What Next?

Dad, donor, man that took part in my creation, or whatever it is that I am supposed to call you:
I used to laugh at the stories that said things like, “it’s totally possible to find your biological parents these days due to how extremely capable the internet has become,” that is, until tonight. I now am that person, sitting here telling my story all because of Google. I used to type in all of the personal information that was provided by the California Cryobank on my father into Google, all of the details poured out from underneath my fingertips as I hit enter. I thought that everything was going to be so typical, until results popped up. A match of what you majored in during college matched some random man’s. I entertained the thought of that man being you. I continued to search his name, discovering that you had the same year and city of birth as yours. Weird. I kept going, which I am mad at myself for doing now, but I couldn’t stop there. The man had a website that talked about him in a brief biography that he wrote himself, it said he had four sisters. I looked back at the donor papers that I held in my hand, shaking as I came to terms with the fact that it said you had four sisters too. Not to mention, you attended school in California during the same year you donated your sperm. This part struck me the most, this man had light blue eyes, something my mom and I both lack. I flipped through the donor file pages and came across the doctor’s little comment card that he/she had written upon meeting the you; it said that your eyes were a “striking light blue color.” Our noses are the same. It’s as if whatever doesn’t match up with my mom and my own face is somehow found in yours. The worst part is that I wish I didn’t do this. I wish I didn’t find you. I wish that all of the evidence didn’t match. I wish that I was never able to tell that this was you. I wish all of this because you were anonymous from the start, obviously not wanting to be found. I haven’t done anything radical in terms of DNA verification like 23andme or ancestry.com, but that doesn’t change the fact that this man is you. The man I accidentally came across on Google is the same man that sat in an empty room, jacked off into a cup, labeled himself as ‘anonymous’ and then left — hoping to be undetected. You recently got married. No kids. Just in love. You were one of the most successful young people,even published in a magazine and everything. YOU ARE A SOMEBODY. That’s the problem, you are a somebody and you never wanted me to know that. I got the privilege of finding you through the details you gave, but everything is turning sour because I know. I know that you are a somebody. You matter, but you matter too much for me to get to know you and that’s why you checked the box claiming that you wanted to be anonymous. So yes, I found you and that is probably the scariest thing that has ever happened to me; and if I knew what to do next I wouldn’t have been writing on this site.