My Incredibly Wonderful, Miserable Life

by Adam Nimoy

  “It’s all related, honey.”

  “And you’re never going to drink again?”

  “I wouldn’t say never. But I’m pretty sure I’m not going to be drinking today or tomorrow.”

  Maddy is silent now as she processes the information. She’s changed so much this past year, she’s getting older. And I know she’s at the right age to be talking about this stuff, Jonah too for that matter. But then again, they both seem so young to be thinking about smoking and drinking.

  It’s just the three of us in a booth—otherwise the place is empty because it’s four in the afternoon. It’s kind of nice having the place to ourselves, just me and my two kids. Our appetizer arrives: an iceberg wedge with a dollop of blue cheese dressing on the side. Maddy and I are sharing it and our taste buds go wild.

  “But, I really don’t get it, Dad. I mean, you never had a problem drinking, like Brian Jameson and Michael Dayton. I mean, I can tell that they drink a lot but I never saw you drink that much.”

  “No, but when I did drink, I usually got a little drunk, and then I always wanted to smoke afterward. That’s why it’s all related.”

  Jonah’s food arrives. As usual, there is nothing that resembles a vegetable on his plate.

  “Jonah, when are you going to start eating things that are organic?”

  He points to the French fries. “The potato came from the ground.”

  * * *

  “So what’s your concern?”

  It’s Shayna talking now. She’s the new therapist that Nancy found. I like Shayna and so do the kids because she’s a tough, fair-minded New York Jew who likes to say “Fuck that” and “Who needs that shit?”

  Maddy and I are in Shayna’s office.

  “My concern is that I’m a pothead and I don’t want my daughter to become one.”

  “I don’t do it that much, Dad.”

  Shayna takes charge.

  “Well, Maddy, let me tell you. I have worked with kids for years in Twelve-Step programs like the one your dad is in. And because of the research on this, I can tell you that your dad has a valid concern, because kids who have parents who are alcoholics or addicts have between a forty and seventy percent chance of becoming one themselves, depending on whether one or both parents have a problem. Maddy, do you see using pot as a problem?”

  “No, I hardly do it, like, just on the weekends with my friends, and I don’t take that much.”

  Me now. “But you told me some time ago when I asked you about it that Anna smokes every day.”

  “Yeah, but that’s because she’s got this messed-up life because her parents are, like, divorced and her dad has a new wife and doesn’t pay very much attention to her. But I’m not doing it every day, just with my friends.”

  “And what about Renata and Janey. I know they get high regularly.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not that close to either of them and they have problems in school and that’s just not me, Dad.”

  Shayna turns to me. “As you probably already know from your own experience, there’s weed all over this town. And there’s simply no way for kids to avoid it, because just about everybody knows somebody or a friend of a friend or whatever who does it. And a policy of zero tolerance doesn’t solve the problem because then the kid oftentimes smokes out of defiance. It doesn’t sound like it’s a problem or out of control for Maddy. What’s good is that you guys are talking about it openly and that, Maddy, you know your dad had a problem that he’s now working hard to take care of, and it actually wouldn’t be a bad idea for you to maybe go with your dad to one of the meetings he goes to just to see what it’s like.”

  “Well, yeah, it turns out I have to go to an AA meeting, because at Teen Line [where Maddy volunteers to answer phones to give free counseling], they require us to go to an AA meeting.”

  And that’s how the sobriety thing was broached with Maddy, who seemed much more interested in it than Jonah. Then again, when I was listening to him and his friends jamming out back in the studio where I used to get high all the time, Jonah stopped drumming and announced, “Yeah, my dad used to smoke [he pretends to puff on a spliff] weed but he’s in AA and doesn’t do it anymore.”

  So nice when a kid is proud of his old man.

  ICONS HAVE FEELINGS TOO

  I’VE NEVER HAD much luck arguing with him. Have you ever argued with a Pop Culture Icon? Have you ever argued with a guy who can cause a frenzy among thousands at a convention hall simply by giving the Vulcan hand salute?

