His father could be an Arab for all we know.
Teresa and Rick Kaepernick had been sweethearts since they were 14-year-olds growing up in New London, Wis. They had Kyle in 1977, then his sister, Devon, four years later. The couple always imagined having three or four children, so they tried again, but tragedy struck.
A son, Lance, died of congenital heart failure 23 days after Teresa gave birth. Multiple surgeries couldn't save his life. Devastated, but resilient, they tried again. Another son, Kent, lived four days before dying of the same affliction.
Rick and Teresa had genetic counseling, and found out they had a 50% chance of having sons born without heart defects. Kyle's life had been a 50-50 proposition.
Teresa's voice is strong and matter-of-fact as she tells the stories of Lance and Kent. She speaks in an enduring Wisconsin accent and wears a small gold cross around her neck, pinching it occasionally between her fingernails.
"We stopped," she says. "But after about five years, I had a very strong desire to have another child. God works in mysterious ways, because I just had such an overwhelming urge at that time."
As a nurse who had worked in obstetrics, Teresa understood the pitfalls of private adoption. So she went to an agency, with the understanding that she was ineligible for a healthy, white baby because she had two of them.
She told them she didn't care about race or health.
The agency called back and alerted the Kaepernicks about a boy,
half-black, half-white, born Nov. 3, 1987 to a 19-year-old from Milwaukee. He came to the Kaepernicks at 5 weeks old.
"We were so lucky to get Colin," Teresa says. "It's the smartest thing we ever did. We get this really perfect child. It blows me away to think that we're so fortunate."