by Kara Sundlun
Mom was a bundle of opposites. She would say how happy she was for me one moment, then lash out the next, furious that the olive branch was only being extended to me. Since he wouldn’t speak to her, I was the only one she could yell at, and the fact she thought I looked and acted like him made me even more of a target. The furrow between my brows, the shape of my mouth, and my curly hair were all physical triggers for what seemed like post-traumatic stress disorder.
“I raised you alone, so don’t you think your mother deserves something?
“Of course I do, but I’m seventeen, what can I do?”
“Shouldn’t you fight for your mother?”
“How?”
“Don’t you care that he destroyed me?”
I felt like putting my hands over my ears. He didn’t destroy you, it will all be okay, please stop yelling at me. I had to retreat because challenging her anger only made it grow.
I wished I could call my father and ask him to please stop being a jerk to Mom and apologize…preferably on TV, so her friends could hear. Couldn’t he just say how happy he is that she raised his daughter? Couldn’t he give her some money to help her out after all she did for him? I wanted him to rescue both of us, not just me, and I worried that taking his lifeboat meant Mom would be left to drown. I thought of Brooke’s quote in the paper: “Kara and her mom are like crutches for each other.” What will happen when I’m not there to hold her up? I was too new to the job of being a man’s daughter, and I couldn’t tell him my thoughts. So I said nothing to him about Mom.
Mom had always taught me to be grateful for any blessing. My father’s desire to finally accept me was the blessing I’d been praying for, yet he was also the curse that was breaking my mother’s heart.
Looking back, I know she was terrified of losing me. I was all she had. Of course, I had room for two parents in my heart, but proving that to Mom was becoming difficult in the face of her insecurities and anger, which created a wall between us. I understood her pain, but I couldn’t take it on; it was too heavy, and I felt like it would pull me under. I couldn’t repay the debts of my father’s wrongs. As hard as I know it was, Mom agreed to drop her lawsuit accusing him of slander, so I could move on with my life. But she couldn’t let go of the hurts, and they multiplied within her, hardening her heart. It seemed ironic that after everything I’d been through, my father was opening, and she was closing down. She remained determined to dig her heels in until she got some kind of retribution, something I feared would never come. And it was ripping me apart.
Would it be better to stay and refuse to settle until he apologized to Mom? I didn’t think so, and I didn’t want to be bait. Her rage made me feel guilty for getting the better deal, and I felt equally ashamed about looking forward to leaving the toxic environment of our apartment. To lessen my inner turmoil, I told myself college would start in the fall, and Mom would have to adjust to me leaving anyway. But the reality was that it felt like I had just gained a father and lost my mom. She would be left behind to read all about my new adventures, and all I could do is promise to call a lot. I hoped she’d soften over time.
On June 16, 1993, exactly one month before my eighteenth birthday, and seven days after filing my lawsuit, I left West Bloomfield, Michigan to begin the next chapter of my life. I couldn’t wait to get to meet my father and my new family. This time, my meeting with my father would be anything but secret. The press was invited to dinner and a news conference to get one last story before we signed a gag order and requested our privacy. I was only going for one night, then I’d return back home to pack my things and say goodbye to Mom.
I raced up I-275 to Detroit Metro Airport, where I met Henry at the gate. He was accompanying me to Rhode Island to witness my signing of the papers affirming that my paternity suit would be dropped. Henry wasn’t the only one waiting for me. The press had guessed which plane I was on, and were waiting with microphones ready to launch.
“Kara, are you excited to go meet your dad?” a reporter yelled extending the microphone in front of my face.
“Are you happy it’s over?”
“Did you get what you wanted?”
Uh oh, I wasn’t expecting this. “Yes, I’m thrilled to begin the process of building a father-daughter relationship, and I look forward to getting to know my other family tonight.”
Henry bolted toward us, saving the day. “Thank you all, but we have to get Kara on board right now. We’ll see you all tomorrow.”
“Sorry, I’m late,” I murmured.
“Let’s go, kid, they’re about to close the jetway.”
The stewardess shot me a disapproving look as I passed by and sank down into my seat. The sudden press gauntlet made my insides unravel. Thankfully, I had a little over an hour to decompress before we landed in Providence.
“There will probably be more press on the other end,” Henry said, “so keep being you. This is such a great story. They love you, and you deserve this, kiddo. People love a happy ending.”
When we landed at T.F. Green airport about an hour later, there was a state police cruiser waiting for us on the tarmac. I walked down the stairs to the runway, aware the trooper was nervous as he scanned the tarmac for press. This was my father’s way of making sure we didn’t make any news before the planned dinner that night.
Mission accomplished, the trooper drove us away without one flashbulb going off. The papers would later report how the reporters inside the airport were duped. Henry would be equally hard to find because he checked into a hotel under a different name. It seemed daunting to go on without him, since he’d been with me the whole way. But he told me he’d meet me at the State House in the morning to sign the papers before the news conference. “Don’t be late this time,” he joked.
“I won’t!”
As the state trooper drove me to my father’s home, I wondered what it looked like. Butterflies were dancing in my stomach, but for once it was the good kind of nervous—the kind that acknowledged how hard I’d fought for this day, and that I was finally ready to take my place at the table.
