Finding Dad: From "Love Child" to Daughter (6 page)

  
7
No More Miss Nice Girl

For so long, I just wanted my father to like me, so I’d walked on eggshells by keeping my story a secret from the press, to show him I was genuine about wanting to be acknowledged by him. In spite of the proof that I was his daughter, his rejection roused enough of my anger that I was eager to make my next move—and I wasn’t concerned with looking nice. The Mayor of Detroit, Coleman Young, was being sued for paternity, and the stories about his case were leading every newscast. Mom decided it might be a good idea to call in a big gun and meet with the super-lawyer who was going up against the Mayor of Detroit.

I walked into Henry Baskin’s big beautiful office in Beverly Hills, Michigan. He seemed kind, yet exuded the kind of cut-throat confidence required to make him the star he was. After a brief conversation of what we had done so far, he pointed to the thick stack of letters, DNA test results, and endless legal memorandums, and gave it to me straight. “Your dad isn’t going to do anything unless we make him.”

Henry explained that unless I filed a lawsuit by the time I turned eighteen, I would lose any opportunity to force my father to acknowledge me, or pay for college.

This was a huge turning point for me—my destiny just got a deadline, and I couldn’t lose my chance to make my father publicly admit that I was his daughter. As improbable as it seemed, I still dreamed of the happy ending. But I was no fool. Barring his acceptance of me, I knew, at the very least, it was important for him to help provide for my education—even if that meant suing him for it.

“Fine,” I said, biting my bottom lip, wishing we had a better choice, “let’s do it,”

Henry explained how he’d been adopted himself and understood the emotional importance of what I was trying to do. Since it hit close to home for him, he told me he would do the work pro bono, though he made it clear he would not fight for any back support for my mother. It wasn’t that she didn’t deserve it, but he felt bringing her in would be a distraction, and insisted that the lawsuit focus only on me.

We filed the paternity suit, and the media firestorm began.

Henry sent out a national press release on June 8, 1993, saying an East Coast Governor was being sued for paternity by a Midwestern teenager, and invited members of the media to a news conference at his office the following day.

My father beat Henry to the punch and followed the old political adage that the best defense is a good offense. He held a news conference announcing that he had a teenage daughter in Michigan.

Instead of saying how sorry he was for not being there for me, he attacked my mom and said she was a “gold-digger” who had been after him every time he ran for election—all stinging lies. Mom had nothing to gain, even though she deserved everything. She only signed the lawsuit because I was a minor.

“I met Kara Hewes once in my house in Providence,” he said into the podium full of microphones. “We had a very pleasant meeting. She asked for my assistance in getting into various colleges, and I did assist her. The timing of this lawsuit doesn’t surprise me, because Judith’s daughter, Kara, turns eighteen in about a month, after which there would be no possibility of support obligation, even if she was not already the adopted daughter of another man.”

I was sickened. I wanted to scream at the TV. How could he do this?

I thought he would want to help once he knew I was his. Now I didn’t know what to believe as I watched him attack my mother on live TV.

He finished by saying, “We shall defend the suit in court.”

How could he say he owed me nothing? Even if that was a legal argument, how could he not want to be my father now that we had proven I really was his daughter? Mom angrily turned off the TV and started sobbing over the gold digger accusations. “I hope he does the right thing for you, Kara, but I’m done, and I mean ALL done. I don’t need this in my life. He’s trying to destroy me all over again.”

The clash of my creators was terrifying. I worried Mom would break down, and it would be my fault. What had I done to us?

Mom was so mad she was already threatening to file a slander suit against my father. She was terrified the bad press would ruin her good name and the interior design business she had worked so hard to build. I panicked at the thought of two ongoing lawsuits. “Mom, please, let’s just stay calm for now; it’ll get better soon.”

“Whose side are you on? I’m your mother, you know, or did you forget that?”

Her venom was building with each news story that referred to her as “an affair from the 70s,” and like a wounded snake, she was ready to hiss and pounce. I understood her anger, but being around her was poison for me. I was trying to stay calm, and she was anything but.

This was not part of the happy ending Rockwell fantasy I had played over in my mind so many times. My stomach stayed in a perpetual knot as I vacillated between guilt and hope. I felt responsible for my mom’s pain over his lies, and wanted to do something—anything—to set the record straight. I never meant for it to happen like this. I never imagined he would try to attack my mother. Since I’d started it, I felt like it was my job to fix it, defend her, and play peacemaker. My young heart was fighting for the most basic human need—love—and it would do anything to find that path. But these unintended consequences made me question if I had done the right thing.

