My Incredibly Wonderful, Miserable Life

by Adam Nimoy

  “But this is different because you’re in recovery now. Don’t go over there with any expectation of changing him. Your goal is simply to try and make him feel better. This really is more about you than it is about him.”

  “Okay, I get it, I really do, and I know you’re right, but I gotta hang up right now and catch my breath.”

  I hang up and focus on breathing. When I’ve settled down, I try the gas pump again and it starts working.

  Then I call Justin.

  “I totally disagree with doing that with your dad.”

  “What? Why?”

  “You’re going to go through your entire list of grievances with your father?”

  “No. Chris says I should let my dad go through his list with me from that letter he wrote and that I should make a sincere and honest amends for everything and anything he throws at me.”

  “Ohhhh . . . Interesting . . . I totally agree with doing that with your dad.”

  “You do? I’m not sure I can do it. I’m not sure I can take it.”

  “Yes, you can. You’ve come a long way, and I can honestly tell you, my friend, this is going to lift a huge weight off your shoulders. And, of course, your dad will feel a lot better too, once he lets it all out and takes a giant dump.”

  When I called Dad to suggest we go through the letter, he jumped at the chance. And so on Friday, after teaching at the film school, I was set to go to his house and make my amends. That morning when I woke up, it was raining. It hadn’t rained in L.A. that heavily for months. Of course the rain came immediately after the Malibu and San Diego fires, so now we had to deal with the mudslides. I rolled out of bed and opened my door to the garden running along the side of my apartment building so that I could take in the weather. And there, foraging around for food, was a large opossum. He didn’t notice me and just kept walking by as I grabbed my video camera. Such a strange creature. I’ve never really seen one this close for this long as they’re usually nocturnal and they skedaddle the second they sense any danger. Black eyes, white snout, thick fur, rat’s tail. As he walked by, he shook off the rain just like a dog or cat. It was like he was somebody’s pet just out for a stroll. He paid no attention to me, his focus was solely on looking for food, like he had blinders on.

  As I drove to work, I called several of my friends for some moral support and asked them to pray for me. Mitchell, my sponsor, told me I should do some praying myself before going into the meeting.

  In the afternoon, I arrived early and parked nearby. I joined a lineup of cars that were parking in a restricted area and it wasn’t too hard to tell that these cars belonged to crew members and that there was a shoot going on somewhere nearby. I sat in my car and pulled out my mini Big Book. I read the third-step and seventh-step prayers. A van pulled up next to me. A young production assistant rolled down his window and asked me if I needed shuttling to the location. “No, thanks,” I said and showed him my little book. “I’m praying.” He smiled and drove off. I flipped to some passages in the book that happened to be appropriate to my situation and then I read the Serenity Prayer in its entirety. Afterward, I felt calm and prepared and ready. It felt like what I had told my directing class I feel when I stand next to the camera and call “Action”: that all the things that I have said and done and all the things that have happened in my life have led me to this moment.

  I drove up to Dad’s house. I hadn’t been there in some time, and the place had changed. It was always changing, constantly being remodeled. When I stepped inside, Dad offered me his hand. I gave him a hug. He led me to a small room, the library, and we sat down on either side of a wooden table. I commented on his hair, that it was longer than usual. He told me he just had it cut, that it was even longer, that they were experimenting with it for his role in the new Star Trek movie.

  I asked him what parts of the letter he wanted to talk about. He said I was the one who wanted to talk about the letter. I had to take a moment here, as I knew he’d been wanting to talk about the letter for months. What to do, now that this wasn’t a mutual meeting, now that I was the one who wanted to discuss the letter. This is the kind of thing that would normally awaken my anger, and for a second, a small piece of rage entered my mind, but I quickly let it go. I noticed that the room we were sitting in was meticulously furnished, much like the rest of the house: plush white carpet, freshly painted walls, pristine white shelves containing an impressive collection of art books. Looking out the window I saw a stag’s head plant hanging on the wall outside. It was perfectly placed so that it was framed within one of the windowpanes. And then there were the art books.

  Written on the spine of one of the books sitting behind my father were the words “Not Afraid.” I decided the best course of action was for me to simply read the letter aloud in its entirety.

  As I read, as I made my way through the six pages and twenty years, I apologized for all the mistakes I had made and all the things I had said and done that were hurtful to him. I told him I was sorry for all my career mishaps that were great disappointments to him. I thanked him for all the financial gifts I had been given throughout my life. I told him I was grateful for everything I received and acknowledged, without qualification or hesitation, that he had been very generous toward me.

  When I finished reading, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him to make things better. He gave me a puzzled look and told me he had everything, that he was very happy with his life, that he had made it financially when he was in his thirties and that his second marriage saved his life. He repeated that he was very happy with his life.

  On my way out, he showed me some of the renovations they were making to the backyard; they were remodeling the retaining wall next to the pool. As I was leaving, I hugged him and he invited me to come to Shabbat dinner sometime.

  “That sounds good, Dad,” I said. “I will.”