A half-hour later, we entered the charming town of Newport. Colonial houses lined the streets, looking so perfect it appeared straight out of a movie set. The ocean, tinged with green, gave off a more pungent smell than the beaches I’d seen in places like Florida. We turned on Cliff Avenue and entered through two stately brick columns marked “Private Way,” where the road became gravel. I caught glimpses of the ocean in between the driveways of the expansive waterfront estates.
I had never seen houses with names before, let alone two entrances—one for service, and the other for the main house—and I wondered if I needed to click my heels and whisper, “There’s no place like home.” The car slowed as we approached the “Seaward” sign at the end of my father’s driveway. We turned left onto a dirt driveway circling a glorious old tree that stood taller than the two-story stucco house. The car stopped in front of the double doors where my father was waiting. Wearing a warm smile, he opened my door and extended his hand. He didn’t let go as we walked toward the house. It felt strange to hold his hand, but I loved resting mine in his as we stopped to share a joint smile for the cameras. Even though I was aware of being on stage, I wasn’t nervous or scared this time. Nope, this time the huge Cheshire cat grin spread across my face matched what my heart was feeling. The fact that my father looked equally happy made it all the more surreal.
Thankfully, this was a photo op only, and the press was not allowed to ask any questions. But I don’t think they went away disappointed. Here we were at long last, me, my father…and his assistant, Patti, who was standing in the wings, smiling in a pink suit, ready to join us as we climbed the steps where my father opened the tall double doors for me to enter the large foyer of his home. The cameras went wild as I smiled and walked across the threshold of my new life. Pictures of my father escorting me into his estate to meet my new family were the money shot that would cycle on TV and lead newspaper articles for days to come. TV
had come full circle for me. It had helped me find my father, made him accept me, and now would bear witness to the reunion.
I was led into the living room where French doors opened onto a patio overlooking acres of green lawn that stretched out to the famous Cliff Walk. The panoramic view of the ocean took my breath away, and the moist air made me feel as if I could float. Should I pinch myself to make sure this isn’t a dream? Wow, was I really going to live here?
My father broke into my thoughts. “This is my wife, Marjorie.”
“Hello, Hello!” she said rushing toward me.
Marjorie was exuberant and warm, and greeted me with a big hug. I had been told her accident left her with severe brain damage, but I couldn’t tell. She invited us to sit down on couches covered in white silken flowered fabric. I tried to not sink into the soft cushions, while the press took pictures of us smiling, happy to become a “family.” After a half-hour, my father’s press people decided the media had gotten enough, and they were escorted out.
Marjorie led me into the formal dining room that had a commanding view of the ocean. Again, I found myself forcing the air into my lungs. Such beauty! Place cards adorned the elegant, long table filling the room. I couldn’t believe this was my father’s home—with its sheer perfection, it looked more like a hotel. Do I really have an unlimited stay? It was hard not to feel dizzy. For so long, I had envied my friend’s beautiful homes, but nothing had prepared me for this. I wondered whose names were on the place cards and how I was related to them. As it turned out, they were Marjorie’s grown children, Mark and Kim, and Kim’s husband, Chris.
Marjorie’s warm welcome made me feel better about moving into her home for the summer. She seemed genuinely excited to meet me, and despite her short term memory problems that sometimes made her repeat herself, she operated like the graceful First Lady she was by welcoming me to her dinner table and introducing me to her children. Mark, in his early twenties, reminded me of Tom Cruise, with his chiseled jaw, dark hair, and athletic physique. He lived at Seaward and promised to show me around Newport. While he seemed sincerely happy to meet me, Kim was just the opposite. She resembled Mark with her pretty, big eyes and dark hair, but remained completely silent until about halfway through dinner, when she started sobbing. It took me a moment to realize the tears were because of me. I didn’t know what to say, so I just looked down at my plate hoping to pick up the right fork. Were we just going to let her cry it out? Everyone seemed to be ignoring her tantrum, so I just tried my best to blend.
“Would you like some more vegetables?” the server asked me.
“No thank you, I’m okay.”
Each time I spoke, Kim’s crying intensified. It appeared as though the very sound of my voice touched the part in her that screamed, Why does SHE have to be here?
I’m not sure when he left, but I just remember looking up from my plate and noticing my father was no longer at the table. He had gone to take a call in the other room, and in his absence her wall of composure collapsed, and she stared to wail.
I didn’t know what to do, and neither did her husband, Chris. It couldn’t have been easy, and my heart went out to him. He attempted to comfort his wife while being mindful of the importance of this dinner and the awkwardness that was building. It became clear Kim wasn’t going to regain her composure, so Chris stood up and helped her away from the table. “I’m going to take her home, it’s just a bit much for her.”
The press had gone and my fairytale evening at the mansion become strangely Kafkaesque, complete with someone sobbing at the table. I was exasperated and, well, a little angry. I had fought hard for my place at the table, and her hysterics tarnished what was supposed to be a big night in my life. But I hid my hurt and smiled through it all.
I thought once I won over my father, everything would be perfect, but I was quickly learning it wasn’t going to be that easy. Just because my father decided to accept me, didn’t mean everyone else had to. All I’d ever wanted was a father, and I hadn’t realized how my presence would affect so many people. I had imagined our relationship in a vacuum, and was now realizing I would not only have to get to know him, but learn the rules of a whole new family dynamic. “I hope she feels better,” I said, as if my surfacing was something she could sleep off.
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.