Finding Dad

by Kara Sundlun

  I’ll be forever grateful to the awesome producer Nancy Dederian, and photographer Les Breault. They knew I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, and helped me through every step. We decided I would report on anorexia and bulimia and how it was affecting teens in the area. I started making calls and lining up interviews, impressing Nancy with my hard work. She was happy we were getting such emotional interviews, since the girls felt safe opening up to someone their age. I felt bad working while Dayna was visiting, but one day Nancy told me to bring her with us. We were interviewing random people on the beach about eating disorders, and decided to use her in our story.

  I asked her, “Do you think being thin makes someone attractive?”

  “Honestly, I hate to admit it, but I really do think being thin makes someone attractive,” Dayna answered looking skinny in her bikini and jean shorts.

  I loved having my best friend on TV with me, and it was a great end to our time together. Dayna would have to go home, but I felt good knowing when I joined her at college she’d be the one friend who could understand everything that had happened to me over the summer.

  Everything was perfect until the day before my series was set to air. I was running late, as usual, and I got stopped for speeding on the way to the TV station. I was driving my father’s white campaign minivan with the license plate WIN 92. I had to pass through a section of Massachusetts that was famous for speed traps and very, very expensive tickets. If only I’d known.

  The trooper looked down at me with my big purple Velcro rollers in my hair. “License and registration, please.”

  “I was on my way to work, sorry if I was going too fast.”

  “I clocked you at eighty-two miles an hour.”

  I winced. Eighty-two? Yikes! “Sorry,” I mumbled. “Here’s all my information.”

  “Sit tight.”

  I sat there sweating in my seat, wondering how big the fine would be. He came back about ten minutes later and handed me a ticket.

  “Here ya go, everything you need is on this.”

  He never mentioned anything about my father, and neither did I, though I assumed he knew exactly who I was since my name was on my license and the van was registered to Governor Bruce Sundlun. How embarrassing! As I drove into the station, I knew I’d keep this as quiet as possible. However, by the time I got to work a totally different story was percolating.

  Nancy pulled me aside. “The other stations are reporting you got a speeding ticket and tried to get out of it by saying ‘Don’t you know who I am?’ ”

  I was dumbfounded. How could they report something so blatantly false? “Nancy, I swear it’s not true. I didn’t have to say anything, since I was in the campaign van that’s registered to my father. They knew exactly who I was.”

  Nancy believed in me, but the question was whether the station would have to run the story as well, since it was making news.

  “You need to call the reporters who are looking for you,” Nancy said, “and I’ll talk to management to see what they want to do.”

  The chill in the newsroom was palpable.

  I had already been given a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to go on the air as a teenager just because of who I was, and now it looked like I was a spoiled brat trying to get my Governor father to fix something else for me. I decided to just keep my nose down and do my work. But first, I had to call my father—a call I was dreading. My fingers shook as I dialed his office,

  “Hello, Governor’s office. May I help you?”

  “Hi, it’s Kara, may I speak to my father, please?” I hoped my voice wasn’t quaking.

  “One moment.”

  “Kara,” he said sounding unhappy. Oh God, he knows! “What’s this about you getting a speeding ticket and telling the police I’d take care of it for you?”

  “Dad, I swear I didn’t say that. I didn’t say anything! All he did was write me the ticket.”

  “How much?” he asked.

  “Um, I don’t know, let me look…oh my God, it’s $225.”

  “Well, you’re going to pay every cent of that right away on your own. I don’t pay traffic tickets.”

  “Of course—I’m so, so sorry—but I swear I didn’t try to use your name.” I had a sudden flash of fear that he’d tell me to go home.

  Our relationship was just forming, and I needed him to know this was not who I was. I fought back tears, worried about the damage I might have done.

  His voice softened a bit. “That’s fine, Kara, just take care of this right away, okay? Goodbye.”

  It’s easy to see now that my father was just trying to be a good parent by setting limits. But his disapproval made me sick with fear that I might lose all I’d worked for. Today I know those fears were unfounded and they were just leftover scars from the old wounds he’d created, but at the time, I was beyond scared. This was the first time he’d had to show me fatherly tough love in a way that would teach me a lesson. This was new territory, so every misstep got blown out of proportion in my mind.

  Back in the newsroom, I was just hoping I didn’t do too much damage to my job.

  “Good news,” Nancy said, putting her hand on my shoulder, “they aren’t going to run the speeding ticket story, and your series will go on as scheduled.” I exhaled for the first time in what felt like several minutes. “Thank you, Nancy. You have no idea how relieved I am.”

  The other stations ran with the false story, and I had no recourse other than to grit my teeth and bear it. But thankfully, the news cycle was short and my embarrassing moment was over quickly.

  The next night we ran Part One of my taped series, and it went so well the news director came into the studio and asked me if I wanted to join the anchors live on the set for Part Two the next night.

