Finding Dad

by Kara Sundlun

  “Nice to see you. Sit down,” he said motioning to the fancy couch as if to welcome me.

  Breathe, Kara, just breathe.

  I tried to look at him without making it seem like I was staring. He was old enough be my grandfather, but looked much younger than seventy-two since he didn’t have the wrinkles I expected. Instead, he was tall and handsome, and walked with the intensity of a soldier with his shoulder blades pinched back in his navy blazer as if he was squeezing an apple between them. He was buttoned up in his striped tie, and I could tell he wasn’t about to let his guard down. He had a full head of thick, grey-white wavy hair that he slicked back to reveal an intimidating widow’s peak. Like a real life Daddy Warbucks, he was powerful, polished, and intense. I couldn’t help but feel a little intimidated, but I refused to show it.

  The first few moments were awkward. I couldn’t remove my reflexive pasted-on smile as he spoke with long pregnant pauses about things I knew nothing about, like the banking crisis in Rhode Island, and how he was fixing it.

  “What’s that pin for?” I said, trying to break the ice by noticing a green “M” on his lapel.

  “This is for my wife, Marjorie. She nearly died a year ago when she was hit by a car in upstate New York.”

  The pin was for the one-year anniversary of the accident, and celebrated her triumphant recovery. She had fought to walk and talk again, even though doctors said she never would.

  “Wow, she must be a strong lady,” I said, trying to make conversation.

  It was strange to think of him having a wife, since I had only pictured him alone in all of my daydreams.

  I knew Marjorie was his fourth wife, and I wondered what happened to the third wife, the one he cheated on with my mom. He talked about how much Rhode Island loved its First Lady for her warm personality, joking that she was much more likeable than he was. I could see the pain behind his eyes. Even though he looked like the tough guy Mom described, my intuition told me there was more to this warrior underneath his rough exterior. Problem was, I wasn’t sure how to get to it.

  This was new territory for both of us. He didn’t know how to talk to a seventeen-year-old girl, and I wasn’t sure what to say to a governor. Thankfully, our photo albums were worth way more than a thousand words. He showed me pictures of himself as a young runner and told me he discovered his speed while running away from other kids who wanted to beat him up for being Jewish.

  “It taught me that if you have a disability, make use of it,” he said with a smile, uttering the piece of advice I would later hear a hundred times more in my life.

  He mentioned that he’d have probably gone to the Olympics in 1944 if they hadn’t been cancelled for the war. Instead, he dropped bombs over Germany from his B-17 Flying Fortress. I reminded myself again that I was sitting next to a real life hero. Wow.

  His fierce energy may have scared others, but it was exactly what I needed in my life to feel safe. Like a guard dog, his bark could instill fear in outsiders with just a look, but I wanted to be an insider, so his growl could protect me.

  He spoke to me in a kind, but formal tone, as if he was giving a lecture. I know now that he felt comfortable in the role of leader and teacher. He loved to hold court like a king, and being in charge allowed him to build a protective moat around his heart.

  I looked at his photos, trying to see the man behind them. His boyhood pictures looked almost angelic with soft curly hair and innocent eyes, but his face hardened as we turned the pages. His life was marked by battles that he always seemed to win, but I couldn’t help but wonder at what cost? Here I was sitting next to him, a casualty of his fight to not be a father because it didn’t suit him, and all we did was dance around the big white elephant that I could be his daughter.

  Yet, I could feel his approval as I showed him awards from school, and told him I was a straight A student. His eyes widened as he looked at my accolades, “You have an impressive record for such a young lady.”

  Wow, he likes me, and I like him.

  As I pointed to a picture to explain what he was seeing, my hand briefly touched his by accident. I felt a rush of electricity. My God! He was real, and this was actually happening!

