Dad, Interrupted

As the holidays approach, JEANNE DARST reflects on her father and their complicated relationship since she published her memoir, Fiction Ruined My Family.

- Jeanne Darst

If I let myself be a little corny for once, I’d admit that I have a Christmas fantasy. I would like my nine year-old son to sit next to my 83-year-old father at midnight Mass this Christmas Eve in New York as my dad theatrically belts out “Adeste Fideles.” My son has made it clear he’s not interested in another sunny Los Angeles celebration with our it’s-all-good neighbors; Christmas casual, you might call it. He wants the East Coast, his rambunctious cousins, massive amounts of snow, holiday airport drama, the works. I want him to experience one of the few family traditions we have left, the solemn and the cheeky, Our Father and my father. And as the two of them sang, my dad and I would start speaking again and finally mend our relationship, which has been almost nonexistent since my book came out.

When my memoir was published a few years ago, often the first thing people would ask was “What does your dad think about the book?” The most truthful thing I could say to these people was “He’s mad as hell.”