel like you did something to get slapped on the wrist by God. That was how this couple, my parents, felt. They were brought up by depression era parents who survived WWII, my father’s father was an infantryman who ended the war in a german POW camp and my mother’s father served in the Philippines as a sniper. When they came back from the war one became a gas station attendant and the other a housepainter and both of my grandmothers managed the home as was tradition in those days. All of them started out on rural cotton farms. All of them were as poor as the dirt they worked. These were humble roots. Both my parents managed to go to college and make good on their ancestor’s blood and sweat. They were bred and raised with a spirit of determination that got them to the point that they were. And here they had made it. Through college, into good jobs, married and never fooled around each and every “t” crossed and “i” dotted. Up to that point hard work had earned them everything they deserved. My mom was a “working mother” which was incredibly unusual at the time. At that time, she only knew of one other mother who held a job and planned to have a family while working. Conditions for pregnant women were still clandestine. You never talked about your pregnancy, that was exceptionally private information. At work, they used code and talked about women being “PG”. Clothing had to be very carefully selected to hide your condition. It was a strange and silly time. She and my Dad fought the good fight. And so, it was time to start a family.

At first it was good fun, as it always is. Then, things were starting to take longer than expected. Having kids was harder than they thought. After marriage my Dad was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, and then a testicular tumor, and a bit later they found out why they had so much trouble with kids. His sperm count was abysmally low. They lived an hour from a major medical system so they spent lots of time driving and dealing with Dad’s health in those first years. After awhile they gave up on natural conception and a local Doctor who knew them well suggested they try artificial insemination or “AI” as it was known then. A doctor would select semen from donors (usually college students and in my case they were told that they were medical school students or doctors) and they would be screened so that the resulting children would resemble their real fathers (That is the fathers that would raise them). From there many physicians would make a kind of donor slurry with more than a few matching donors and the real father’s semen (if any). They would then inject this into the mother in a process I like to call turkey basting and then, they’d wish all the potential sperm good luck. This, as it turns out wouldn’t be easy either. Apparently, to get this done doctor’s visits had to be after hours as late as 10pm. My mom wouldn’t dare bring up the subject at work so any time she had to drive the hour to the clinic to get a treatment she’d have to find other excuses to take off. Over the course of 6 or so years my older sibling came first, then two miscarriages, and finally me. Every try was more money out of my parent’s pockets and hours in the car and more baggage packed into an already over tight secret. No one was told! No one! Not my grandparents, family members, friends… No one. Only four people knew what was happening all those years. My parents and the doctors. When I was born the family was complete, and the story was buried. My mother, father, and the two doctors are the only souls on earth who would know about my true paternal parentage for over 30 years.

My childhood is pretty boring. We grew up out in the country though my parents worked city jobs in the little town near our home. That said, there were some obvious signs in hindsight. I’m a science NERD. I mean a real science geek and neither of my parents seemed to share much in common with me about my curiosity and habits. You might not find too many people who love Carl Sagan as much as I do. I cut my teeth on Beakman’s World Saturday. My Dad and I didn’t share any of these passions. And, sadly, I didn’t share his passions either. Despite that, I can’t deny that he was a spectacular Dad. My Dad taught us timeliness, independence, and how to treat a spouse through example. He was devoted and faithful to my Mom and I’ve learned by example from him on that. He loved children and though we don’t share some genetic traits, as a father myself his methods have shaped how I nurture my own child.

In retrospect it might have been nice to know some things. For instance, I was diagnosed with ADD as an adult and I’ve found it in my daughter. Thankfully in her case we discovered things early and she’s on a great road now. In my case, there was no one to relate my peculiar thought process to and we all suffered. My parents and I both struggled to manage my seemingly deliberate underachievement and it was a major sticking point as I grew up. I was enrolled in a gifted and talented program and that helped but my academic life suffered. I can’t blame it all on my heritage but it certainly factors.

I grew into my 30s not knowing this. My parents wanted to tell me but as time went on it got harder and harder to find a “good time”. My Dad passed away recently, and it was on the heels of that that I started dinkering around with DNA tools and found what seems to be a secret uncle. I thought the match was uncanny and assumed it was someone twice removed or something like that, a great grandparent fooling around. Before I could sort out the details my Mom spilled the beans on an amazing and heroic birth.

I have no information about my bio-father. I only have assumptions and questions. DNA has helped fill in some gaps and I think I’ve found some closely related family on that side as I mentioned. I do have questions and I’d love to get to know my bio-dad/family but not as a father necessarily. I’m curious about him in the same way I find my daughter’s similarity to me interesting. We share a lot of tics and traits and I wonder if talking to my bio-dad would shed some light on those things for me in the same way I learned about my daughter. More than that I wish to thank him. I’m not sure of the circumstances of his donation. I don’t know if it was some ultra-secret thing you had to do all kinds of screening for or if it was for extra cash in college. I don’t know if he was a medical school student as my mom was told. I’d like to think it was out of reverence or some sense of higher purpose but more likely, he was in college and thought donating would be a hoot. Regardless, a good family got a son. My dad got to teach his son to play baseball (full disclosure I hated it 😉 ) I had loving grandparents that loved to take me fishing and camping in the fall and summer. I enjoy family reunions in my hometown that last for an entire weekend and end in homemade ice cream and pool parties. My wedding saw more than 300 invitations sent out, all to people who called me family, who loved me and my family, and who were happy to see me settle with a wonderful woman. And I am raising his bio-granddaughter who carries that donation forward. She’s a science nerd too. Obsessed with bugs.

What it comes down to, is that rather than a drunken one night stand in the back of a drive-in, or a dank college dorm after a party, or the parking lot of a dive bar or bowling alley, or even the bedroom of a loving couple, I was conceived in a Doctor’s office far from home. Numerous people had to sacrifice and struggle to bring me into the world. Some self-righteous do-rights would be floored upon learning this if it had been them. I suppose society tells us to be ashamed of this kind of parentage. Honestly, I couldn’t be more delighted. It answers more than a few questions for me. My wife and I are struggling with infertility now, so maybe it comes at a serendipitous time. Having the issue be so relatable makes it that much more special. My parents loved the idea of me so much, they drove two hours round trip in complete and total secret for years to ask a doctor to carefully select half of my genes to put me together. Like some super hero, I was a kind of medical science experiment to make a family. Maybe it’s because I’m a science nerd I love the idea of being created rather than born. But it’s more that now there can be no doubt. I was a creation of deep, incredible love. The kind that will overlook anything, the kind that will climb literal mountains, the kind that you’ll keep terrible secrets forever if need be. Anything and everything was done to bring me into the world and lovingly nurture me and keep me safe.

Sadly, there are children out there with parents who were less enthusiastic. I’m sure some have had questions as to how happily they were received into this world. I, on the other hand, have objective proof. For whatever trouble I may have caused, and hair my parents have lost on my account, they love me. Saying it often is great, but in action is the truth. There is no shortage of truth here.

If you’re a Dad who’s struggling like my Dad was I hope you go for it. I hope you’re as strong as him. I hope you raise yourself to be unashamed of things well out of your control. If you’re on the fence, you need to know your kid will love you. And you should be proud. You might, understandably, keep the details private until they are older, but you should be proud to share with your child that you were willing to overlook details to love them the way they are, for whatever they are, with no strings attached. Not even genetic ones.