  I got in my car and drove carefully home in the rain. It’s amazing how the rain can wash everything away and make the city clean again. In AA we call it keeping our side of the sidewalk clean. That’s what it felt like I had done with my dad, just tried to clean up my side of the sidewalk, and it felt satisfying but very empty and sad at the same time that I wasn’t really sure I was getting through to him.

  “You both have a problem,” business manager Bernie Francis would say. “His is understanding you, yours is in getting through to him.”

  It’s getting to the point where I’m just not sure how important all that is anymore.

  It’s funny because I used to have this fantasy about my parents’ first house, that dilapidated house sitting on Palms Boulevard that was our first home. I always thought that if I could just buy it and fix it up again, like Dad used to do, fix it up and sell it to a nice young couple who were just starting out, that would somehow fix everything that went wrong in my life. Like I could go back and start over and get it right for all of us. I used to have this fantasy.

  * * *

  “A couple of months ago, I gave my dad a copy of the manuscript of my book and I swear I thought he was going to disown me.”

  I’m sitting at a sushi bar with Marla. I met her at a meeting. She’s tall with long blond hair. Justin says she has the reputation of being one of the “hotties” at the meeting.

  “Hot, hot. Just because I’m thin and I have breasts they think I’m hot. I don’t care about hot. What I want to know is, do you think I’m pretty?”

  “Uh, hello. Yeeaaaah.”

  Marla is really pretty. I kept obsessing about her after she gave me her number. I kept thinking “hottie sex toy.” But as our second date wears on and I’m getting to know her, it’s becoming clear that we’re on different paths. She’s been sober for nineteen years and she’s on a very spiritual path and has a great attitude and outlook on life. But she also has an apartment full of cats and crystals.

  “Through my recovery, I’ve come to believe that my purpose on this planet is to try to help people and be loving.”

  I like
Marla’s attitude and I like the fact that she knows we’re on a planet. Most people think we’re just in L.A.

  Marla’s looking for a soul mate and wants children and I’m pretty sure she’s not the one for me. But there’s something very cool about the fact that I just noticed her two weeks ago and started to obsess about her and now we’re eating sushi and going to a movie. And I feel I can trust her—I’ve been opening up to her all evening as she did with me on our first date for coffee the day before yesterday. Just coffee. Lisa Schwartz rule number one.

  Although I’ve been telling her about my book, I never said I was Leonard Nimoy’s son. And she never asked.

  “I thought after he read the thing, he was going to come after me with a sledgehammer.”

  “So how did he react?”

  “He called me to say he had no problem with anything I’d written. I couldn’t believe it. He had nothing negative at all. He even complimented me on the writing. I mean, my dad’s got about fifteen years of sobriety but he’s never made an amends to me. And I’m not even sure he realizes I was making an amends to him when we went through that letter together.”

  “Maybe the fact that he’s okay with the book is his way of making an amends.”

  Marla says this very casually as she looks at me and downs another piece of the spicy yellowtail roll. Very casual for a woman who just blew my mind. What she just said is now resonating through my entire body. Like one of her crystals. And that’s when I begin to realize why this woman entered my life. My AA brethren would later tell me this was all obvious to them. But it wasn’t to me. Until Marla came along.

  “Did you ever think of that, that this was his amends?”

  “No. That’s why I have you here. That is absolutely incredible.”

  Okay, she’s still not the one for me, but I’m feeling this intense connection to her as she’s smiling.

  “You’re dad sounds a lot like my dad, they’re from the same generation. And there is no way my dad could look at the stuff he’s done and own up to it. If they had to confront everything they’ve done, it would be devastating. My dad would have had a nervous breakdown. It’s just too overwhelming. At some point, I came to the realization that I didn’t have to prove to my dad that he was wrong. Believe me, he made plenty of horrible mistakes as a dad because he had some pretty screwed-up modeling from his parents, who had some really screwed-up modeling from their parents. But once I decided to give up on trying to finally prove to him he was wrong, everything was fine between us.”

  TO THE END OF THE EARTH

  JONAH AND I drive up to Santa Cruz to surf and visit my cousin David who’s going to school at UC. It’s our last morning, and before driving home we walk out to the cliff to see what the waves are doing at Steamer Lane, a world-renowned surfing spot. It’s a point break sitting at the northern tip of Monterey Bay. When I was out there with Justin last year, the surfers would climb over the safety rails, walk out to the edge of the cliff, throw their boards down the twenty-foot drop, and jump in after them. From where we stood, you couldn’t see the water below and the surfers would jump and disappear. It looked suicidal.

  There’s some wave action in the water today but not as much as usual at low tide. There are only two surfers in the water when usually it’s crowded as hell. With the sun behind us, we can really see how much kelp is growing out there. We can hear the seals and see them sunbathing on a rock sitting out in the water, just past the promontory of rock that juts out from the cliffs and into the ocean. A girl in a wet suit walks by carrying a short board. She climbs over the rail and walks out to the end of the promontory—straight out to the very end where the rocks jut way out into the water. Out to the end of the earth. She throws her board in and jumps in after it. It looks scary as hell but she seems fearless, as if she does this every morning. The water is freezing, there’s no one else out where she jumped in, there’s kelp floating around everywhere to entangle you.

