Dear Sophie,
Well, you’ve really gone and done it now. You’ve left us, bound for
Bushwick to live with your lovely beau. You’re also well launched on
your career in entertainment management. You certainly don’t need any
advice from me—and so, as usual, I’ll offer some.
First, let’s review what we know about you. Without question, you’re
the child who most resembles me—far more than your three laid-back
brothers. This, as we know, can be a mixed blessing. You’re pretty
intense, tough and stubborn. You’re also a hell of a lot better-looking
than I am, which also can be a mixed blessing. You’re the best athlete
in the family. You are also a hoot; when you get rolling, you can be
very funny.
I think the episode in your life which best demonstrates all these
qualities was your infamous 5th grade horse sculpture. The assignment
was to sculpt a sitting person. You refused. You wanted to sculpt a
horse. The teacher chastised you, tried to intimidate you, made you sit
at a separate table from the rest of the class. You didn’t care. You
sculpted a hilarious statue of a horse sitting on a stool, reading a
book: “Learning to Lose the Saddle.” Even the martinet of a teacher had
to admit it was a triumph.
I’ve seen you do similar things ever since, and I am not at all
worried that you’ll be pushed around in the years to come. I’ve also
come to understand that you take work—any work—very seriously. That’s a
good thing. I have no doubt that you’ll be successful. But you should
always remember that horse. There may be times that your bosses think
you’ve gone off the deep end, and you should respect their judgment. But
if you really believe in what you’re doing, stick with it, fight for
it. There will be times when you’re wrong, but you’ll learn from them,
and I know you’ll come back stronger.
One thing I’ve noticed is that, like me, you get nervous and
sometimes negative, facing a new challenge. It usually evaporates once
you start working. You should always remember how skeptical you were
going into the job as the director’s assistant on that independent film.
You worried about every negative scenario imaginable, and some that
were quite unbelievable, but you ended up loving every minute of that
job. So give new situations a chance before you pass judgment. Don’t be
ridiculously patient—there are times when it’s just the wrong
project—but do go in with an open mind.
On the home front, let me just say—and your boyfriend will think this
is absolutely hilarious—don’t be afraid to fight. Your Mom and I have
been battling for 34 years and it’s been extremely annoying for you—but
therapeutic for us. It’s a lot better than bottling things up, although I
can’t ever imagine you doing that. It’s got to be done from a basis of
love; mom famously called our marriage “lovingly contentious.” If you
lose the love, the fighting just isn’t worth it—and it can cause real
long-term hurt and harm. So be very, very careful about letting loose.
The other thing I don’t have to tell you is: enjoy yourselves. The
two of you have traveled the world together, cooked together, danced and
partied and been happily quiet, puttering around the house together.
Mom and I get a kick out of seeing you the two of you as a loving
couple.
I know you’re proud—boy, do I know it—but you should be assured that
I’ll be with you, and for you, whatever happens. Whenever you need me,
I’ll be there. I’ll always be looking forward to the next iteration of
the horse sculpture. And you’ll always, always be my darling girl. So
don’t be a stranger.
Love, Dad
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