  Because when you’re dealing with a man who’s adored by millions of fans the world over, fans with no need to differentiate between Spock and Leonard, when you lock horns with a man from the tenement streets of Boston who clawed his way to the top of the Hollywood heap, good luck with the argument.

  Star Trek IV was a pretty good movie. One of the best in the franchise. Dad starred in it and directed it. Pretty remarkable when you think about it. I knew there was stuff going on during the preproduction period that was really bothering him, clashes with the producers over the usual creative issues. It was also around this time that my parents’ marriage began to fall apart, and it wasn’t long before Dad moved out of the house. And on one particular Friday night, Dad needed to blow off some steam.

  I went to pick up my parents from the house in Westwood. We were going to the movies. He was mad at me because I was rushing him. I still do that sometimes. I’ll rush people to get somewhere, and then when we get there, we find there was no reason to rush. As Mom and I waited in the car, Dad was puttering around. He seemed to be making a point by keeping us waiting. When he finally got in the car, he really let it fly.

  “I’ve had to put up with crap all day and I’m not going to take it from you!”

  “Just because you had a bad day at the office doesn’t mean you can take it out on me!”

  We ended up in a parking lot in Westwood where the argument continued. I finally walked away from him as he stood there yelling at me. I went to the movie. Dad and Mom took a cab home.

  The theater was half empty and the movie started late. And it sucked.

  The next night, I went over to the house to try to patch things up. He was standing in the living room in his signature brown cotton bathrobe and slippers. There was a highball glass with just the ice left sitting on the coffee table. He was just as angry and accusatory as the night before. After the first volley, just for extra emphasis, he stepped right up to my face.

  “Step back, Dad.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I’m not comfortable with you this close to me. Step away from me.”

  We were standing in a dark corner of the living room. I could smell the Johnny Walker on his breath. Up to that point, I had always believed there was no comparison between pot and alcohol: You can maintain while under the influence of pot more so than you can with booze. But while we were standing there, I began to see that Dad was just like me: just trying to feel warm and fuzzy inside, just trying to fill that big black hole in his life with a glass of Johnny.

  “Get away from me, Dad.”

  He finally backed off, walked over to the couch and sat down in a daze. I also sat down on the couch but at a distance. I apologized for rushing him the night before but tried to explain that this had just as much to do with the other things going on in his life.

  “Just give me an inch, Dad. That’s all I’m asking for. Just take an inch of responsibility for what’s happening here. I’m begging you.”

  But he refused.

  It would be nearly another twenty years before I would learn in recovery that when you offer an apology, you don’t look for one in return.

  Unable to get through to him, I went upstairs to say good night to my mother. On my way out, from the entry hall, I called to him: “I hope we can talk some more later.”

  Through the living room doors, I spied an often distant and lonely man standing in his bathrobe with his back to me. A man who had great difficulty expressing his feelings other t
han through anger and resentment.

  He barely turned to me with his reply.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  * * *

  And this is what invariably happens when I’m going through one of these cycles of conflict with him:

  The next day I’m at the cleaner’s. “Hi. I forgot my receipt but I’m picking up some shirts.”

  “What’s the last name?”

  “Spelled N-i-m-o-y.”

  “Nimoy? Any relation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, yeah, I can see the resemblance. Is he your father?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh, my God. I’m a huge Star Wars [sic] fan. What was it like growing up the son of Dr. Spock [sic]?”

  “Oh, it has its ups and downs. Just like everything else in life, I guess.”

  “Oh, my God. I gotta tell my [wife, husband, brother, sister, father, mother, cousin, friend]. I am a really huge, huge fan. And I’ve got to tell you, your father saved my life when I was in college. I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through without him.”

  “Yeah, that’s great. Listen, I’m kind of in a hurry. Do you think I can get my shirts?”

