Stories We Tell Page #12

in a ridiculous montage piece

that you were doing

when you were at the film center,

and you made me walk down

into a pool of freezing cold water,

wearing full clothes.

"Keep going, further down, Dad!"

I said,

"I can't go any further down!

"My clothes are holding me up. "

"Just keep going down!

"God, it's so annoying.

"It's a very little thing to ask of you.

"All I want you to do is

go a foot under the water.

"Here I am trying to do a montage,

"and my father

is causing trouble. "

A brutal piece of directing.

Why?

And in some ways,

that's, you know...

that's why this whole question of...

"Was I your father? Wasn't I?"

It becomes sort of

an unimportant part of the past,

for me, anyway.

I think it's much

more important for you.

For me,

it's just one of those things

that happens along with life.

So don't feel sorry for me.

If you have pity,

it should be for Harry,

who loved and lost Diane

and then missed out

on the childhood

of that Sarah he had produced.

Had that been my lot,

I would have been mortified

when I read that DNA result.

I've been a very lucky man,

and, of course,

for one of my luckiest moments,

I have to thank Harry Gulkin

for loving Diane.

Sarah's only what she is

because of that night of love

between Diane and Harry.

Had I been her biological father,

she would have been

entirely different.

She might have better or worse,

but she would definitely

not have been

the Sarah she is today,

and that's the one I love.

Of the other possible outcome,

there's nothing.

You may decide you want to keep

this letter to yourself

or to share it.

It's yours, and yours the choice.

You know, look...

Dad, can you just go back

over that one line?

I was being so real.

I completely convinced myself.

You may decide you want

to keep this letter to yourself

or to share it.

It's yours, and yours the choice.

You know, look, while telling me

your news on Thursday,

you twice hugged me

as hard as you ever did

in your childhood.

That alone made your revelation

worth a thousand words.

So, there you have it.

All I know of what happened

or what has been reported to me

has been told.

I think I wrote this story

because it really says

so many interesting things

about the human condition.

But maybe there was

another reason.

Perhaps, deep inside,

I have suffered more of a shock

than I would openly admit.

I sometimes stop and realize

that something inside

has for the rest

of my life changed.

A certain cord that runs

between Sarah and me

has been severed,

and I am powerless

to join it together.

It's not a real thing.

It only exists

because we have developed

this facet called imagination,

and that is

all too real and tangible.

It gives pain.

It's brief, and soon

I am back again at the keyboard,

reliving the past 40 years.

But I suppose it will always

be lurking to catch me unawares.

So perhaps this story

is a form of denial.

How ironic it is

that the final revelation

and its aftermath

have brought Sarah

and I closer together

and resulted

in me writing volumes,

as Diane always wanted me to.

It has given me a new lease on life.

At 5:
26 this morning,

a little girl was born to Jennifer,

my son's wife.

It's almost three quarters

of a century

since I was pulled

out into the air of llford,

and now this small girl

is starting to learn

about life in Toronto.

One thing is certain:

her life will be radically

different from mine.

So different that we might

as well be born

on planets light-years apart.

I think she'll be interested

to read of her grandfather's life,

set down in a way that makes it

very unlike

the stuff of history books.

Ah, and now there's a fly

buzzing around me as I write.

It'll buzz around

for a short time looking for food,

and, once sustained,

may seek a mate.

It will never know why.

It has simply been sentenced

to follow the demands

of millions of ancestors.

For that fly,

the word "why" does not exist.

Yes, that's it, Michael,

just accept the sentence.

I will go on.

I will go on.

I'm just so curious

at all the versions of this story

that have been in existence

since I was, like, 13,

and my sister first

told me as a joke,

"You know, your dad's probably

not your real dad. "

And then when I was 18,

hearing your name all the time,

and then finding Harry,

and then it being

proved by a DNA test.

Yeah.

So it's just weird that now

when I interview people,

like, a couple of her close friends

were shocked

that Harry was my dad,

because they always

thought you were my dad.

Um...

Well, okay, then.

I'll have to, uh...

I'll have to tell you that

we did sleep together once.

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