The Dinner - Chapter 6

Although I was riding the high from meeting my dad face to face, and my small circle were overjoyed, not everyone was happy for me.

On the Thursday night, after I got home from work, I told my husband that I had met my father the night before.  He couldn’t have been more disinterested.  A disheartening confirmation of what I knew to be true - that what mattered the most to me, did not matter at all to him. I had hoped that he would, in some measure, share in the happiness of the moment just like my friends and my boss had. But he did not. He was surprised but said very little. He did mention that it must have taken a lot of bravery and was shocked that I could do such a thing. His response was underwhelming and disappointing. 

I then told each of my kids. Each conversation was the same. You could hear the thud of my joy hit the floor as each of them could really have cared less. I am still unsure, even to this day, why none of them seemed to be able to muster even cursory happiness for me - I was clearly overjoyed. But the fact that this news landed like a lead balloon when I told it to my kids and husband was a deep ragged tear in my heart.   

On the evening of December 16 I got a call on my cell phone. It was my from my dad. Eleven days had passed since our first meeting and during that time I had been asked over and over again by my friends if I thought he would call. I had assumed that I would have to initiate any future meetings with him. But here he was - calling me! He asked if I would agree to meet him and his wife for dinner next week when they would be back in Regina. Ah...YEAH! He said to bring my husband and we agreed on the date and time. When I hung up I was over the moon and literally shaking from excitement!

I had been standing in my dining room for this call.  My husband at that time was across the room sitting in his chair watching television and eating a snack.  When I hung up he asked:

“Who was that?”

I excitedly told him it was my dad and that he had called to invite us for dinner the following week.  

His response?  “I’ll have to see if I’m free”.  

He then turned his head toward the television and continued to put food in his mouth. I stood there waiting for him to say something else but he never did. His tepid and dismissive response was beyond disappointing. I finally walked into my office to inform Lizzy and David of the phone call - I would not let him steal my joy. That night I celebrated with those friends that had walked the beginning of this journey with me - we were all overjoyed and knew this was a very huge moment.  

So, on Thursday December 19, in an iconic Regina restaurant, my dad sat across from me and his eyes rarely strayed from my face. My husband was to the left of me and my dad’s wife, Norma sat opposite of him. It was a polite, and slightly awkward get-to-know-you evening and the four of us made small talk on a variety of subjects throughout the appetizer and main course. I had no appetite but forced myself to eat something. 

As the small talk continued, there were intangible moments when I felt a connection with him - like he “got me”. I discovered I am Scandinavian. With some Irish. Scandinavian? That would have been one of my last guesses but it totally explained my daughters blond hair and blue eyes. My father sings and had been a part of the church choir for years as well as being lead in community musical theatre singing in Gilbert & Sullivan’s Pirates of Penzance (I sang in The Mikado in high school). He could not read music, but was apparently a bit of a ham. 

He also has an ear for accents. I know what you’re thinking? Weird, right? Not for me. I have an ear for accents. And by that I mean, when I tell a story, I tell it with the accent of the person involved in the story. It’s a weird trait but one that all my kids share with me. And now with him. It was clear in talking with him that he was keenly intelligent but he was also a down to earth, very humble person. Kind. And deeply involved in his children’s and grand-children’s lives. In particular, that of his granddaughter, who was 15 years old. He had been her father-figure as she grew up without a dad. He was extremely interested in photography and had a bit of an adventurous spirit. He had gone zip lining at Whistler for his 70th birthday. I was astounded at how our lives had unknowingly intersected yet again. I had been in Whistler that same year with work and we were scheduled to go zip lining. My 70 year old father had done it and I had chickened out! My father had also flown in a helicopter once. I had always wanted to fly in a helicopter and he told me, “You must! Don’t take that off your bucket list”.  I didn't have a bucket list prior to that evening, but I started one that night. (And, of note...I have since flown in a helicopter - LOVED IT - why can’t I go everywhere in a helicopter?).

