Finding Dad: From "Love Child" to Daughter (16 page)

I returned to my job in Michigan depressed. It was hard being so far away from Dad, and I worked hard to find a job opening closer to him. I’d sent out tapes, but no one was biting.

Finally, an exciting offer from WTAE in Pittsburgh came through, and my agent advised me to take the wonderful opportunity. It was tempting—a great station in a bigger market— but it was still a plane ride away from my father, and I couldn’t bring myself to commit. It was a hard decision, but soon after that, I received an offer for a part-time job in Hartford, Connecticut. My agent thought the Pittsburgh job was clearly the better choice, with its bigger market, more money, and full time. But I chose Hartford because it was only a two hour drive from Dad. I figured I needed one more good job before I could break into New York or Boston, and thought Hartford would be good enough. And the upside was that I could go home to Dad every weekend if I wanted. My heart was leading the way, so a bigger paycheck and more prestige would have to wait. Little did I know seven years after meeting my father, I would meet the man I was going to marry at that television station in Hartford. Seems the Universe was guiding me again.

  
16
Dad Signs Off on the One

Dennis House was one of the first people I met at my new station. He was handsome with dark hair that was always disheveled until moments before the newscast, and copper colored eyes. But it was his boyish demeanor that instantly disarmed me. He smiled broadly, making his dimples pop, and introduced himself in his deep, warm voice, “Hi, Kara, I’m Dennis, welcome to Channel Three.”

I felt my face blush as I thanked him. One of the main anchors excited to meet me? I wished I’d have thought of something cleverer to say.

Dennis was only in his mid-thirties, which was quite young to be one of the main evening anchors at WFSB, one of the most-watched CBS affiliates in the country. I was a bit intimidated on my first day, since some of the biggest names in the business, like Gayle King, Bill O’Reilly, and Mika Brzezinski, had come out of WFSB. But Dennis put me at ease by joking that he’d been waiting to meet me, especially after reading my bio. Obviously, it wasn’t because I’d broken some huge story. Come to find out, we’d both interned at WPRI in Providence, then worked in the Grand Rapids market before ending up in Hartford. It was fate that Dennis also loved Newport, and had a beach cottage there.

We became instant friends, but I was leery of anything more since I knew it wasn’t smart to become the “anchor’s girlfriend.” I harkened back to what Dad always told me: “In the military, they taught us to keep it five hundred yards from the flagpole,” meaning keep your love life off base!

Instead, we became good friends, and I loved being around him. I kept true to keeping it five hundred yards from the flagpole, but Mom helped change the course of our relationship when she came to visit me. Dennis and I had gone to the gym together and were doing a little grocery shopping when we bumped into her. She had heard about Dennis, but when she saw us sharing a cart, her Hungarian vibes kicked in, and she pulled Dennis aside and whispered something in his ear.

“Mom! What are you doing?” I was more than a little annoyed and embarrassed.

“Nothing…just being your mother,” she answered cryptically, while Dennis had a broad smile splashed across his face.

That night Dennis decided to go for it and kissed me for the first time, confessing what my mother had told him: “Hang in there, you’re the one for her.”

The kiss was great, but I was still worried that we both worked together. Mom was never one for being practical, and encouraged me to follow my heart on this one. She loved to be nosy, and insisted she knew Dennis would be the man I would marry, after just taking one look at him. She must have been clairvoyant, because it wouldn’t take me long to forget about the fact that our paychecks came from the same place.

Despite Mom’s eagerness about Dennis, I refrained from telling my father about him, assuming he wouldn’t like that I broke the flagpole rule. Then one night fellow reporter Kim Fettig and I stopped by Dennis’s Newport cottage for a drink. I told him we couldn’t stay long since Kim and I were having dinner with my father at the Skybar in Newport. Little did I know that Dennis took that morsel of information as invitation to meet my father. When I left him, he was wearing shorts and a baseball cap, and still grimy from a day at the beach. Thirty minutes later, Kim spotted him first at the top of the stairs walking into the exclusive restaurant dressed like Gatsby himself in a summer khaki suit and blue and white striped tie.

