Finding Dad: From "Love Child" to Daughter (8 page)

After they left, Mark tried to smooth things over. “It’s not your fault. This is just hard for her.” He explained how the two of them didn’t have a good relationship with their biological father, and my father had become their true father figure. Kim felt like she was being replaced by a “real” daughter. Ironic how my “real” father filled
their
void, while creating mine. I felt for her, and hoped she wouldn’t see me as the enemy.

We never spoke again about that night. That summer she would come over from time to time with her young children to use the trampoline, but I always had the feeling she believed she got bounced for me. My entry into my father’s life forever changed hers, and while he built a game changing relationship with me, she was sidelined as the forgotten step-sister. It probably wasn’t fair, and I felt for Kim, but I couldn’t shoulder the blame for my father never telling anyone about me.

Unlike Kim, Mark couldn’t have been friendlier, that night after all the formalities were over, he offered to take me out so I could see the town. I welcomed the chance to let down my hair and hang out with someone near my age who knew all the ins and outs of this new world I had entered. The press was still loitering about outside, so I got in the back of his car while he piled blankets on top of me so they wouldn’t see me. We laughed hysterically about pulling off our escape for some hot cocoa. Chocolate always helped me feel better, and I was relieved to know someone sweet would be living with me in my father’s house for the summer.

The rest of that night was a blur after Kim’s departure. Looking back now, I’m not even sure if I said goodnight to my father, since the evening had been more about getting to know him through the people with whom he shared his life. The unreality of it all was a lot to take in—the cameras, the sobbing —but I knew I needed to keep performing. Like Cinderella, I had managed to make it to the ball, but feared my chariot could still turn into a pumpkin if I didn’t curtsy right. Looking back, my father’s lack of response to the drama at his dinner table could have seemed cold and aloof, but I saw it as strength. With the emotion as thick as pea soup in the room, he’d weathered the storm without so much as a comment. His decision to bring me into his home had been made, and no one was going to sway him. He was just the kind of rock I needed to make me feel safe, and I admired his ability to stay strong in a storm.

Mom had always told me I was wired like him—his emotions came with a hold button; something that didn’t come on Mom’s model. I used my hold button that day, and I have used it countless times since in my career as a TV journalist, especially when breaking horrible news to the public as a newscaster. In retrospect, I know my father and I were using our “hold buttons” as we tried to survive each moment of scrutiny in the early days of our relationship. We both shared the same survival instinct that allowed us to detach from emotions before they buried us, and we digested the stress moment by moment. Just like when he ran from church to church to escape the Nazis and stay alive, I knew I had to keep making it through each challenge to keep alive my dream of having a father.

That night I went to sleep in the “green” room—all of the guest rooms were named after the color of their décor—and as I snuggled under the fine sheets, I fell asleep feeling excited and optimistic. I’d begun walking down a whole new road—one that included my father. Soon I would get to meet my half-brothers, and I hoped we would get along as well as I did with Mark. Tomorrow they could watch me on TV when my father and I faced the press together for the first time to announce I was dropping my lawsuit. I closed my eyes, telling myself there would be plenty of time to really get to know each other once the show was over.

  
10
We Now Pronounce You Father and Daughter

The next morning my father and I met in the kitchen and ate some eggs and toast Mrs. Schuster, the housekeeper, made for us. We needed to fuel up for our big day in front of the media where, for the first time together, we’d make a public pledge to become a real father and daughter. I thought he looked handsome in his trademark double breasted suit and striped tie, and was thrilled that he liked my black suit.

“You look very nice,” he said in a chipper voice. It was obvious he was raring to go.

“Thank you,” I answered, feeling excited as well.

“Let’s go, we don’t want to be late.” The trooper stood to attention, and we all went out to his cruiser to begin the forty-five minute ride from Seaward to the State House.

I looked forward to riding alone with my father to the State House. With all the whirlwind swirling about, I needed the quiet of the car to get mentally ready. As we pulled into the State House, a sea of reporters was there to capture my father opening the door for me and helping me out of the car. The cameras went wild as my father reached out in a protective way to grab my hand to walk up the steps to the State House, both of us wearing wide smiles…and this time my smile wasn’t plastered on my face as a protective mask to what was in my heart. I was truly happy. My father seemed larger than life, tall, confident, and ready to take on any reporter. We went up several flights of stairs, until we got to the door with the gold letters that said “Governor’s Office.”