  Though he wasn’t saying much, a part of me was connecting to the softer side of him, the side he tried to never show. I saw glimpses of it when his eyes softened while looking at my pictures. There was an unspoken transfer of energy as we talked about our lives, as though we saw our reflection in each other. He was the other half of me. In fact, later, my new family would joke that I was the female version of him. We really were so much alike, and each held the missing piece to heal the other. He could be my rock solid source of stability and safety, and I could be the one to soften his heart. Like a new puppy, I was eager to give him the kind of unconditional love he needed, but never let in.

  His smile revealed a hint of pride looking at my varsity ski team pictures and my winning debate record. These were things he was good at, too, and I wondered if he saw himself in me even though we seemed like opposites. I’m already a bubbly person by nature, but my nervousness that day made me smile and laugh more as I tried to tell him stories about my life back home.

  As I giggled, he stared at me and said, “You remind me of your mother, she was effervescent too.”

  Wow, he just mentioned Mom, maybe we were going to talk about why I was here?

  I grabbed some popcorn and sucked down some pink juice getting ready to move past pleasantries, but it was a false alarm.

  Instead, he moved on to pictures from his inauguration, and he showed me my three half-brothers, Tracy, Stuart, and Peter, and, who he referred to only as his sons. I stared at Peter since Mom always told me I looked most like him with his blonde hair and light eyes, but I couldn’t be sure. My father’s eyes were dark brown, and nothing on his face jumped out and said “I have your DNA.” He was fifty-five years older than I, and a man, so it was hard for me to see the striking resemblance everyone would later remark on. I kept waiting for something deep inside to go DING! and let me know for sure this man was really my father. But it didn’t. Like him, the rational side of my brain was running the show, and I told myself I would just have to do this one step at time.

  He was judging me, too. I’m only 5’2” and wasn’t even a hundred pounds yet, so when I stood up to go to the bathroom, he seemed shocked as he looked me up and down.

  “You are one of the smallest women I’ve ever seen. Was your mother that short?” he asked, seeming to question how he could have a daughter as tiny as I was. He was still trying to convince himself I couldn’t be his.

  “No, she’s 5’6”, but her mother was short, and I’m told yours was, too.” No comment.

  My stomach tightened. I had just inched toward the real question of why we were both here sharing our life stories on a Sunday afternoon over juice and popcorn with people listening to us in the other room.

  Thank goodness for football so he could look away and yell, “Hot damn, that’s a good play.”

  The game and my bathroom break was a good way for us both to take a breath.

  In the bathroom, I tried to collect my spinning thoughts. I wanted him to be the one bring IT up, but I realized my time was running out. Soon, the staffer would be back to drive me to the airport, and we hadn’t discussed my reason for being here. I finally gathered my guts and went back into the room armed with my question.

  “So, do I look like anyone on your side of the family?

  Pause.

  “No,” he said with a good poker face.

  My heart sank. Really? Is that it? He doesn’t think I’m his? But we seemed to get along so well. The only thing certain was this meeting was almost over, and my plane would be leaving soon.

  “Look, they have asked me to take a blood test, so I will take a blood test. We’ll get the results and go from there. Regardless, it was nice meeting you,” he said matter-of-factly.

  He had put so much effort into battling against me, but my stubbo
rn spirit wasn’t about to let him win. Despite the barriers he put up, my younger, more open, heart felt something he wasn’t revealing.

  I kept my smile intact in order to hide the disappointment that sucked the air right out of me. My rational side protected my heart, and I told myself that once we got the DNA results, he would say or do more. I knew we weren’t alone, and I could tell he was being careful about what he said out loud. It wasn’t until years later that I uncovered a file in his basement and discovered he had been advised by his attorneys to keep his answers to me vague and noncommittal. At the time, I’d have given anything for some telepathic powers to hear his private thoughts and feelings.

  We were both infinitely changed at our secret meeting, with that first handshake. It was a major fork in the road of our lives, and an unspoken healing energy was set in motion. I was determined that one day I’d unlock his heart, and he would protect mine. But we had a long way to go before we reached that point.