Kim leaned over and whispered to me. “Kara, I think that’s Dennis over there.”

“What….oh my God, it is. What’s he doing here?”

With an air of confidence, Dennis walked up to our table and went straight to my father, without even glancing at me. “Governor, I’m Dennis House.”

Dad looked at him incredulously. “You’re the anchorman?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Among other things,” Dennis answered somewhat cryptically.

“It’s the other things I’m worried about!” Dad shot back, cracking us up.

He invited Dennis to join us, and spent the rest of the evening asking him loads of questions: where was he from, how did he get his start in the business, and how was I doing at the station.

Let’s face it, it was an interrogation, but Dennis loved it. Seeing these two become fast friends was huge for me, and my respect for Dennis grew because he realized how important my father was to me.

Two months later, the terror attacks on 9-11 changed Dennis’s and my relationship forever. Suddenly, life felt too precious to worry about dating a guy who shared a boss with me. Though we didn’t say it then, we knew we’d never be apart again. We covered the tragedy together for about ten days in New York City.

The attacks were frightening on a personal level as well. Dad was supposed to be at a meeting at the Pentagon, where one of the planes had hit. Fortunately, the meeting had been moved, and my father was safe and on his way back home. The few moments of panic reminded me how terrified I was of losing him before we got to say all that needed to be said. I’d finally found him, and there was so much lost time to make up for. I needed him to be there to walk me down the aisle, watch me have kids, and simply cherish the father-daughter time we’d both missed.

One of those father-daughter moments happened in the spring of 2002, about seven months after the 9-11 attacks, when I was nominated for my first Emmy Award for news reporting. I never expected to win, but nonetheless, I invited my father to be my date for the ceremony, thinking it would be fun to have him share in my excitement. Dennis had also been nominated, so I felt like we were keeping it in the family. The New England Emmy Awards dinner was in Dennis’s hometown of Boston, and reporters from all over New England were there, including some from Providence who had covered Dad while he was Governor. They stopped by to shake hands with him, but he made it a point to tell them this was my night in the lights. “This is my daughter, Kara, she’s nominated tonight.”

When the ceremony started, Dad focused intently on the program, making notes of who won each Emmy, eagerly waiting for my category, which was toward the end. When the emcees started to announce General Assignment News, I sat nervously looking at Dad and Dennis. “Good Luck” they mouthed to me. There were reporters there with far more experience than I had, so it was a thrill just to be nominated.

“…And the Emmy goes to Kara Sundlun…for ‘Swimming with Sharks.’ ”

The announcers went on to read the names of our talented photographer, Eric Budney, and gifted editor, Tom Zukowski, who worked on the piece with me. The country had been riveted by an increase in shark attacks down south, so we’d chartered a boat and chummed the waters with blood and fish guts to reveal what kind of sharks were swimming in New England waters. The day of the shoot I ended up getting sea sick and losing my breakfast over the side of the boat.

A similar feeling seized me as I stood to walk up to the stage, suddenly realizing I’d have to speak and hadn’t prepared any remarks. Thankfully, Eric and Tom walked up to the stage with me, which calmed my shaking knees. But since I’d been the one who’d worked on camera, they left the speaking to me. I pulled myself together and thanked Eric and Tom, and, of course, the station. I took a deep breath and looked out into the crowd. “I want to thank my parents, especially my dad who is here tonight. I am so happy we can share this moment together.”

Dad was so excited about my win he couldn’t wait to start making phone calls to share the news. Dad, the master of embellishment, had a great time telling everyone I’d won an Emmy for being the “Best News Reporter in New England.” Oops.

The idea of my dad bragging about my accomplishments had been a lifelong dream that I’d carried—even when there had been nothing in my life to suggest such a thing would actually happen.

Dreams really do come true.

  
17
Walking Me Down the Aisle

Spring, 2002

Though I knew I’d marry Dennis someday, I didn’t know when. Laura, one of my best friends from college was the first in our group to get engaged, and we decided to take a girls’ trip to Paris to celebrate. Sounds fancy, I know, but that’s Laura, and since we were all young and single, taking a trip was no big deal. While I was away, Dennis decided to ask my father if he could come and see him. Dad had no experience with future sons-in-law asking for daughters’ hands in marriage, so he was beyond excited when Dennis asked him for his blessing, and immediately asked Soozie to break out some champagne to celebrate.