While the reporters and TV cameras waited to “take us live” from the State House, my father and I met in his private office and signed an out of court settlement. He agreed to pay all of my college expenses. Beyond that, he said he would like to treat me like any of his other children, which was priceless. DNA and legalities proved I was his daughter, but now I had hope of becoming his daughter in his heart.

While I embraced finding the other half of me, the media weighed in with their own opinions. Some legal analysts quipped in the newspapers that he was getting off easy, arguing that my father should use his millions to pay my mother back child support and guarantee me an inheritance in his will. One article entitled “Why Kara Wants More,” added up how much boarding school, equestrian lessons, and trips around the world would have cost, given this is how my brothers grew up.

A financial windfall would have been nice, and I do think my mother deserved more, but this agreement had something money couldn’t buy. It expressed his intention to
be
a father to me, that when and if he helped me do more, it would be because he wanted to, not because he was ordered to.

I had a few moments to prepare before facing the cameras, so I slipped into my father’s private bathroom to brush my hair. When I came out a jovial man startled me when he reached out his hand and said, “Hi, I’m your cousin Fenton!” He was clearly excited to meet me.

My father chimed in, “We call him Nepotism around here. He’s a travel agent and always wants to book my trips!”

Though I could see some facial similarities, these two men couldn’t have been more opposite. Fenton was as skinny as they come, dressed in khakis and a button down shirt which, he informed me, was his idea of dressing up. “Even if I don’t book your father’s trips, I do pretty well booking Spring Break trips for the students at Brown University. Hey, you’ll have to come to one of the parties on campus with me,” he said, reminding me of the frat boy who never grew up.

He was younger than my father, for sure, but I couldn’t tell how much. I later learned he kept his age a carefully guarded secret. I think it was his way of making sure he could act like a kid and get away with it.

“This is so cool—it’s just so cool that Bruce has a daughter,” he said while looking at my father and shaking his head in amazement.

Dad looked at his watch and patted Fenton on the back. “Okay, we’ll have to hold this until later. Time to go.”

It was thrilling to meet members of my new family, especially one so outgoing and friendly. After Kim’s bolting from dinner the night before, I was worried about others’ reactions to me. Fenton made those worries melt away. “Nice to meet you, Fenton.”

My father and I left his office and walked toward the State Room, where all of the reporters were waiting. Photographers and TV cameras followed our every step as my father escorted me across the rich jewel-toned rug to the podium.

He stood tall behind the podium and addressed the media with a written statement. “Kara spent an evening at my home in Newport last evening, and we enjoyed a night together as she got to know my family.”

He went on to say how he would pay for my college and looked forward to building a relationship with me when I moved into his home this summer.

Next, I read from the statement that a staffer had written for me. “I enjoyed meeting the family last night, and I look forward to coming back to spend some time in Newport before going off to college.”

Once we were done with the script, the real fun started. My father used his charisma like a sword to cut through the tension in the room, jabbing back at each question they yelled out.

A reporter asked him how having a daughter would change him, and my father put on a big grin and quipped, “I assume I’ll be getting more than the usual amount of Father’s Day cards this year.”

Everyone laughed. Given the varying opinions about our situation, his comment was the perfect icebreaker to what could have been a tense press conference.

When M. Charles Bakst, the legendary political columnist for the
Providence Journal
, started to ask me about my feelings toward my father’s religion, my father interjected by turning to me and asking, “Do you know I’m Jewish?”

“Yes,” I said with a nod.

More laughter.

“Good, next question,” he said.

When they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I said a television news reporter or a lawyer. Given the media firestorm my father had just emerged from, a reporter sarcastically asked my father if he wanted one of his children to become a member of the media.

“As long as she doesn’t become a political columnist like Charlie, I’m okay.” More laughter.

“Governor, do you think she inherited her interests in broadcasting and law from you?”

Mom never knew that after my father left Executive Jet and before he became governor, he was the CEO of the Outlet Corporation, one of the largest broadcasting companies in America. He started with just one station in Providence, and by the time he was done, he’d expanded the company to nearly a dozen stations. He was a trailblazer in the very field I wanted to enter. I couldn’t help but dream of the doors he could open.

”Kara is still young; we’ll send her off to the University of Michigan, and let’s see what she can do. I’m happy to help her.”

“Governor, do you see a resemblance?” a reporter shouted.

“I only have sons, and the three of them certainly don’t resemble this beautiful girl,” he answered with his signature charm.

My face ached from smiling so much, the energy was light and fun, and I was having such a great time laughing with my father that I nearly forgot we were being broadcasted across the globe.

When they asked me what I thought of my father I said, looking up at him giggling, “I think you’re like a milk toast.”