  GOD CAN CHANGE YOU

  MORE TROUBLE IN school for Jonah: He just received a progress report and he got some seriously bad grades. I pick him up from school. He says not to worry, it’s just the beginning of the semester and he can fix the problem. I let him have it. I tell him how I’m sick of his excuses when it comes to his homework: It’s always “I forgot” or “She never told us” or “It wasn’t on the board” or “I left it at Michael’s” or “I handed it in but she lost it” or “It was right here a second ago, I think Buddy [the dog] took it.” I remind him of all the times I’ve offered to take him to the library but he never wants to go. I tell him how sometimes I’ll be looking for him and he’ll be off skateboarding somewhere while all his friends are at home studying. I tell him I’m sick and tired of hearing his excuses.

  All of this hits him hard and he gets really upset and starts to cry. He looks at me with anger through the tears.

  “You have no idea how much I hate you right now!”

  And as I turn away from him I’m thinking, You have no idea how much I hate myself right now.

  It’s just so damn painful to see my long-haired boy sitting in my car on such a beautiful spring day crying and hating me. I start thinking about my dad and how he was always working and barely paid attention when he wasn’t.

  Now I have to drag him to the rabbi’s office because we have to talk about his Torah portion, the section of the Old Testament he’ll be reading for his Bar Mitzvah. He has to write a speech about it too, about what it all means. He refuses to go. I apologize over and over again for coming down so hard on him, but he won’t forgive me. I get him something to eat and he starts to feel better and agrees to come with me to the rabbi’s office.

  Rabbi Fox also officiated at Maddy’s Bat Mitzvah, and the meeting in her office turns out to be really interesting. Jonah’s Torah portion is about Aaron and Miriam, Moses’s brother and sister, and how, while wandering in the desert, they became jealous of Moses’s power and started to bad-mouth Moses and his new wife. God calls them out and gets very angry with them for gossiping about Moses. Rabbi Fox asks Jonah if there’s anything going on in his life that’s similar to what’s happening in this story. And Jonah comes up with a couple of situations where he was accused of spreading gossip and it made some kids at school very angry with him. He says he tries really hard not to bad-mouth people, especially his friends, even if he’s mad at them, because he knows it just brings trouble. Rabbi Fox seems very pleased because she’s trying to show him that although the Torah is thousands of years old, it can still teach us new things about our lives today. She says that reading and studying Torah is like marinating a chicken, because it changes us and brings flavor to our lives. But what we don’t realize while we’re sitting in her office is that Jonah is that chicken. Because when the meeting is over, and Jonah and I are driving out of the parking lot, he starts singing,

  “God can change me, but da, da, da, da.” He’s singing to the tune of David Bowie’s “Changes” and I say, “What was that?!” And he sings it again, “God can change me . . .” And then he says, “Dad, I don’t know all the words but isn’t that a David Bowie song?” And I say, “Yeah, it’s a Bowie song. It’s Bowie’s ‘Changes,’ but the lyrics are ‘Time may change me,’ not ‘God can change me.’ ” And then I turn to him and say, “Dude”—because all middle school boys call each other “Dude”—“you just had a spiritual experience.” He just sits there and smiles.

  I drive him back to the house and I try to get him to crank out a first draft of his speech based on his discussion with the rabbi. I’m praying that God really has changed Jonah and that he won’t give me a hard time. But he insists that he’s entitled to some downtime, and he picks up his guitar and starts jamming to AC/DC. And now I’m really getting pissed and it’s here we go again. Nancy appears with a manila envelope addressed to the parents of Jonah Nimoy from the principal’s office and I’m thinking, Oh, boy, this is it. It’s back to academic probation, and what the hell am I going to do with this kid? I mean, it’s great that he’s bound for rock ’n’ roll glory, but how am I going to educate this kid?

  Only it’s not academic probation. It’s a letter from the principal congratulating Jonah on his academic excellence, with a certificate confirming his outstanding scholastic achievement. He looks at me like he just took a happy pill and says, “See, Dad, I told you.”