While they toasted Dennis’s big decision, my father wanted to offer some advice. Dennis figured it would be some sage wisdom considering my father had been married five times. But no. Instead, Dad said, “Dennis, when women get married they tend to gain weight, and Kara is short, so she won’t carry it well. You’ll really have to watch what she eats.”

Dennis was so flabbergasted, he managed to mumble out a tepid “oh, um, okay,” while thinking, a
nd this is why he’s been married five times!

Dennis was afraid I’d be ticked off, and waited a long time before telling me that story. But I just cracked up because my father was given to brutal honesty with his sometimes bizarre opinions, no matter how inappropriate. Dennis’s relationship with his own father had been strained, so he enjoyed my father’s eagerness to embrace him as family. Dad was always happy to share his thoughts with Den on politics and, of course, offer plenty of advice on just about everything—from what he should do to advance his career to how he should cut his hair, or what kind of pants to wear. So it seemed only fitting, that Dennis decided to buy my engagement ring from my father’s jeweler, a man named Angel, at the Platinum House in Newport. But, still needing to be his own man, Dennis did it in secret before he asked for Dad’s blessing. Guess he was pretty confident he’d get a yes!

Den still had a napkin drawing I’d made a month ago, when he’d surreptitiously asked what kind of ring I’d want “if” I was to get married, and took it to Angel.

When it came time to pop the question Dennis arranged an elaborate scheme to get me to Michigan because of its significance— I’d grown up there, he’d worked there and, most importantly, he was also thinking of my mom, and knew it would mean the world to her since he knew our wedding would be in Newport, on Dad’s territory. Since Den loved producing big moments, he popped the question on the biggest porch in North America at the Grand Hotel on Mackinac Island. We didn’t know it then, but it was the same hotel my father was sent to after the war to recover. Of course, I said “Yes!”

Dennis would become my husband and Dad would walk me down the aisle, taking his role as my real father to a very special level. For all the things he had missed in my life, this would be one big moment we could still have together.

Dennis surprised me with an engagement party at his brownstone.

Everyone held champagne flutes and yelled, “Surprise!” as we walked in the door. I was stunned to see Mom standing next to my future mother-in-law, Marilyn. How’d she get here? When did all this planning happen? Den, ever the planner/instigator, had flown Mom in from Ohio so she wouldn’t miss a thing,

“I can’t believe you flew in my mother!” I said hugging Dennis, who truly had thought of everything.

There were more hugs and hellos when Dad and Soozie arrived, and I nearly fell over watching Soozie and Mom chatting like schools girls. It struck me how similar they were. Creative and artsy, they were beauties who bubbled over with effervescence.

It was there that I realized my father needed the kind of woman who lived from her emotions, since it was hard for him to tap into his. I knew he’d loved his mother for her warmth and kindness, which was so unlike his father, who he thought of as cold and judgmental. It made sense that he would seek out the same kind of woman—and I think it’s also why he felt so at ease with me. We all bubbled, which allowed him to make like a sponge and soak it up.

Dad was more than happy that we wanted to get married in Newport, and dug right in to help with the planning and paying for the wedding.

That had been the easy part. Finding a date proved to be a lot harder because we needed to find a time that wouldn’t conflict with TV ratings. We settled on August 1st, 2003 at Saint Augustin’s Church in Newport, followed by a black tie reception at the famous Rosecliff Mansion. Dad was pleased with the plans and excited to start creating a guest list. It would be his big day, too.

As the day drew closer, I grew giddy with excitement whenever I envisioned Dad walking down the aisle and giving me away to join Dennis. My Aunt Kathy had found the perfect song for our father-daughter dance—“I believe in Happy Endings” by Neil Diamond. I cried the first time I heard the lyrics:

I believe in extra innings, starry skies and dreams come true,

I believed it since I first met you…

I believe in extra innings brand new starts and hearts that care the way I do…

That song still makes me cry today every time I play it.

