My Father Is...


Maggie


Friday
My father it seems is stupider than a man who is too stupid to have committed a crime he was convicted of in a Spanish court. But that's the end of this story. Let me start from the beginning.

Tuesday
I stepped out of my office for just a minute to refresh my coffee, and as happens in every office in the world, but especially the White House, my phone rang and went to voice mail before I could grab it. Since I had been going for coffee to distract myself from the current pardon application I was reviewing, and was still looking to be distracted, I immediately dialed into voicemail to find out whom I had just missed. As soon as I heard, “Hey Sam, it's…” I hung up and started to dial as I recognized my dad's voice. It was only after I had dialed that I realized I didn't recognize the phone number.

Let me explain how I even knew to dial a number I didn't recognize, did you know that the White House has caller ID? Yep, most people don't realize it. Just one more of the many security features that surround us, I hadn't even realized that I was referring to the phone number on the screen readout when I started dialing. So anyway, the line starts to ring and I was a little surprised to hear a woman not my mother pick-up but in my current not really thinking state I guess my subconscious was assuming that I'd dialed his office. “Yes, hello,” I said to the woman-who-was-not-my-mother who answered the phone, “I'm returning Mr. Seaborn's call, this is his son.” Oh, yes Sam she says. SAM? That seems a little informal for a secretary who didn't even identify herself or the firm except to say hello? But I digress. Your dad just stepped into the shower – could I have him call you right back?

Now I'm truly perplexed – why is my father a corporate attorney showering in his office and why is his secretary calling me by my first name? I manage to stutter a “Yes, sure he has the number,” and hang-up. My brain, or at least the portion capable of higher functions that is, is finally re-asserting itself over whatever has been ruling the last 10 minutes and I'm starting to get that sick feeling you get when you realize you've walked into a room and everyone stopped talking when they saw you.

All right, I'm a lawyer; let's let logic have its place. I look down at the phone number I've just dialed and see again, that I don't recognize it. It's not my parent's home number, nor is it the number of my dad's firm. In fact it's a different area code entirely. So, that's my first question where did I just call? I then notice that the caller ID read-out is indicating a down-arrow next to the number, which means that the receiver hadn't blocked caller ID and if I scroll the display down I can see who the phone number is registered to. So, I hit the down arrow and see S. Seaborn, Esq.

Well, that's it then. The number is registered to my dad. Yeah, that's all it is. But why does my dad have a number registered to him in an area code that I don't recognize?

Now for those of you following along – this is the point at which I should of said something like, “Oh well, who cares.” and gone back to my pardons. However, I am Sam Seaborn, who wanted the President's Thanksgiving Proclamation to include a section on Pilgrim crime fighters who churn butter by day and solve crime at night. I didn't go back to my pardons, instead I allowed myself to get curious – I shouldn't have.

Next I decided to figure out where this mysterious area code was from. Because the code had a one in the middle of it I knew it wasn't one of the new area codes that every metropolitan area was being inundated with to keep up with the demand for more phone numbers. Which meant that this phone was not located in my old hometown where my parents still live and my dad's law firm is located. So, just as Josh walked in, I grabbed the phone again, and started dialing reverse information. For those of you who haven't heard of it; reverse information is an automated line that let's you punch in a phone number and then provides you with the name and address of whomever the line is registered to. Although I already knew that somehow the phone was in my dad's name, this would tell me if it was just a cell phone or something.

Josh had taken a seat while I dialed and was therefore present when I started muttering Santa Monica under my breath. Santa Monica? Why would my dad have a phone line registered to him in Santa Monica? That's over an hour from his office, the marina where he keeps his boat, and his home. This doesn't make any sense. I hang up and continue to mutter Santa Monica – momentarily forgetting that Josh is still there until he says, “Hey Sam, what's so confusing about Santa Monica”.