  I thanked him and Patti for the popcorn and walked to the door. The biggest moment of my life was over, and I had no idea what it meant. I held on to the feeling that I just knew he liked me.

  David, the staffer, was waiting by the car to take me back to the airport. I didn’t want to say too much, but would later learn that David didn’t need me to say anything. He’d been holed up in an empty office across the street with other senior staffers and already told them I was clearly my father’s daughter. “She looks and acts just like him.” He says he saw it in my face, but it was my confidence that reminded him of my father. He thought I was quite poised for a teenager.

  I had always been good at covering up my emotions with a smile, but underneath my confident exterior I was just hoping the blood tests would prove Mom had been right.

  When I arrived home that night, Mom wanted to know all about my trip. “Did you see that you looked just like him?”

  “Not really—maybe—I couldn’t really tell.”

  Mom was dying to know every detail, but I was so overwhelmed by my day, I just wanted to go to my room and be alone to process it all.

  “What did he say?”

  “He was nice, but very formal. He showed me pictures and shook my hand firmly, like you said he would.”

  “Yep, that’s Bruce. What else?”

  “He said that we’d talk more after the DNA test comes back.”

  Mom instantly got defensive. “Oh, Kara, we don’t even need that test. We can get it, but I know you’re his, and so does he. He better do the right thing, so help me God.”

  I was so exhausted, all I wanted to do was sleep, and I couldn’t bear to think about what the “so help me” next steps would be if he didn’t do the right thing.

  Mom would later tell me she saw so much of my father in me that day. “You’re blessed with those rational, analytical genes.”

  While Mom was a bundle of nerves, she told me I’d appeared so calm, and ready for the next step. She’s always had difficulty disconnecting from her emotions, but she says my ability to pull the plug comes from my father’s wiring.

  The following day, I called Dayna and Brooke to tell them how it went. “It was fun, and he was cool, but I don’t know what will happen. I’ll have to wait for the results of my DNA test.”

  As kids, we were used to taking tests, but this was one I really had to pass. It was the last hurdle that allowed me to continually give him the benefit of the doubt. Technically, he hadn’t rejected me yet, since he didn’t really know I was his. At least that’s what I told myself.

  6 I’m His, Now What?

  Mom and I walked into the lab at Beaumont Hospital in Troy to get our DNA test. The phlebotomist asked for our IDs, took our fingerprints and Polaroid pictures of our faces. It was such a surreal experience that part of me wondered what facial expression was appropriate for something like this. Do I smile? Keep it serious? I wondered if this would be the same procedure for my father. Would the Governor need to show ID? Could he rig the test if he wanted to? With his money and power, he had made me go away once before. Could he do it again? Would he?

  The wounds of rejection back then were only energetic imprints on my tiny heart, deeply buried. But over time, they had grown. Now there was so much more at stake. This time he would be rejecting me, not just Mom. If this test wasn’t positive, I would always wonder if my life story was a lie, or if my true identity would be forever hidden by a corrupt nurse. I had seen this play out badly on General Hospital.

  I clenched my clammy hand to make a tight fist, willing my heart to pump out my very best blood to guarantee the proper results. I felt queasy, knowing the shame would swallow me up if Mom was somehow wrong.

  Ten days later, our attorney called to say it was “highly likely” I was Bruce Sundlun’s daughter. That was the language on the test result document. When my father heard his lawyer use the term, “highly likely,” he said he’d never heard of that in a legal sense.

  “So what exactly does that mean?” we asked, equally confused.

  It meant that the results were 98.6 percent positive, which in the world of science at that time meant it was as good as it got. He was my father, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. Thank God Mom was right. I could breathe again. Somehow, just knowing this wasn’t all a lie meant more than knowing if my father would acknowledge me. I had already won something, and the feeling was tangible, like cement being poured into my shaky groundwork. I looked at all the little letters on the test results that represented chromosomes, and wondered if I could determine exactly which parts of me came from which parent. Wow, I guess that curly hair did come from my Jewish half. Double wow, I guess I really am half Jewish. That big, strong hero was my father.