I was counting down the days until my fairytale wedding when I got a chilling call from Soozie. “Kara, honey, your dad is in the hospital, there’s something wrong with his stomach.”

I held my breath. “Is it serious?”

”They don’t know. He went to the emergency room, He’s in a lot of pain. I’ll call you when I know more.” She sounded as though she’d been crying, and my heart went out to her because my own heart was heavy worrying about Dad.

Soozie called back later to say that tests revealed a blockage in my father’s digestive system. I dropped everything and told my bosses I needed to go to Rhode Island immediately.

At first it seemed like this would work itself out, and I returned to work hoping to hear good news. But as days went on, he grew weaker and sicker, so I made another trip to the hospital to see him. He was dropping weight rapidly and I was shocked to see how quickly he’d become a shadow of his former self.

“Hi, Dad, how are you feeling?” I asked, choking back tears.

“Terrible, just awful. I have never been this sick in my entire life.” Spent, he rolled over to go back to sleep.

I had never seen him like this, and was absolutely terrified as I drove back home. My father was such a force of nature that it was impossible to ever picture him sick.

When I returned to the hospital on my day off, he looked weak and ashen. After hugging him, I immediately went to the bathroom in his room, shut the door, and collapsed on the floor sobbing. How could this happen? Is he going to miss my wedding? Then the fear really kicked in: Is he going to die?

As much as I loved Dennis, I couldn’t bear the thought of not having my dad at our wedding.

I took some deep breaths, wiped my tears and went back to his bedside, where I held his hand. He looked up at me with soft eyes. “I’m really sick, Kara. Always make sure you keep an eye on your stomach, it’s my weak spot, and it may be yours, too. The nurses want to pump my stomach, but I wouldn’t let them.”

I blinked. “What do you mean you won’t let them?”

“I can’t stand the thought of having something down my throat. I won’t do it.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. He needed to get better. I needed him so much! “Dad, you’ll only feel it for a second when it goes in. After that, you’ll start to feel so much better.”

He looked almost hopeful. “Are you sure I’ll only feel it going in?”

“Yes.” I nodded to punctuate the point.

“Ok then, I’ll do it.” Always so headstrong, I could have danced around the room after he agreed, reluctantly, to listen to me. I left while they did the procedure. He started to feel better almost instantly, and the color came back to his face.
Thank God
. It looked like Dad would be able to make it to the wedding, though doctors cautioned that he had a long way to go. It was harder to bounce back and at the age of eighty-three.

Unfortunately, resting wasn’t one of my father’s skills, so each time I came to the hospital, he had more on his To Do list, and as bizarre as this sounds his number one priority was making sure Dennis and the groomsmen gave up on the idea of wearing plaid pants to the rehearsal dinner.

“Patterned trousers?” he grimaced. “That’s just awful, awful.” He got so flustered, he needed water.

Here the man was fighting to get better, and all he could think about was what people were going to wear to the rehearsal dinner? I could have laughed if he wasn’t so genuinely upset about it. “Dad, Dennis loves the preppy madras and wale pants, and the
only
thing he cared about was wearing crazy pants with his groomsmen to the rehearsal dinner.” I privately wondered if the drugs were making him crazy. Why on earth does he care?

“It’s dreadful, Kara!” he said with as much strength as he could muster. “They can wear khakis or Nantucket Reds, but no patterned trousers!”

Dennis gave in, figuring he couldn’t deny a man’s near-death-bed-wish, and my father called up a store on Nantucket and overnighted Dennis some new pants. At least they could be colored!

I knew his juice was coming back when he started calling the stationery shop to have the wedding invitations sent by courier to anyone who stopped by to visit him in the hospital. The list kept growing, and I worried we were going to exceed the maximum number of 240 people allowed inside Rosecliff. But Dad didn’t seem to care, saying to the doctors and nurses who were caring for him, “If you get me well enough to go to my daughter’s wedding, you are all invited.”

