A Reflection on Father's Day from a Parent of Donor-Conceived Kids

Father's Day and Mother’s Day used to be straightforward for me. As the child of fertile cisgender, heterosexual parents who are still married, I’ve never wondered who to celebrate on days like these. The people who contributed the sperm, egg, and uterus that resulted in my birth are the same people who raised me, the same people I still call family today. But becoming a parent through donor conception has changed everything, forcing me to examine assumptions I hold about parenthood, biology, and the meaning of family itself.

If you are like me, you probably haven't thought much about the social privilege we have when our genetic family is also the family that raised us and the family we claim. This privilege shows up in countless small ways: easily filling out forms, sharing accurate family medical histories with healthcare providers, not having to explain why we don't look like our parents, and setting up password reminder questions about our mother's maiden name. But this straightforward experience isn't universal.

Adoptees and donor-conceived people may face blank spaces when asked about genetic medical history. People from blended families juggle step-parents, half-siblings, and multiple households during holidays. Those raised by grandparents, family friends, or chosen family members constantly encounter forms and systems that don't account for their reality. And then there's the dreaded family tree project, a nearly universal elementary school assignment that forces children from all these complex family structures to squeeze their reality into neat little boxes designed for nuclear families, often leaving them to choose which relationships to include and which to leave invisible.

As a parent via donor conception, I've come to recognize both how this privilege shaped my own childhood experience and how its absence could shape my children's. In a culture deeply rooted in biogenetic ideology and heteronormativity, I must actively create space for my kids to define family on their own terms, knowing they'll face questions and systems that assume their family looks like the one I grew up in. Acknowledging this privilege isn't about shame or guilt. It's about building the understanding necessary to create more inclusive communities where every family is recognized, supported, and valued.

The truth is, we can't dictate who our children call family. As parents, our job is to support them in figuring this out for themselves. We can help them notice and appreciate the ways of being family around us and help them understand that their concept of family may evolve over time. We can teach them that family can mean so many things. Sometimes we might define family by the biological connections that link us through DNA and shared ancestry. Other times, we find family in love, that deep affection and care that develops between people regardless of how they came into each other's lives. Sometimes family can grow from shared experiences, whether that's surviving hardship together, celebrating milestones side by side, or simply accumulating years of daily life. It might be built on commitment, a conscious decision to show up for someone consistently, through good times and challenges alike. Sometimes it's a bond that transcends explanation, the inexplicable connections that make certain people feel at home. We can show how family can include people who are no longer in their lives or even folks they've never met.

For parents of donor-conceived children, family-oriented celebrations can bring up complex emotions. These events might resurface raw feelings about infertility journeys, grief over paths not taken, or fears that acknowledging genetic contributors somehow diminishes the completeness of our families. Infertile parents might fear their children will view the donor as a “real” parent. Solo parents might worry that discussing donors suggests their single-parent household lacks something essential. Parents in same-sex relationships might feel that recognizing genetic contributors implies their queer love isn't enough on its own.

I'm learning to sit with these feelings while also recognizing that my children's need to explore their own identity is separate from my own emotional journey. These occasions actually present valuable opportunities for growth and connection. When we approach these conversations with openness and honesty - even when our children's questions trigger our own vulnerabilities - we model emotional intelligence and show them that families can handle complexity without breaking.

Family isn't a fixed category but a living, breathing constellation of relationships that can expand, contract, and transform as we grow and change. Whether formed through biology, shared experiences, or deliberate choice, family bonds are ultimately defined by those within them. For donor-conceived people, the relationships with the donor and donor siblings are especially personal. Some may embrace these genetic connections as meaningful family ties, while others may acknowledge the biological link without considering it a familial relationship, and still others may think nothing of them at all. All of these choices are valid.

When Father's Day comes around now, I don't approach it with the same straightforward certainty I once had. Instead, my kids and I talk about how Father's Day is a day to celebrate the love, care, and commitment that goes into being a family. We talk about the men and masculine folks in our lives that we love, trust, and respect. I remind them that it takes three things to make a baby and that there are many words for the person the sperm (and half their genes) came from, including genetic father. We discuss what we know about him. I ask my kids who they want to celebrate, and I listen to their answers with curiosity. One year it was me, another my father, and another our beloved neighbor John. Maybe one year they will want to acknowledge our family’s donor. Maybe not. It’s up to each of them.