I barely manage to say I don't know before the phone starts to ring and I see that it's my dad again, at the Santa Monica number. I pick it up and answer, “Hello Sam Seaborn”. But there's no reply – I'm about to say hello again when I hear my dad say, “Uh, yeah, Hi Sam. How ya doing?” “Fine dad, listen, what are you doing in Santa Monica, did the firm open an office there? If they did you really ought to look for a new secretary, this one leaves a bit to be desired.” I'm about to point out that even Kathy identifies herself and the White House when she answers my phone, even if she does scare me. When my dad interrupts me to say, “Well Sam, she's not my secretary.” Before I can ask who she is he goes on to say, “How did you get this number anyway? I told you I'd call you back later…”

Do you all remember that time in your teenage years when your parents were seconds away from finding out you have done the one thing they have told you never to do? You know you're caught; it's just a matter of waiting for the shoe, which has already been dropped to actually hit the floor. So you decide your only option is to try to brazen out the problem with teenage attitude, and the concept that if your parents hadn't been prying into your life then they wouldn't have found out about something that they have no business knowing because it's YOUR LIFE.

Yeah, we've all had that moment. I mention it now because I was currently experiencing a truly surreal moment of déjà vu – in which it was no longer me trying to explain to my father that if my mother hadn't been going through my underwear drawer on the pretext of returning the clean and folded clothes to my possession she wouldn't have found the one lousy joint that I was just holding for a friend anyway. Instead my father was playing the role of me and I was trying to figure out what I had just caught him doing.

“Dad, calm down,” I said, “I didn't even listen to your message, I just looked at the caller ID read-out and started to dial. I figured I'd catch you still at the phone. Where are you anyway? What's in Santa Monica?”

“Shit” he said, “Listen, just calm down and I'll explain, there's no reason to get upset. There's a perfectly reasonable explanation.” Now keep in mind that through the entire last five minutes that this was all occurring Josh was sitting in my office waiting for me to get off the phone. Given that he was alternately staring at the inside bottom of his tie – which he'd pick up and turn over to look at, and twiddling his thumbs, I'm pretty sure that I was sounding pretty calm. Josh's obvious boredom was a pretty good sign that my end of the conversation was fairly low-key.

“Dad, what's going on?” I asked quietly as my stomach started to twist and I began to sweat. At this point I have to say that I am very sorry that the ground did not just swallow me up and consume me. I'm also pretty pissed at myself for not just going back to my pardons and deciding to call my dad later. But once again I'm stalling. My father told me what was going on. In a halting voice he explained that he was calling from the apartment he kept in Santa Monica for his girlfriend of 28 years. No wonder she was so familiar when she answered the phone. She's been sleeping with my father for roughly 88% of my life!

When he finally finished his explanation, and I say finally because I've just given you the highlights, I left out his explanations, rationalizations, recriminations and the other 'tions I was forced to listen to as my father, the man I had looked up to my whole life, the man who had taught me right from wrong, and the right way to treat people and that lying was bad, had turned my entire life into a lie. And the only reason I know that is because he was stupid. He didn't know that even if he didn't leave me a number – I'd be able to figure out how to get a hold of him.

Unfortunately this is not even the worst part of this whole conversation. He finally stopped talking, and I just stood there in silence trying to hold onto the phone and my self-control at the same time. The silence stretched out between us for a few minutes when my father asked, “Are you going to tell your mother about this, or can we…”

I lost it then. I just absolutely lost it. I think I finally understand how Josh felt last Christmas in the Oval Office because the only reason I know what happened next is because Josh told me later what I said. “Am I going to tell her?” I asked, “listen you son-of-a ” I shouted. “You betrayed her, you betrayed me. You lied to all of us for most of my life. I will not destroy my mother by telling her this – YOU WILL.” I screamed into the receiver. “You will put your pants back on, go home, tell my mother that your marriage vows meant nothing to you and then you will pack your bags and leave us both the hell alone.” Then I slammed the phone back onto its cradle and collapsed into my desk chair.

Josh was now sitting straight up in the chair staring at me with wide eyes and as I looked out past my open office door I could see everyone studiously not meeting my eyes as they quickly shuffled the papers in front of them.