TV would turn out to be the mediator. Thank God for Henry, who told me it would all be okay, that tomorrow would be my turn to alter the tide and tell my truth.

In the meantime, every hour brought a new news story which showed my father being skewered in the press. His denial of any responsibility was not sitting well with the pundits, or the people. The tabloid show
Hard Copy
showed him cornered by reporters right in front of one of his own billboards promising a crackdown on deadbeat dads.

“Governor, are you a deadbeat dad?” the reporter asked.

“No. Now excuse me, I need to get by,” he muffled, looking down.

Sure, he’d brought this on himself, but I couldn’t help but feel badly for him. I never wanted to hurt him, and now I was really worried whether he would like me. It was easier to feel for everyone else, since I had to detach from my own feelings. If I had succumbed to the emotional tsunami around me, I would have drowned, so I survived by living above it all, and going to a deeper, stronger place that allowed me to put one foot in front of the other. I didn’t know it then, but it was a lesson in surrender. I was too mentally exhausted to do anything but just go with the flow. I followed the energy that was in motion, and my gut guided me to have faith. I had no choice but try and trust it. Looking back now I learned that just when you think your world is broken, a breakthrough can happen. I was about to make my dreams come true, but no one, including me, could have predicted the shocker that was coming.

All I knew for certain was that I would get to tell my side of the story on national TV in twenty-four hours. “Tomorrow, it’s my turn.”

  
8
My Big Day

June 9, 1993

This was the day I’d ask my father to acknowledge me—on live TV. I was determined not to let his rejection get in the way. Besides, no matter what he tried to say, I was right. There was no doubt he was my father, so why wouldn’t he want to help me?

The lawyers and my parents were fighting from their heads, a place where the ego rules, so it was all about who was right or wrong. My naiveté allowed me to stay in my heart, a place that only looked for love that my soul needed.

As I drove to Henry’s office for the news conference, my spirit gave me a pep talk.

I know he has a soft spot in his heart, whether he realizes it or not. I saw it the day I met him. I just need to reach it. I know there is more to him, I can feel it. I can feel this is supposed to happen, somehow, it’s meant to be.

What will I say to the press?

Driving alone with my thoughts, I focused on what had happened since my press conference. The story of the Governor of Rhode Island and his “Love Child” was already leading all the local and national newscasts, along with the nation’s major papers. My father’s admission on TV that it was “highly likely” I was his daughter only made the press more determined to find me. Well, ready or not, here I come…

Pulling into my lawyer’s parking lot, I saw that it was crammed with dozens of news trucks, reporters, and photographers running around getting ready for the big story — me. Gulp.

Crap, how can I make it inside without being seen? Henry is going to kill me for being late.

I twisted up my long hair—that I’d spent way too much time blowing straight—into a baseball hat, and hot-footed it to the door, holding my breath and hoping no one would spot me.

As I skipped into the building, the impact of my decisions weighed heavily on me, and I could only hope I was doing the right thing. Then again, it was too late to turn back.

The inertia of my intentions had finally taken physical form, and I was finally going to produce the definitive answer I’d been seeking since I’d first seen my father’s face on TV nearly five years ago. It had taken so much courage to get here, and I really hoped he would accept me. I’d prayed for so much more than having him simply write me a check before writing me out of his life. But either way, I told myself I had nothing to lose.

I ran up the back stairs to Henry’s office and removed my baseball cap and fixed my hair with a quick sweep of my hand before walking in, trying to look much more collected than I was.

Mom was already there, looking beautiful and ready to go into battle, too. Today, the world and my father would finally get to meet the successful woman she was today, not the scared young woman who had let him control her seventeen years ago. Today she would try to clear her name, and I would try to claim mine.

Henry came to take me back to his office in order to prep me before facing the press. He explained that he’d address the cameras first with a prepared statement detailing our legal claims against the Governor, then he’d turn it over to me to answer questions from the press. “Just tell the truth, you’ll do great.”

Henry walked into the conference room first, followed by Mom and me. I stood tall and walked with purpose, aware the cameras were rolling. I couldn’t believe how many reporters there were. I looked out into the sea of lenses that seemed to go on forever, even extending out into the hallway on the other side of the room, the flashbulbs going off like a fireworks finale.