  At first, I felt like doing a handspring over stacked cars, but then the idea of LIVE TV—which meant sitting next to the avuncular Walter Cryan, who was the Cronkite of Rhode Island—made my knees shake. “Thanks so much,” I said, hoping I sounded calm, “that sounds terrific.”

  Thankfully, my father had passed on his genes that allowed me to survive under pressure. Then again, just being his daughter gave me more confidence and determination to enter the industry where he’d been a Titan.

  I really wanted my father to approve of the job I’d done, and couldn’t wait to see him when he came home. We settled in for our usual Oreo cookies and milk in the study as I sat on pins and needles waiting for his opinion.

  “You did great, young lady,” he said with a proud smile, “and the folks at the station tell me you have been working really hard. Keep up the good work.”

  I could have danced on the ceiling! He approved! He thought I’d done a great job! “I hope you like the next two nights.”

  It was too soon to call him Dad, but my father was well on his way to becoming a real father. He had gone from presenting me as his new baby on the beach, to guiding me through my teenage misstep with the ticket, and now helping me into adulthood with my career as we neared the end of our time together. We had crammed a lot of growing into one summer, but I felt good knowing he wanted to do more to help me as I went off to college. I felt confident that our relationship would remain rock solid after I left in a few weeks.

  ~ Photos ~

  People Magazine Article 1993

  First press conference in MI

  Answering questions with Henry Baskin

  Reporters pack the State House for our first joint press conference

  Dad and I having fun fielding questions

  Cracking up at our first joint press conference at RI State House

  Walking into State House for first joint press conference

  Fenton and I at Narragansett Town Beach 1993

  Dayna and I: Clinton Inauguration Party

  My brothers and I at Thanksgiving

  My first Thanksgiving - Salamander Farm 1993

  Dad, Mom and me at Thanksgiving

  Doing Dad’s hair for a laugh

  Black tie gala


  My Internship at WPRI

  Fenton, Stuart, Mom, me, and Dad, at my college graduation (Scholarship award)

  President Clinton, me, RI Senator Claiborne Pell (Pell Grant) and his granddaughter Tripler Pell

  Walking me down the aisle

  Mom, Soozie and Marjorie kissing Dad at our wedding

  Our wedding at Rosecliff 2003

  Birth of Helena 2007

  Bailey’s Beach clambake with Helena

  Helena playing with Poppy

  Dad holding newborn Julian 2009

  Dad gives Julian a bottle

  12 My Three Brothers

  My father and I were having a great time getting to know each other, and I was feeling comfortable in the house. But until I met my brothers, the picture still felt incomplete. They were the final exam, and I knew their grades mattered. We were living in the honeymoon phase of a new relationship, where no one else is there to weigh in with their opinions. Though Marjorie and her son, Mark, had accepted me, my brothers and I shared the same blood, and I knew they meant a lot to my father. They had weathered four marriages, and I could only imagine how they felt about having a sister they’d never known about. I had always wanted a brother or sister, but these were grown men, old enough to be my father, and I was nervous about meeting them. What if they didn’t like me? What if they thought I only wanted his money? What had my father told them about me?

  My summer was winding down, and my father decided to have each brother come out to Newport to meet me before I left for college. So far, they’d only seen me on TV and read about me in the papers. It was time to make it real.

  “We’re working on getting the boys out here to meet you,” my father said, making it more of an announcement—something he tended to do during awkward moments. “Tracy, my oldest, will come first, so make sure you’re available this weekend,”

  Finally! It’s about time, Dad…“That’s great! I’m excited to meet them.”

  When Tracy walked through the front door at Seaward, I couldn’t believe how much he looked like my father. He had the same mannerisms and deep voice, but a lighter, goofier demeanor. While my father wore custom-made suits, Tracy, at forty-one, favored jeans, a bright colored shirt, and running shoes. He was in the business of putting on all the big track meets in New York City. His warm smile and sense of humor settled my nerves and put me immediately at ease.

  “Hi…sis,” he said, giving me a hug.

  Phew, he’s nice.

  I hugged him back, smiling, “It’s so nice to meet you, Tracy.”

  “You made this beautiful girl?” he asked, giving my father a salty grin. I could tell Tracy loved putting my father on the spot and making him squirm.

  “Ha ha, very funny, Tracy, now get changed. I hope you’re not wearing that garish shirt to dinner…and stand up straight!”

  They were giving each other verbal noogies, but the love between them was apparent. How could I be nervous around all this?

  My father arranged for us to have dinner at one of his favorite restaurants, The Clarke Cooke House, down on the wharf. We dined upstairs in the beautiful Skybar, where waiters wear white jackets and the social elite come for dancing. The maître d’ stands at the top of the stairs to make sure no one enters who is not part of the “proper crowd.” My father wasn’t much for fancy food, but he liked to go where everyone knew his name, and this was just that sort of place.

