[img]958|left|Alex Campbell||no_popup[/img]Dateline Boston — When the envelope came in the mail, I waited for my S.O. to come home so he could support me when I opened it. It was the longest three hours of my life. He came home, and I opened the envelope. I took out a letter, and immediately recognized my mother’s handwriting. My hand was shaking, and my heart raced, just as it had when I received the first letter from Phyllis.
I skimmed the letters, then read them more carefully. I felt like I was invading my mom’s privacy by reading such intimate correspondence — after all, these letters were meant for him to see, not anyone else. At one point I think I had an out-of-body experience, because suddenly it didn’t seem real. The enormity of what this could all mean began to creep into my conscience, and I just couldn’t handle it.
First, I had to accept the fact that I might have a different biological father than I thought I did. Then I had to wonder who knew what. Then I wanted to know the man who was my biological father. I couldn’t, though, because he was dead. But I could, sort of, because now I had contact with his children, or at least one of them, at this point.
I could also find out a lot by reading. That was the second thing I had to accept—who this man was. He was famous. A cartoonist. His work was known all over the world. A lot was written about him. I could find out a lot.
That led me to the third thing. I was listed in his will. Suddenly, I was a millionaire. How does one go from saving dollar bills in a plastic piggy bank to having guaranteed financial security for the rest of one’s life?
There was so much to digest. Too much. I had to wrap this up.
In the end, I decided that it all worked out. I met the whole family, and we all got along. I got a financial advisor who specialized in overnight millionaires. I kept my job for another year, then retired to become a fulltime writer. My S.O. and I didn’t have to worry about scrimping and saving anymore. Our lifestyle didn’t change much, though, except we traveled a little more than we used to, and I got some more tattoos.
How did the end of this story come together so nicely?
I made it up. I also made up the beginning and the middle. I do that sometimes, make stuff up as if it’s real. I got the inspiration for the story from Oprah Winfrey, who recently found out she had a half-sister she didn’t know about. I wondered, “What if I had a half- sister? What would she look like?”
My mind got to spinning, and this is what came out. Some of the stuff is true. My mom’s name was Mary, and she sometimes spelled it “Meri.” At one time, my parents had an open relationship. I seem to remember that one time my mom mentioned that she knew a famous cartoonist. Both of my parents are deceased. I grew up in New York City.
The rest I made up. I had intended to write this whole essay in one column, but it got too long. So I left it as a cliffhanger. That was mistake No. 1. Then I posted it on Facebook for all my friends to read. Mistake No. 2.
Everyone believed it even though I had not mentioned one single part of what seemed to be a dramatic and stressful situation to anyone. I’m not a very private person; people know my business. The fact that I hadn’t talked about this should have been a tipoff, but I’ve also never written quite that way before.
Turns out I really upset a good friend of mine. I mean she was shocked, and angry. She felt as if I was playing with her emotions. She wondered if she really was a good friend, if I had kept this from her. When I told her I made it up, she got really mad. And that got me to thinking, “Oh, no! Who else had I upset?”
I wrote to my friends and I called my editor and said over and over again, “It’s not true, I made it up. I was going to say so at the end!” Everyone was really nice, and supportive. Even my angry friend realized she had taken it a little too personally.
I learned a lot last week, about writing, and friendship, and about making stuff up. Next time I go off on one of my wild adventures, I’ll write it all at once, and only keep you in the dark for a page, not a week. Friends, if something outrageous happens in my life, I’ll tell you. Trust me.
Ms. Campbell may be contacted at her new address, snobbyblog@gmail.com