  He waltzes out of the room wailing guitar riffs to “Hell’s Bells.”

  I turn to Nancy.

  “There must be some mistake.”

  TYPICAL CONVERSATION WITH A TEENAGE DAUGHTER #214: JAMES AGAIN

  “DAD, I STILL can’t believe James is coming to Jonah’s Bar Mitzvah.”

  “Maddy, you’ve been carrying on about this for weeks and I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  “But why did you invite him?”

  It seems that Maddy and James have been on-again, off-again for some time but I haven’t been able to figure out if they were dating or are just good friends and I don’t ask Maddy because I don’t want to put her on the spot. I have no idea what sparked the love-to-hate situation, but now methinks my daughter doth protest too much.

  “Maddy, you know why I invited James. Because Chris is a good friend of mine and James comes with Chris. If the Bar Mitzvah were last year, you wouldn’t have any problem having James there. In fact, you’d be all atwitter about it.”

  “Well, I’m not now. I can’t stand him. And I can’t believe you still have his phone number in your cell phone.”

  “That’s because you used to be with him 24/7.”

  “That is so untrue.”

  “Maddy, don’t start. I couldn’t tear you away from that guy. When you first met him at the skating rink, you were so excited. And then you hung out with him all last summer. You guys were inseparable and all your girlfriends were in love with him. When I started going to meetings at Chris’s house, you had me pick you up and take you with me just so you could spend an hour watching The O.C. with him.”

  “Dad, that is such a lie.”

  “Oh, Maddy. The fact is, even though I think that you still really like him . . .”

  “That is so false. I hate him, Dad. You know I hate him! He is so mean now and I don’t care if I never see him again.”

  “Whatever. The point is you’re very lucky you got to know him and worked through some of your feelings for him and decided he might not be the guy for you. There were so many girls in high school that I was interested in and I know they were interested in me but I never found out what they were like and whether or not I really wanted to be with them.”

  “Why didn’t you find out?”

  “Because I was too nervous and shy and I didn’t
know what the hell I was doing. Debbie Whelan, Laurie Cherney, Kyle Phillips. I should have hung out with all of them, and just thinking about them now still drives me a little crazy. Consider yourself lucky that you had your little fling with James and you got over him, sort of, and just leave the poor guy alone. He’s had enough trouble in his life with both his parents being addicts.”

  “I just wish he wasn’t coming to the Bar Mitzvah.”

  “He’s coming along with 225 of our closest friends, so you’ll have plenty of people to talk to so you can ignore him.”

  Maddy finally goes silent. I think I’m getting through to her. This seems to be sinking in.

  “But, Dad, why did you invite him?”

  ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WORLD WAR II

  IT WAS THE winter of ’73. Or maybe it was ’74. There’s a Web site that can tell me the exact date but I can’t find it right now. Dad was on Broadway, starring in an Otto Preminger production of Erich Maria Remarque’s Full Circle. It’s an obscure play about an escaped political prisoner running from the horrors of World War II and ending up with a woman he has to convince to hide him. Bibi Andersson played the woman. She was from Sweden and I knew she was in a lot of Ingmar Bergman movies. Bibi was hot in that classy, silk blouse, European kind of way. The play was good, and Dad was very good, all grubby from the war, his clothes torn, a Lugar pistol in his hand. He was desperate to get away after spending seven years in the prison camps, and he had to convince Bibi to hide him. Would she? Would she fall in love with him and keep him safe? Or would she betray him to save herself?

  I used to have a photograph of Dad and Bibi smiling as they aimed their Lugars at Otto Preminger’s big, fat, bald head. He was the director of the play and he sat with a glass of booze in his hand looking totally bombed. They were onstage, the three of them. Dad and Bibi were smiling with such glee as they pointed their pistols at Otto because they pretty much hated Preminger. Dad said his directing style consisted of barking orders at the actors. He’d yell in his German accent, “Ze lines! You must learn ze lines!”