  At dinner, Tracy told the story of how he found out about me. “I was in a staff meeting, and my assistant told me Dad was on the phone. I told her to tell him I’d call him back. No, no, she says, it’s urgent, so I took the call. Dad, I tell him, I’m in a meeting, what’s so important that I can’t call you back? He tells me that he’s getting ready to have a press conference in fifteen minutes, and that it looks like I have a sister. After a brief pause, I say something sarcastic like I guess the good news is it’s not another brother. After he gives me the Cliff’s Notes version of what happened, he asks if I’m upset. Yes, as a matter of fact, I am, I say. Really? he asks, sounding like his heart is sinking, and I say, well, yeah, Dad, I’m here in New York City and there’s no way I can get to Providence in fifteen minutes! I’m going to miss one helluva press conference!”

  We all laughed over our lobsters, and I knew I was going to like this man who, at twenty-three years my senior and old enough to be my father, was clearly opening his heart to become my brother.

  He joked that considering Dad had been married four times and always loved women, he wasn’t that surprised about me. “We always knew there could be more out there, so if you want to join this crazy family, all I have to say is welcome.”

  “Well, thank you,” I said, laughing, “I’m happy to be here.”

  He had learned to love my father in spite of his flaws, just like I was trying to do.

  Tracy shared Dad’s drive for success and was the youngest Olympic track coach in history, having spent his career coaching elite athletes all over the world. At that time, he was in charge of the Metropolitan Athletics Congress in New York City, the regional arm of the national and international sports governing bodies for track and field. Today, millions of people run the Rock n’ Roll Marathons he co-founded.

  As I learned about what Tracy did, I couldn’t help but share a knee slapper of my own. “You know my mother always told me I had a brother who was an Olympic swim coach, and that’s why I joined the swim team. Guess we had the wrong sport!”

  “Really? That’s pretty funny. Well, can you run?”

  I shook my head. “Nope, not at all, I hated track in gym.”

  I guess the star athlete gene skipped me. For our first few Christmases together, Tracy would send me running shoes, saying, “If you can run a mile, I can train you to run a marathon.” I always told him that, unfortunately, I lack the most basic need for a marathon—desire. If I go to a race, he has me hold the finish line tape, since I’m better at smiling than running. Tracy and I bonded instantly that night, and I knew we were going to be able to build a real relationship because we both wanted to. Today, he is the best big brother I could hope for, and I always know I can count on him for advice or help if I need it.

  After we came home from dinner, my father stifled a yawn. “Okay, you two, I’m beat and am going to bed. You kids have fun, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Our “good nights” trailed him up the stairs, knowing it was safe to have a more private conversation.

  As an only child, I had missed out on late night conversations with a sibling, and I was looking forward to learning more about Tracy and my father. I knew Tracy could really fill in the blanks. I figured he had a lot of questions for me as well.

  I grabbed some Oreos, and we settled in on the couch for our heart to heart. Our time was short, and we wanted to cover as much ground as we could, since there were eighteen years to catch up on.

  “Listen, I’m happy to have you,” Tracy said while stuffing an Oreo into his mouth. “I always wanted a sister, and this will be fun. I only wish Dad would have handled it better. I mean, we were all in Jamaica together for vacation after the DNA tests, and he didn’t say a word. But that’s Dad—he’s not always the best with communicating.”

  “I know, it took me a while to get him to listen to me,” I said honestly, “But I’m just so happy we’re getting the chance to know each other now. I could have used a big brother growing up.”

  “I guess I heard the rumors about you, but I never did anything, and now I wish I had. We could have watched you grow up.”

  His acceptance was everything I’d wished for. Blood makes you related, but you can only become a family if the desire is there. Gratefully, it was.

  Tracy rifled through his wallet and pulled out a picture of his baby girl, Felicity, my niece, and his wife, Isabel. I couldn’t believe how much Felicity looked like my baby pictures. She had the same blonde hair with a curl at the ends and blue eyes. “Oh my gosh, Tracy, if you put my baby picture next to hers you’d think we w
ere the same person.” Wow, I guess the blonde hair and light eyes comes from this side. I can’t believe I have a twin.

  He looked at the photo with a gentle smile. "She’s a beauty, I can’t wait for you to meet her and Isabel."

  “I look forward to that. I love babies.”

  As I look back through the years, watching Fifi grow up has been one of my greatest gifts. From the day when I bounced her on my knee at our first Thanksgiving together, we created a special bond. Not only does she look a lot like me—all grown up, working in the fashion industry after graduating magna cum laude from the University of Southern California—but she reminds me so much of myself, a determined only child who is ready to set the world on fire. She has that Sundlun dominance, but she also has her soft side when she cuddles my kids at the beach, which makes my heart melt. I’m so happy she’s one family member I’ve gotten to know for almost her entire life.

  That night, Tracy and I talked ourselves into the wee hours, until we finally forced ourselves to go to sleep so we could save ourselves for the next day. There was still so much to talk about, so I was grateful we would have a day of relaxing at the beach.

  While eating breakfast the next morning, I watched my father came into the kitchen fully dressed in suit and tie, and raring to go. “Good morning,” he said while reaching for a doughnut, “did you have a nice time last night?”