My adoptive father taught me the meaning of family: Alan Cobb

I've never met my biological father.

Every Father's Day, my mind wanders to an internal discussion about nature versus nurture. I do not know the answers, and I do not have any conclusions.

The reason this internal conversation occurs is the simple reason that I was adopted at birth. Well, I was 6 weeks old. So close enough.

I was one of millions of children born in maternity hospitals from the 1950s to the 1970s. Sexual mores had changed but not birth control. When the only way to get a condom was to go to the pharmacy and the pharmacist was your Sunday School teacher, well, you were not going to buy a condom.

I was born in Kansas City, Missouri, in December 1965. Kansas City was the mecca of maternity hospitals. At one time, there were nearly a dozen maternity hospitals for single mothers in Kansas City. Hundreds of thousands of single mothers ventured to Kansas City to deliver their babies in the virtual cover of darkness.

I was result of one of those single mothers making the trek to Kansas City. My mom came from central Texas.

I have tried to track down my biological father, and I probably never will find him. Of course it is likely he is deceased. And I will probably never meet any of my biological relatives from my father's side.

I have been blessed to have reconnected with my biological mother, Joan, and I have a wonderful relationship with her and my biological sister Leslie and her children Graham and Ellie.

Joan is so sweet. I am not sure what I inherited from her. Surely something.

I had an amazing father, Bill Cobb. He was gentle, patient and kind. He died at age 88 in 2020. There was more than one time when my wife, Holly, wondered why I couldn't have the patience of my dad. Genetics was always my excuse. Though even when I said it, I knew that was an excuse. God did give me freewill. And my dad demonstrated patience. I am still learning from Bill Cobb.

My dad and mom adopted four children. I did not realize how unusual that was until my dad's memorial service.

To my wife and children, the fact that Bill and Marilyn were my adoptive parents made no difference. The love between all of them was mutual and unconditional.

My dad's memorial service was in my sister Peggy's backyard in Wichita. We had pizza and beer. That's how I would like my memorial service to go.

One of my parents' best friends from Southwestern College in Winfield, Jack Focht, gave my Dad and Mom credit for adopting four kids. He didn't think he could have done that.

What?

There are very few families with two or three adopted children, let alone four.

That fact never occurred to me.

At that moment, for the first time, at age 54, I first realized what my parents had done.

They gave a wonderful life to four children in which they had no genetic connection, and they dedicated their lives to us.

I will always cherish the last conversation I had with my dad.

In May 2020, my younger sister, Peggy, called and thought this might be the end, that Dad had fallen out of his favorite chair. She had said something similar five years before, but somehow, this time I felt she was right. I was stressed packing my bag. I will never forget that my dog Gracie felt my distress.

I drove two hours from Topeka to Wichita and went through the COVID check at his retirement apartment complex and entered his room. And he was alone. I thought he was asleep; I touched him on his shoulder and I said, "You were a great dad."

He looked up and said, "You made it easy." I laughed out loud! I did not make it easy! I laugh at that memory today. I know there were so many times that my parents had no idea what to do with me.

A few minutes later, a hospice nurse entered the room. My dad made sure that she knew that I had worked on the Trump campaign. He was proud, though I doubt he voted for Trump. He was very happy that I had worked for a successful presidential campaign.

This hospice nurse's response was that was great because Hillary Clinton was a "gay."

My dad immediately looked up (hours before his death) and said defiantly, "My son is gay."

My brother Joe is gay and is the now the mayor of Roanoke, Virginia.

He was a wonderful dad to both of us.

In just a few minutes, knowing he was about to die, my dad celebrated, defended and supported his two very different sons.

The four Cobb kids that Bill and Marilyn adopted are very different. It took me years to fully recognize and acknowledge the depth of the differences. I am sure that our parents realized those differences very quickly.

Growing up, we were all just the children of Bill and Marilyn Cobb.

My dad recognized all those oddities and still shepherded us all into decent human beings.

My oldest sister is a physician assistant in California and Kansas. She is the most wonderful sister you can imagine.

My youngest sister Peggy was dedicated to managing the end of our parents' life and is as honest as the day is long. I have both heard and have knowledge of so many family problems related to end-of-life financial things. Our family had no issues. Peggy is the reason. She is a rock.

Brother relationships are always unique. While Joe and I are very different in many ways, I have no doubt that the reason we remain connected is because of the example set by Bill and Marilyn Cobb.

My best dad moment was after a controversial thing regarding a prank that I was involved with during my freshman year at Wichita State University in 1985. It was serious business. I was facing expulsion.

At the exact same time my older sister Nancy was in a car accident, which caused her to be in ICU and ultimately a halo, in which medical bolts are inserted into her skull. (She fully recovered.)

My parents were called into the College Dean's office to let them know about the bad thing I did.

Later, Dean Maben told me that my parents told them that my situation simply wasn't important to them.

My dad told the dean: "You do what you need to do with Alan. We have a daughter in the hospital fighting for her life."

I loved my parents then and now.

That's one of the many examples of why I was lucky to have been adopted by Bill and Marilyn Cobb.

I don't remember apologizing to my parents for the extra stress I caused them. It is a regret. Though knowing Bill and Marilyn Cobb, they never thought about it.

Though I know I thanked them for their guidance and putting up with me.

The four children adopted by Bill and Marilyn Cobb, and our children, will forever be connected in ways that are stronger than heredity, genetics or biology.

Joe, Nancy, Peggy and I remain in consistent contact, and I know we are all grateful to have Bill Cobb as our dad.

Occasionally, I think about how my life might have been different had I had been raised by my biological father. This mystery person.

I also think about his life. What happened to him? Did he marry, have children, which are my brothers and sisters? Where did his life go? I would like to know.

While I will probably always ask those questions and never have the answer, one thing remains.

I won the human lottery by having Bill Cobb as my dad.

Alan Cobb is former president and CEO of the Kansas Chamber and a lifelong Kansan.

This article originally appeared on Topeka Capital-Journal: My adoptive father taught me the meaning of family: Alan Cobb

Reporting by Alan Cobb, Special to The Capital-Journal / Topeka Capital-Journal

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This story was originally published June 21, 2026 at 4:02 AM.