The Letter
Just about a year ago now I received a letter, registered
mail, the contents of which were right out of a movie script. It was surprising,
powerful and life-changing – and not a little scary. It also has proved again
what a lucky guy I am.
I am the rare person who understands how lucky he is. No,
really, this isn't false modesty, I mean it. And not win the lottery lucky or lucky dodging bullets
– rhetorical and actual – but lucky in the most important way; life just always
works out for me. I grant you that if you set your expectations low enough that
will always be true, and that may be true with me too, but still, I know my
luck far exceeds my skills.
The letter was like those that bring news of the passing
of an unknown relative who is leaving you all their substantial money. One
minute you’re an everyday schlump and the next day you’re driving a Bentley -
Hot damn!
Speaking of luck, you could start with something I have in
common with all my fellow baby boomers. That is, we are the single luckiest
generation in the history of the world – period – the likes of which is probably
never to be seen again. Born at a unique point in time, the stars were aligned
to smile on us with all the gifts that the gods of history could bestow on
us. (Turns out we haven’t been very good shepherds of our good fortune but that’s a
story for another day.)
As I open the letter - a beautiful and well-crafted letter - and start reading, it causes me to stop, as is usually the case with such letters, and reread the first paragraph or two. Huh. Then, as the intent starts to emerge, I began to get that funny feeling in my stomach, both anxious and excited. Oh man, I think I know where this is going!
Most people who know me know I had polio when I was five. Bad
luck? Could be, many people ended up in wheel chairs, braces and iron lungs
during that dreadful epidemic. But not Dougie! For me it was gone in two weeks.
It left me a little pigeon toed with weak ankles for a while but that’s about
it. A miracle? Nah, just really lucky.
Finally, there it is, with the words, “ . . . likely you or one of your brothers are my
biological father” my comfortable, complacent senior citizen life is suddenly changed and rockets back to that of a
20-year-old college student.
The only one in the family (a family with zero money) that went to college, I was lucky to go at all let alone graduate and get commissioned. Without loans and the Air Force ROTC there was no way I make it. Then I was able to scrape together a very interesting 28 year air force career flying around the world including Southeast Asia and a couple other of little wars - and many other interesting things. I followed that by working at a large national healthcare insurance company and a college teaching gig. Perhaps best of all, I had the pleasure and honor to make and keep many great friends (most of whom are still on the right side of the grass.)
And all of that without even a hint of a plan for my life. Wouldn't you call that lucky?
Well, there's no way to pin it on my brothers (not that I would.) I have a 52-year-old daughter? Suddenly, I am the father of a 52-year old daughter! DNA doesn’t lie but it didn’t need to, I was sure it was true as soon as I saw the birth mother’s name and the timeframe, over 52 years - and 9 months ago (as of last year) or around Feb. 1969. Sounding, I know, like a politician being investigated but I have no recollection of the relationship from which my new (oldest?) daughter sprang. In my case it’s true and suffice to say that I didn’t know then that I was going to be a father. But I'm glad now that I was.
I’ve had the good fortune to have two wonderful women as wives (not at the same time!) with whom I have three healthy, productive, great kids. (Okay, biologically I could only claim two but by mutual love it's three.) Thankfully, not a lawyer or politician among them!
(You have probably noted they apparently got their good looks from their moms. Likely more than looks.)
And now I have four.
She was born in Duluth (where I went for undergrad
degree at the Harvard of the North, UMD) then was adopted and raised in Virginia (the state not the
city) by a mom and dad and brothers and sister who love her. (Her dad, a college professor, is gone now but was a big
influence on her life.) Not all adopted children are so fortunate - perhaps she
inherited my famous good luck?
I recently got back from a trip to NY, where she now lives, for my first visit with her and her family. Did I mention she has two teenage boys - my first grandchildren so far! (Have I missed much, boys?) We had talked, texted and Zoomed a lot in the past year and it seemed clear that her finding me was a blessing for both of us – she had been searching for her roots for over 30 years while mine have sunk deeper in a totally different reality during that time. Meeting face to face, however, was still daunting for us both – you just never know. I will spare you all the laughter and tears of the first meeting and just say my fabulous luck continues. Besides being a beautiful person inside and out, what could be better for a “new 74-year old father” than a 52-year-old daughter with a PhD in Gerontology?! Well, we talked for six straight days but barely made a dent in all we have missed in 52 plus years. So we have much more more catching up which will be something to look forward to, at least for me.
Our big decision was what she should call me. Not sure what the custom for such things is - and I sure didn't care - but she decided on "Papa." Well, among the many things I've been called that's not one of them - and I love it.
I have thought a lot about the “what ifs” of this story. What if I had known I was going to be a father at age 20, what would I have done? Would I have been able to finish college? Get my AF commission? What about her life with me in it? Or mine in her's? And what about the mother? (All imponderables, I suppose, which are perhaps better left unpondered.) One thing is demonstrably true, however, and that is that my life is now even better with her in it.
Thanks for reading, I hope tomorrow's mail brings you a wonderful surprise too.
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