Breathe Kara, just breathe, and try to look happy.
My defensive perma-smile went up as we sat down on either side of Henry, who was standing in front of a bouquet of microphones.

More flashbulbs.

“This morning, at approximately 10:00 a.m., a complaint for Filiation was filed by my client, Kara Hewes, against Bruce Sundlun, presently the Governor of Rhode Island.”

“Based on a blood test voluntarily submitted by the Governor and his daughter, Kara, we have definitive proof that Bruce Sundlun is the father of Kara Hewes. Kara has been trying for more than a year to have Bruce Sundlun admit that he is her legal father and assist her with day-to-day expenses. He offered to help her get into college and pay the magnificent sum of 1,000 a year.”

Ouch, did he really need to say that?

I felt the sting of shame when Henry told the world about my father’s cheap offer, something I had never shared with my friends, since I was so embarrassed. My father’s insignificant offer had reinforced my deep-seated feelings of being less than, defective, and unworthy.

I kept my game face on, refusing to let the media capture my fears on camera as Henry expressed his anger.

“We understand that Governor Sundlun is a man of great means, but that isn’t the sole criterion. His income is not the essential part of this action. We need validation that he is her father.”

Yes,
I need that, really need that, more than anything
.

“This case was started out of frustration caused by the Governor’s absolute refusal to engage in meaningful settlement discussions regarding his daughter. It’s unfortunate that he has embarrassed her by making her go public to prove her parentage.”

Yes, he shamed me, and now everyone knew. Would they all think I was unworthy, too?

Henry then introduced me to the press. “Now I’d like to introduce Kara, and she can take some of your questions.”

Oh God, it’s my turn now.
After all the years of theater and debate, I wasn’t afraid to speak in public, but today I was playing the role of me, and I was afraid to say something wrong.

I took a gulp of air and hoped my voice wouldn’t get high and squeaky from the tension in my throat.

More flashbulbs.

Speak slowly, I reminded myself as the questions darted at me like a ping pong ball.

“What do you want the Governor to do?”

“I’d like him to be a father.”

At least the reporters seemed to be treating me with kid gloves.

“Can you afford to go to college without his support?”

“I’m not destitute, but he’s my father, and he should do the right thing. I want to get to know him, and I want him to accept me, just like all of his other children.”

“Where do you want to go to school?” a reporter asked.

“I have been accepted to the University of Michigan and Boston University. I would have liked to go to Boston, but I can’t afford the private tuition. I applied there because I thought it would be nice to be closer to my father, so we could start getting to know each other.”

My eyes darted over at Mom, to see her expression about the possibility of going east.

“Judy, the Governor claims you are just after his money. Is that true?”

“No, of course not. I’m not asking for anything. I just can’t see how he can be that tough to not see his daughter, and realize how lucky he is.”

Thanks, Mom, for always believing in me, even when you’re mad.

“Kara, what do you think of how the Governor is treating your mother?”

I could kill him.
“I have no respect for him when he does that. She has done nothing but keep me in our home and make sure I had everything I need.”

I looked at Mom, hoping she could feel me standing up for her. She had survived raising me alone, and now I felt like I needed to protect her. Our roles were often reversed, but she’d made me who I was. My strength came, in part, because she’d leaned on me.

I took a few more questions before Henry brought things to a close. “Okay, ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. Kara and her mother are going to go home and rest now. You all have copies of the lawsuit to refer to. Thank you.”

When it was over, I couldn’t wait to find the girls waiting for me in Henry’s office. I had invited Brooke and Dayna, and a few more of my close friends to attend the news conference for moral support, and to witness what was going to be the biggest moment of my life. I had attended their Bat Mitzvah parties, sweet sixteen parties, and dance recitals—this was my coming out party.

I gave them a huge hug of relief. “Thank you for coming!”

“Of course, we would be here. You were great, so great!” Dayna said.

“So amazing,” Brooke echoed, “Were you nervous?”

“A little,” I confessed.

We finished our hugs and went looking for the juice and Danish Henry had put out. There were a couple of newspaper photographers allowed back in the office, and my friends and I posed, linking arm and arm for pictures.

The next day, I sat on the floor of our apartment reading the newspapers. Some of my favorite articles were the ones showing me with all of my friends. It felt special to stand with the closest thing I had to sisters and show the world I had a father.

Many of the papers wrote about the “striking resemblance” between the Governor and me, putting our photos side by side for people to compare.