  Now what?

  Would we celebrate holidays together? Would my half-brothers like me? How would I get to know this man who’d helped create me? I was excited and relieved, yet so unsure about what this confirmation of identity really meant.

  But nothing happened. I received no news from my father about his plans, given the positive DNA test results. He’d easily won his second term for Governor and, apparently, I was not high on the list of priorities. By December, about two months after the tests, I got mad. Christmas was coming, so do I buy him a gift? So far, I hadn’t gotten so much as a phone call from him about our confirmed bloodline. Frustrated, I called the State House again. Patti took my call when I asked for the Governor. She tried to calm me down and told me to be patient; my father was just trying to figure out what to do.

  “What do you mean he’s trying to figure out what to do? I’m his daughter. He’s seventy-two years old. If he can run a state, this should be easy!”

  I tried to be tough, but instead I felt the tears streaming down my face. My inner unrest had erupted, and there was no more stuffing down my feelings to project my self-created calm, mature demeanor. I was a teenager having a tantrum, and he deserved it. Since he never took my calls, I was exploding on the only one who would send him my message.

  “It’s not fair!” I cried. “He promised he would do something after the test, and now he knows I’m his daughter, so what’s taking him so long?”

  Patti didn’t have any good answers, but promised to talk to him and let him know I wanted to hear from him.

  I was furious and sat down to write another letter, but I had the sense to calm down before pouring my heart out on paper.

  Dear Bruce,

  I have been contemplating writing this letter, but procrastinated for lack of words to say. When I received the blood test, I was pleased, yet not surprised. I never had a doubt the outcome would be positive. My doubts lie with you…”

  I wanted him to know this was a problem he had to handle, and not push it off on his handlers.

  “Ideally, I’d hope you would feel happy and fortunate to have a daughter, however I understand the complications you are faced with. I want desperately to know you and recognize you as my real father, not just someone who shares my chromosomes. I suppose lawyers are necessary,
yet they cannot be depended on for cultivating a relationship. That must come with time from within us.

  I was impressed by your intellect and accomplishments at our meeting, but I also saw a warm man beneath it all. This is the man I wish to know. Enclosed is a Christmas gift, or should I say Hanukkah? Regardless, Happy Holidays! I’ll wait to hear from you. I’m excited to visit again soon. By the way, I won first place in a District Debate competition. Am I born lawyer or what?! Just kidding, Bruce, please write back or call…

  Love,

  Kara

  I never got a response and was left feeling empty and uncertain about what do next. I’d hoped he would at least send me a card for Christmas, but I got nothing.

  It wasn’t until later that I learned he’d been on his traditional holiday vacation with my brothers and their families at his villa in Jamaica—and he’d never told any of them about me. I imagine he thought about it, but I know now that he just didn’t do emotions. Patti would later confess that I’d frightened him way more than any plane with a shot-out engine. He knew how to handle a crisis, so long as it didn’t involve his heart. Just like when he ran from the Nazis—who’d shot down his B-17—he was going to stay underground for as long as possible.

  Meanwhile, my mother was furious he was hurting us all over again. On February 10, 1993, two months after the DNA test results, my mother saw my dejection and went into protective mode by faxing a letter to Patti to give to my father. Her intent was to make it clear we didn’t want to hurt him, but we needed to hear from him soon.

  Dear Bruce,

  This letter is written with total sincerity and as a last measure of good faith. I have been very patient and understanding, to say the least. Now we need to hear from you. Our daughter has turned into an incredible young woman. It’s sad you’ve never had the experience of seeing Kara for what she is (only one meeting). I could never have asked for a better child. Raising her to be who she is has been very difficult…I don’t believe you could possibly understand what it must have been like…