He looked back at me, grinning, but unsure how to take my meaning.

They’d misunderstood. I didn’t mean milquetoast, because anyone who knew my father knew he was far but bland, so I clarified things. “I mean you’re hard on the outside and soft on the inside, like a cookie that softens in milk.”

He belted out a deep laugh and gave me a pat on the back. “Okay then, whatever you say.”

I was a softening agent for him. His warm heart had always been there, but having a daughter around somehow gave him permission to reveal it. Today when the newspapers run a picture on the anniversary of our story, they always show the one with my father and I laughing so hard it looks like I could have caught flies in my mouth. We were having the best time together, and I admired my father’s honesty, even when the tough questions came.

“How will you make up for lost time, Governor?”

“Look, we can’t wave a magic wand and create a relationship, but we are going to do this one day at a time.”

He was right; there was no fairy godmother to erase the past, but it was clear the magic of the two of us coming together was a great new beginning—and who could ask for more than that?

My father ended the news conference by requesting the media give us some space. “We now ask for privacy, so we can start building a meaningful father-daughter relationship.”

When it was over, I could tell Henry was pleased. “You were like a beacon of light; happy, calm, and you do look and speak just like him.”

Life was good. I left with Henry to go back home to Michigan and pack for my big move.

Soon the cameras would depart and move on to the next scandal, leaving us to do the real work of building the relationship we both said we wanted.

In the final scene of
Annie
, Daddy Warbucks throws her a big party with elephants and fireworks on the lawn to celebrate their new life together, but they never show what happens after they go inside his big mansion to start their real life. The movie ends and we are all left to wonder. Would he become the father he promised to be? Would the excitement last when the cameras were gone? I would have to find out.

  
11
Hi Dad, I’m Home

I really did feel like Annie when I moved into the “Blue Room” in my father’s Newport estate, and I knew I was going to like it there. Though I had slept in the “Green Room” for our family dinner, that was just for guests, and this was to be “my” room. Finally, a place to call my own that represented the new stature I had in my father’s life. I must really be family if I get a room, right? I quietly closed the door and smiled to myself. Everything was so beautiful, it was hard to believe I was now going to live here. I made sure not to lay anything down on the crisp white bedspreads that covered the two twin beds for fear I might make a mark.

I carefully arranged my t-shirts and shorts in the drawers of the handsome mahogany antique dressers before moving into the bathroom attached to my room. It felt like a luxurious hotel suite. In keeping with the blue theme, there was a blue oversized square bathtub with matching blue flowers on the shower curtain. It was just calling to me to take a soak. All of the towels had a blue monogrammed “S” that the housekeeper, Mrs. Schuster, kept perfectly folded.

Again, I think I need to pinch myself.

Looking at all this luxury sent my nerves into overload. I didn’t want to make any mistakes, so it was hard to relax. I felt like I was still performing.

I shouldn’t have been nervous; Marjorie was sweet as pie and worked hard to make me feel at home, and Mark let me know I was invited to go to the beach with him and his friends anytime I wanted. But my father had other ideas.

As I came downstairs, he greeted me with a kind smile. “Kara, since I still have to run this state, I think the best way for us to get to know each other is if you just come with me. And you might learn something, too.”

Though basking on the beach sounded great, I really wanted to soak up my father and get to know everything there was to know about him. And most importantly, I wanted to make up for lost time.

I felt like I needed to cram an entire childhood into one summer. I wanted to learn about him, and I hoped he wanted to find out more about me. Since my father was a man of action, our getting to know each other would come from doing, not talking.

“Sure, I’d love to go with you.” I answered eagerly, without the slightest idea of what I’d be doing.

Each day was a new adventure, sometimes it was christening a submarine, other days it was shaking hands at a local veteran’s potluck, I never knew what to expect, and it just added to the excitement.

One day we were walking on Narragansett town beach shaking hands when a woman asked him to kiss her baby. He happily obliged, then put his big strong arm around me. “Have you seen my new baby?” Then he kissed the top of my head.

The crowd roared with laughter, and so did we. Instead of trying to gloss over his huge mistakes, he was putting them out there front and center and owning them with humor. The laughter helped evaporate my long-held anger. I was having way too much fun to worry about the past. I kept reminding myself this was a new beginning, and to leave the past where it belongs. In the past.

It all could have been so awkward. I mean, how many teens meet their dad for the first time at seventeen? But thankfully, I felt innately at ease around him, and he brightened up around me. We just clicked, like two puzzle pieces that were always meant to be together. He was bringing me into his new world, and I loved the adventure…especially the night my father came home and asked me about a helicopter ride.