It was also clear throughout the evening that Norma was maybe not so onboard with the idea that an illegitimate daughter had appeared from nowhere.  Norma was intensely protective that night.  Protective of my dad, of her daughters, and her grandchildren.  She explained to me, that my sudden appearance that first night had “thrown him off his game” during those annual meetings. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to feel about that. Guilt?  Remorse? I felt none of those things. She told me more than once that Don was a hero to his daughters and grand-daughter and that she wouldn’t allow anything to jeopardize that. She was fiercely drawing lines in the sand and clearly communicating that she would not allow my appearance to harm her family.  I finally leaned across the table and looked her square in the face and said: 

“Norma, I did not come looking for a family.  I only came looking for a sense of who I was and anything beyond that is gravy.”  

I meant it. I wanted nothing from any of them. Not one thing.  

I also found out that Norma did not know my father had answered that initial letter I sent him over 20 years earlier. She knew of my letter to him, but her recollection was that they had agreed not to answer it. He had. 

After the main course, I imagined that the evening was over. I excused myself to the bathroom and wondered if I had anything else I wanted to say to him before the evening ended. Frankly, my brain was somewhat on overload. I had not known what to expect from this dinner. As clear and focused as I was when I first planned to meet my dad - I suddenly felt a little adrift. But I knew one thing; the evening had been really, really, really good.  

When I returned from the bathroom I was expecting the evening to wrap up but instead my dad asked if I was up for dessert. I don’t really like desserts and typically never order one at a restaurant. I also had no appetite that night to begin with but the idea of extending the evening just a little was too hard to pass up.  It was then that my dad asked if I had ever tried Baked Alaska. I had not. Neither had he. A friend of his had recommended it, he said, and would I like to try it. Despite my indifference to desserts I saw an opportunity for me and my Dad to share a new experience together and at that moment there was nothing I wanted more in the world than Baked Alaska! And it was over that flaming confection that the conversation really started to flow. I learned and discerned a great many things that night.  

Before we left the restaurant, I finally asked him, 

“What is with my rhyming middle name?”  

He looked confused.  

“You don’t like your name?” he asked.  

I assured him I was OK with my first name, but I had always hated my middle name - in part because it rhymed. He looked even more confused and asked:

“What is your middle name?”  

I told him it was Juanetta. (I can’t believe I just divulged that to all of you! Seriously! That’s the hardest part of my story - revealing that horrible middle name. Even spell check doesn't like it!) His brow remained furrowed and he asked me to spell it out. He wrote each letter down on a napkin then studied it for several minutes.

“It couldn’t even be a typo” he said.  

My mother had apparently not kept her end of the bargain to name me after my paternal grandmother.  My middle name was supposed to be Jean.  

The most poignant moment of the evening, for me, was when my father leaned across the table and said to me:  

“You have a lot to forgive.”  

I was seriously confused. I had no idea what I needed to forgive and said as much. 

“Well, I abandoned you.” he replied.  

Yes. I guess he had - although I had never really thought about it like that. And I told him that there was no forgiveness necessary because I didn’t hold any animosity toward him for that. I told him that I knew life was unfolding as it should.

The evening wrapped up and he advised me his daughters would be told about me. It was clear that this made Norma the most nervous and she indicated that they would have to be told carefully and in the right way. I understood that. My dad, however, assured me that they would be told nonetheless. He told me that tonight’s dinner was a celebration and the start of a redemptive relationship.  

“It’s never too late,” he commented.  

I drove home from this dinner with my heart full.  John had little to say to me but he mentioned that I had looked different that night. Good catch. I was different. My whole entire world had just shifted. Significantly.  

I walked into Christmas and 2013 not knowing what the future would bring between my dad and I. David and Lizzy agreed that it was clear he was committed to having a relationship with me but I had no idea what that might look like. None. I had never even imagined that possibility before. Nevertheless, I settled into the joy and contentment of knowing, that even if I never heard another word from him, I knew so much more about him, and ultimately, myself.   The time I had spent with him was far beyond what I could ever have imagined. I would have felt complete even if our relationship never went one step further.  His gentle and sincere demeanor moved me. I wish I could tell you how I felt - but I can’t. It is literally, indescribable. It was December 19, 2012. And it seemed as if I finally had a dad. 

But wait...it gets better.  

Seriously, it does.

Photo Credit:  Annette Moore 2017  Quote:  Unknown