Thankfully, they didn’t hold him to that, or we might have had to get a tent for all the extras. But they worked hard to get Dad well, and released him the night before my rehearsal dinner. He was weak and frail, having lost thirty pounds, but he was out and determined to walk me down the aisle. I was thanking God every second, hoping he wouldn’t relapse.

Worried looks passed over the faces of those at the rehearsal dinner when they caught sight of his frail appearance. He’d made it, but he was unable to talk or stand for very long, and left early. But dad was still a fighter, and he showed up a new man the next day at the church. Seeing him, I walked as fast as my wedding dress would allow so I could give him a tight hug. “Thank God you made it!” I wasn’t afraid of walking down the aisle, but the thought of having to do it without him was paralyzing.

“Hey, baby, you look beautiful,” Dad said, smiling as he saw me in my dress for the first time. “That is one of the most beautiful wedding gowns I’ve ever seen.”

“Thanks, Dad, but what about you? How do you feel?” I was secretly mortified at how his tuxedo hung on him.

“I’m fine,” he replied, in his customary strong voice. “I’m back to the weight I was in high school, and I’m going to keep it that way!”

We laughed, and I smoothed down a few of his wiry stray hairs. While we waited for our cue to walk,
The New York Times
photographer snapped away for the vows article that would be in the Sunday Style section.

When the music cued up, Dad grabbed my hand with his strong forceful grip, and I knew he was going to be okay. The excitement seemed to energize him, and we walked hand in hand, smiling ear to ear as flashbulbs clicked. Cameras from the local Rhode Island stations, as well as one from my own station, were there, plus a few newspaper photographers. I couldn’t help but think how much sweeter this was than our infamous news conference ten years ago. It was the happily-ever-after picture I’d dreamed of.

Ten years of forgiving, laughing, loving, testing, and just figuring it all out, had created a real father-daughter relationship—a relationship we treasured and counted on. We walked down the aisle, aware of the importance of this day—our loved ones tearing up with joy, and the press looking at us to witness what we had become.

I had waited a lifetime to meet both of these important men in my life, and my wedding day made my love official for both of them. As we approached the altar I kissed my father’s cheek and took Dennis’ hand.

At the reception, I worried my father might lose steam and not be able to hold out for his speech and our father-daughter dance, but every time I looked at him, he was talking and smiling as if nothing was wrong. His sheer will to be there seemed to transcend his exhaustion.

Cameras clicked as Dad and I danced to Neil Diamond’s “Happy Endings.”

My father was a fabulous dancer and I just tried to keep up with him as he spun me around the floor. It was an exhilarating fairytale moment. We both beamed as we made box steps across the mansion floor, while news cameras clicked away. For the thousandth time since my first summer with Dad, I thought about how we were no longer performing—we had overcome many awkward steps, and had found our rhythm. I wasn’t the “love child” from newspaper headlines anymore—I was his daughter, period. That steady drumbeat of my inner voice that had told me to have faith all those years ago had finally won out and gave way to a new heartsong—not just for me, but for both of us.

When the song ended, he flashed me a look of “uh oh— need a chair. Now.” Dad rested while Dennis danced with my mother to “My Girl,” one of Mom’s favorites. All the years of discord, anger, hurt, and jealousy, it was wonderful to see the beaming smile spread across her face. With all she’d been through, she deserved it. Despite our differences, she’d stepped aside and allowed me to find my way with my father, no matter how much it hurt, and I was happy she was getting recognition for her selflessness.

When it came time for my father to take the microphone, I’d hoped, prayed actually, that he might say something that would help bring closure for Mom, but I didn’t expect his words to be so directed at her:

“I’m so happy Kara has found as great a man as she has in Dennis. I couldn’t be more proud of these two young people. They are both Emmy Award winning journalists at the number one station in Hartford, which by the way, all you Rhode Islanders here should know that is a much bigger market than Providence…” the whole room erupted in laughter, then came one of Dad’s famous long pauses…“I don’t deserve any credit for those things—the credit goes to Kara’s mother, Judy Vargo, who raised her alone, teaching her all of the important things in life, a love for God, country and family….”