“Have you ever ridden in a helicopter?”

Definitely not a typical question I was used to getting. “Um, no.”

“Well, tomorrow one is going to land in my yard, and you should be ready to go by 6 a.m.” His smile told me he was proud to share a first with me. Imagine! A helicopter…landing on my father’s back yard! No, Dorothy, you’re definitely not in Kansas anymore.

I snapped him a sassy salute and snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

He had missed out on my first steps—my first lost tooth, my first school concert—but he’d definitely be there for this new milestone, and I was excited to share with him.

The truth is, when I was with him I always felt like I was flying. He was dashing, smart, and exciting, and listening to him talk was like reading an encyclopedia. He seemed to know everything about history, business, and the world in general. I was only seventeen, so I thought seventy-three was beyond ancient, but my father didn’t seem old to me. Not only did he look much younger with his thick hair, smooth face, and strong physique, but his commanding energy was like a force of nature. Every time he entered a room, he seemed to change the very molecules in the air, and people wanted to get his attention. When he spoke to someone, he had a way of making them feel important, like they were the only one in the room. I loved the feeling of standing next to someone so magnetic, and thought he was the most exciting person I had ever met.

But living with my real-life Daddy Warbucks had its challenges, too. He was demanding and expected order and timeliness. He loved to tell me, “You can avoid almost any problem in life if you are on time and take care of your own equipment.”—a rule he learned in the military.

I tried to keep up with the drills, but my habit of being late to everything was hard to break, and I was often running one step behind his warp speed.

He would often poke his head in my room with a hurried, “Are you ready, yet?”

“Almost,” I would say, peeking my head out, trying to shield him from my messy equipment that included hair dryers, brushes, and make-up that littered my once-proper bathroom.

“Do you really need all that to get ready?” he would ask in disbelief, clearly new to the requirements of a teenage girl.

And I was new on the job of being a Governor’s daughter, so sometimes I failed to get the orders right, like when my alarm didn’t work and I awoke to the sounds of that helicopter outside.

Crap, he’s going to kill me.

I raced around my room throwing on the same navy suit that had become my uniform for political events. I ran out to the chopper a bit disheveled and hoped he wouldn’t notice. As I raced down the acres of lawn, I could see my father and the pilot waving their arms asking me to duck as I got closer to the chopper. I leaped in, and we were off to a long list of events.

I was learning my father was big on appearance, so I squirmed a bit when he looked at me strangely over his newspaper while sipping his coffee.

His eyes fixated on my wild bed-head. “Aren’t you going to brush your hair?”
Think fast, Kara.
“Of course,” trying to sound like I had it all figured out, “I just thought I’d wait until we were inside and away from the wind.”

His arched eyebrow and slow smile let me know he knew good and well that I’d overslept. “Okay, whatever you say, dear.”

Oops. Dad: 1, Kara: 0.

Just like he was changing my life, I was altering his. He was used to getting what he wanted with a snap of his finger, but I was not so snappy. He had brought home his new baby and was quickly figuring out his way of life wasn’t going to work. And I was figuring out that giving him a big grin could ignite his patience.

Hair crisis averted!

As we flew over Rhode Island, it seemed like we were on top of the world, and he switched into paternal mode pointing out all the sites below and their history. I loved listening to his stories. The history lesson ended when the helicopter landed, and we switched into “there’s lots of work to be done” mode.

After a crazy day of handshakes and photo ops, both my father and I were shaking in a different way. Just like me, he could get really crabby when he was hungry and needed some fuel.

“I’m starving, let’s go get some dinner and ice cream. I know the perfect place.”

“Great!” I was dying for food, too, and couldn’t help but wonder if my blood sugar crashes came from him.

He took me to the Newport Creamery where we feasted on hamburgers and fries, knowing that the best part was coming…dessert. I had a wicked sweet tooth, and I discovered he did, too, when I noticed he never passed up a cookie or a donut at events.

When the waitress came by to take our ice cream orders, I almost fell out of the booth when he ordered a chocolate soda with chocolate ice cream! That had always been
my
drink! My friends used to make fun of me for my love of this retro bubbly concoction from another era, but I loved it and would order it at any old fashion ice cream parlor.

“I’ll have the same thing,” I said beaming. I looked at him and laughed. “Oh my gosh, that’s so weird, that’s what I always order. Maybe there’s a chocolate gene?”

“You have great taste,” he said smiling as he slurped down the soda, watching me do the same.