Josh walked over and closed the office door, pulled the blinds and then sat back down again. He didn't say anything and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was shock at hearing me sound that angry. Maybe it was surprise at what I was saying. Although I think it was a little bit of fear because he didn't recognize the person I'd become in the last few seconds – I know I was certainly frightened by what I'd just become.

After a few seconds of shock, I realized I was about to cry. Despite being a graduate of Princeton and Duke, a former corporate attorney and a member of the President's senior staff, I was going to bawl my eyes out in just a few seconds and my best friend was going to watch me do it. Just then Josh walked around my desk, pulled me into a fierce hug and held onto me as I sobbed with tears of frustration, and betrayal, and loss, and anger, and sadness, and pain.

I got myself under control after a time and Josh handed me a handkerchief and studiously began inspecting the law books on my shelves as I took a moment to pull myself together. Once I became reasonably composed Josh sat back down across the desk from me and just looked at me. He didn't say anything – he didn't have to, he has a terrible poker face. All his questions were written on it.

“I just found out my dad has been having an affair for 28 years,” I said. “Apparently I'm the first to find out because he asked me if I was going to tell my mother.” I finished. I can't believe how my voice sounds right now – tinny and far away. I think I'm still in a little bit of denial because although I'm saying out loud that my father committed adultery I really can't believe it.

Josh stared at me for a second and then said quietly, “Sam, I am so sorry. I know I really can't help – but if there's anyway I can make this easier for you please tell me how.” You know, I've known Josh forever, and people have asked me once or twice how two such seemingly different people can be such good friends. He's got an ego the size of Texas, sarcasm and the well-placed barb are his favorite forms of communication. He blames me for things like setting the White House on fire when he was just as much of a participant if not an instigator of the situation. But that's just the outer Josh, the outer shell that covers this inner core of understanding and insight that I tend to forget is even there until someone he cares about is hurting and really needs his help.

“Thanks,” I said, “I appreciate it.” I'm about to thank him for letting me cry all over his shirt but we're guys and it's bad enough when we do cry – the guy code requires never referring to the event again – so he just waves me off before I can finish the sentence.

“Should I go?” He asked, “I don't know, do you want to call your mom maybe?” No, thanks, I'll call her later. I just think I'm going to get back to these pardons, deal with all of this later.” He gives me a quick nod and a look. Before he opens the door I realize I never found out what he needed. He did after all come in here for a reason. “Josh,” I say before he opens the door. “What did you need?” “It's nothing,” He responds. “Donna's got some friend coming in from Wisconsin, I don't know what all is going on but she wanted me to find out if you were still working on the pardons or had already finished them.” “Oh,” I said, “I'll probably be working on them all week, in fact I'm kind of hoping to use them to keep me out of Friday's Cheese Day Meetings.” Josh just smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before he pulled the door closed shut behind him. Which I appreciate, normally my office door is always open but right now I think I need a little privacy.

Josh asked if I wanted to call my mom. I really don't want to call her. It's not that I'm a coward; I just can't be the person who tells her this. If I do, it will always be between us, and the next few weeks and months will be hard enough on all of us without the fact that her son caught her husband having a long-term affair and told her about it. So, I'm going back to my pardons, and my now cold coffee – which I never had the chance to drink while it was still hot, and wait for my mom to call and tell me what she and my father are going to do. Then tonight, when I can't hide behind pardon applications anymore I'm going to go home, sit on my couch look through photo albums of my life and wonder about every picture that my dad's not in and try to decide if he wasn't there for the reason he gave or because he was off with his mistress.

Friday
So now you see how my dad is stupider than the guy who was convicted of a crime he was too stupid to commit. He called me from his girlfriend's and never thought that he'd get caught. I've spoken to my mother. Although she threw him out – she's not doing anything else until the shock wears off. I can certainly understand that position; on the other hand my shock seems to be increasing. I spent last night in Toby's office sleeping on his couch because I just couldn't handle going home to my empty apartment and it's pictures of happy times that now represent questions, and lies and what-ifs.

It's once again time to shake this off for a while – Donna just came in, this must be that friend from Wisconsin Josh mentioned.

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