The Detroit Free Press
headline said:
“
Accept me,” Kara Hewes fights for her name…

The New York Times
wrote: Paternity Suit Just Another Crisis in Rhode Island.

Sidebar stories quoted experts who analyzed what emotional issues I must have and why I had to do this. “Sundlun’s absence in her childhood and his reluctance to acknowledge her were bound to inflict pain and anger.”

I didn’t want my wounds laid out like a test case for the world to see, that my life was somehow an example of what can happen when a father screws up. I was hoping they weren’t right. I didn’t want to think I was that screwed up, and I didn’t want anyone else to look at me that way, either.

The expert went on to say, “Anger is about hurt…you have to ask, what does she really want?”

The expert was right; I wanted him to accept me, to love me, to do the right thing, so I wouldn’t look like a rejected fool in front of the whole world. I wanted to not be so angry. It was a feeling I had known for as long as I could remember. Growing up, I unleashed it on Mom, but I know good and well that part of that furor came from his rejection. There was a tear in my soul and it had ached my whole life, and only he could stitch it.

“The Sundlun case exploded because it’s been kept under wraps for so long. The person who breaks out, breaks the secret, wants to say, ‘This is who I am. I am the daughter of Bruce Sundlun.’ We don’t search to hurt, we search to heal,” reported
The Providence Journal
.

Yes, I needed him to heal me and give me my place in the world, but I didn’t like seeing it in the paper because it made me feel way too vulnerable. The reporters kept calling me a celebrity, and a part of me appreciated the recognition. It wasn’t the same as the validation of a father, but it felt good to finally have this out in the open, especially since most of the stories were sympathetic. “He’s a pretty important man, so he should do the right thing,” said Marc, a college student in Rhode Island. “She wants a dad, he’s being cold blooded.”

Other comments hurt and touched that dark place of unworthiness that I tried to block out. “It seems like an eleventh hour try for money,” said Barbara in Warwick.

The media helped me communicate what I so badly needed to say to my father, and this time he was forced to listen. He could no longer put me off; he would be forced to act. I wouldn’t have to wonder if he got my letters or understood me. It was all there in black and white.

The next night, my father came back with his own message in an exclusive interview on Channel 10, the NBC station in Providence that he used to run before he ran for governor.

I caught the broadcast on our local Detroit news. Sitting on the floor of our apartment, I stared at the TV as he spoke about me. He wore his trademark double breasted suit and striped tie as he looked in the camera and started to speak in his deep voice. “The Kara in that news conference was not the same girl I met last year. She’s been coached, manipulated by her lawyer and mother.”

No, I haven’t, I’m just showing my tough side—the side I inherited from you. And I wouldn’t have had to do any of this if you’d just done the right thing.

I was dumbfounded. More to the point, he was making me mad. He didn’t seem like the nice guy I’d met, either.

Then he directed his message directly to me. “It’s going to be difficult, but somehow or another, you and I have got to fight our way through those obstructions. We’ve got to get by Mr. Baskin, we’ve got to get by your mother. My hands are out and my heart is open. I hope yours is, too.”

What? Isn’t that what I’ve been trying to do since I wrote you my first letter, met you in secret, passed a DNA test, and then finally filed a lawsuit after you kept ignoring my pleas?

Then he went back to addressing the camera. “I really don’t think I can be accused of ignoring Kara, or not wanting to have a relationship with her. Candidly, I don’t feel the same way about Judith Hewes.”

Don’t you dare go there again!

I felt an angry, defensive flame rise in my gut, and the fire in me was starting to rage.
Of course
, he had been ignoring me! Who’s he kidding? And why does he have to take cheap shots at my mother? Doesn’t he know he hurts me by doing that?

As angry as I was and as little sense as it made, my heart was grasping at the one ray of light: “My heart is open, and my hands are out.”

That was the part of him I’d felt when I met him, the part that had cemented my faith, the part that made this quest seem not as crazy as it sounded.

But could I really trust him, or was it all just wishful thinking? Was I crazy? Then again, I had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Clearly, the media firestorm was forcing him to rethink his position, but part of me didn’t care. Was it possible for people to change? To realize they’ve been wrong? Baskin was suspicious. So was Mom, who wasted no time expressing her opinion. “Sure, now he responds. He’s just trying to save himself, since the public sees how bad he’s been.”

Mom was boiling mad, and I couldn’t blame her. She had no reason to have any faith in him, and, unlike me, nothing to gain.

“I’m the one who raised you all alone, and all he can do is slander me. What kind man does that?”