I was always scanning him for similarities, wondering quietly which parts of me came from him. But this was so obvious; we were instantly bonded over a love for chocolate.

We saw our reflections in this simple joy of sharing ice cream together. Of course, the helicopter was amazingly fun, but there was incredible comfort in the daily dose of love I had been craving for so long.

It was another stitch in the tapestry of our new father-daughter relationship, and with each special moment, we were weaving another connection.

As the days went on, I could tell my father really liked having me around. The troopers who drove him around would say things like, “He lights up when he’s around you,” and “Since you’ve been here, he’s easier to get along with. Good thing you’re a girl!”

Huh…Daddy Warbucks was softening.

Marjorie’s accident made it difficult for her to attend so many events, so my father appointed me as his standing date, and as we grew closer, he started to make my roles more public.

“Kara, how would you like to march with me in the 4
^th
of July parade in Bristol? It’s world famous.”

“That sounds amazing! I would love it!” It didn’t matter that it was world famous—I was spending time with my father, and that was enough for me.

When the day came, I thought he would love the pleated navy skirt with white polka dots and a red stripe along the bottom. I paired it with a white sleeveless blouse. But I messed up on the shoes. I had never marched in a parade before, so I didn’t realize my new white heels would kill me. The route was a mile long, and I could feel blisters first, then bleeding as the leather shoes pooled with sweat from the intense heat. I tried to keep smiling as I waved to the thousands of people, aware that all eyes were on Dad and me…but, oh, how my feet screamed in pain.

A man made me forget about the pain for a moment when he ran out from the crowd, got on one knee in front of me, and kissed my hand. He told a reporter he made it a point to try and kiss the hand of every elected official. “But Kara isn’t an elected official,” the reporter said.

“No, but she should be.” Ha!

Dad beamed while reaching out for my hand and held it as we continued to march. No words were spoken, but I will always remember that this was first time he had held my hand for so long. Despite our sweaty palms, I didn’t want to let go. He made me feel like Daddy’s little girl.

It wasn’t easy cramming a whole childhood into one summer, and as my father’s and my experiences together wove golden threads in our tapestry, I wanted to make sure it was strong enough so it wouldn’t unravel when I went off to college. We didn’t have a lifetime of memories, but we were trying to make each day memorable.

My eighteenth birthday would be coming in two weeks, on July 16
^th
, and I wondered if my father would think to make it special, like the 4
^th
of July parade.

Mom had already started calling his secretary to make sure she put it on the calendar, so my father wouldn’t forget.

“I wish I could be there with you, honey.”

“I know, Mom, but we can celebrate when I get home.” I felt the familiar grumble of guilt. I could tell she was sad to miss the big day, and it didn’t seem fair she would not be the one to ring in my adulthood after all she’d done to get me there. Instead, she had just given my father the gift of a fully-grown daughter, and still hadn’t gotten a thank you. I wondered what would happen with future holidays. Would I start to split up Christmas like some of my friends did with their divorced parents? This feeling of being split in half was something I’d never get used to.

But Mrs. Shuster, who had become so much more than a housekeeper to me, helped me over some of the rough patches. I had grown to love her because she seemed to understand that I was treading in unknown, scary waters, and had gone out of her way to make me feel welcome. But most importantly, she gave me a lot of insight into my father, to whom she was devoted.

She told me how my father never had a good relationship with his own father, and thought that was why he was so driven to succeed. Apparently, nothing ever seemed good enough for my grandfather, so every time my father won an election, succeeded in business, or achieved something great, it was like saying f%$# you, Walter, who was terribly hard on him as a kid. My father’s younger brother, Wally, was seemingly Walter’s favorite. Tragically, Wally died young of appendicitis, and my father was left to deal with his grief and wonder how he would measure up.

The grimace would splash across his face when talking about his disapproving, hard-driving father, and he kept it short by simply saying, “He was just not a nice man—but everyone loved my mother.”

My father always spoke warmly about his mother, Jan, saying, “You couldn’t find a single person who didn’t genuinely like her.”

Despite his resistance toward his father, there was no denying how much he looked like him. I could see the striking resemblance in pictures and assumed my father’s tough shell was a product of my grandfather’s making. Walter Sundlun was one of the first Jews to run for high office in Rhode Island. He lost his race for senate as a Republican, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my father chose to be a Democrat just to be different from him.

Mrs. Schuster told me, “You are the best thing that ever happened to him. You make him so happy, and he smiles all the time now. He didn’t use to do that. He may not know how to say it, but I can tell he really loves you.”