  The day before, I watched Jonah surf. It was on the Cowell’s Beach side of the cliff, the side where the waves are long and slow, so for beginners, it’s much safer. I watched him paddle out there trying to get into a wave. It was a little frustrating because he wasn’t near the start of the break, which is the best place to catch one of those long, low, easygoing waves you can ride for yards down the line. He was having trouble, and I kept frantically pointing toward the break and he finally tried to paddle out to it. I brought my binoculars and though I was high up on the cliff, I could see him very well.

  I sat on the grass and watched him. I’m always watching him, always trying to be there and guide him even though sometimes he really pisses me off with too much TV and too much guitar shredding and not enough schoolwork. But I’m always trying to point him in the direction of the point break. And if he doesn’t quite get there, that’s okay, as long as he tries to do his best.

  When my grandparents came over from Russia and settled in Boston, they wanted their sons to be college-educated professionals. And they got one in my Uncle Mel who went to MIT and became a chemical engineer and vice president at Johnson & Johnson. My grandparents didn’t struggle and save so that their youngest son could pursue a career in acting. I think there was plenty of love lost when he walked out the door and moved to California. When Star Trek hit, I think Nana and Papa began to come around but I’m not sure Dad ever received the kind of approval he wanted and deserved—the kind they were simply not capable of giving.

  “Your father’s probably upset because you didn’t have a brilliant legal career and you’re not directing now.”

  “Yeah, Mom, I know those are some of the reasons why he’s upset and I’m sorry he feels that way. But it is my life. I’m in recovery, I have a good job, my kids are doing very well. I’m pretty happy with where I am right now, and no one can take that away.”

  During one of the low points in our relationship, Dad wrote me that he had “come to the conclusion that unconditional love was a romantic notion.” Sounds a lot like something coming out of the Vulcan side of Spock. But on this issue, I’ll simply have to stand with Kirk and Bones and Jill Ireland as Leila Kalomi and do everything I can to show him otherwise. Not prove it to him, as per Marla, just show him because it seems if I can let go of the past and be helpful to my dad, everything else will take care of itself.

  Jonah finally caught a piece of the break and he was up and surfing on a long wave. I could see him clearly through the binoculars and when he finished the ride, he waved to me and I gave him the thumbs-up. He didn’t start at the break point and the ride wasn’t very long, but he was up and that was all that mattered.

  Back to our last morning before driving home. Jonah and I have finally had enough of watching the surfer girl and her death-defying rides on Steamer Lane. I put one arm around him and stretch out the other with my camera aimed at us and take some pictures: our heads close together, Jonah with his funny grin. Then we walk back to our car. And there, parked next to us, is a car with a postcard picture taped to the back window. We walk over to take a look. It’s a photo of Spock giving us the “Live long and prosper” salute.

  FULL CIRCLE

  THINGS KEEP HAPPENING. Odd coincidences keep happening all the time and I can’t tell if they’re happening because I’m now sober and in recovery or if they were always happening, I just couldn’t see them because I was too drunk and stoned.

  I think the worst of my troubles with a television producer happened on a show when I was in withdrawal. As usual I stopped smoking and drinking while I was in preproduction and I knew I wasn’t feeling right. I wasn’t sleeping well and I was simply in a foul mood. When we started shooting that show, I went into total burnout mode, because being in withdrawal while working fifteen-hour days can do that to you. And on this one particular show, instead of following the Terrence Howard model for directing TV shows, I stuck it to the writer/producer. One day he came on the set and told me how he wanted a scene directed. I strongly disagreed and told him if he wanted to do it
his way, he should direct it himself. He did.

  Last month, I was in upstate New York checking out a college Maddy wants to attend. There were a lot of other prospective students with their parents there, and in the group of parents, there stood that producer. I couldn’t believe it. I immediately went over to say hello to him and he was very friendly. Then the orientation got under way, but while I was listening to all the great things about the school, I kept thinking I should make an amends to this guy. It was like the purpose of my being at that school in the middle of the Hudson River Valley was to get my daughter in and make an amends to that producer. And what’s really odd about all this is that the show on which I stuck it to that producer happened to be executive produced by the writer/director of Crash. In any case, I was afraid to make the amends to him. And then we became separated during the tour and I didn’t see him again.

  When I got back to L.A., Justin said I should pursue it, so I called the guy’s production office and left word with his agent but there was no return call. Mitchell, my sponsor, told me to write an amends letter and send him a draft to look at. I wrote that I was going through some personal stuff when I directed his show and apologized for acting inappropriately. I wrote that I thought the producer was a very good writer and that if there was anything I could do to make things right, to please contact me. I wrote that because that producer had once played Jesus onstage in New York, I hoped he’d be willing to accept my amends. Mitchell made me take out the Jesus part.

  The producer wrote back that the events of that show were ancient history and wished me well. Again it felt like I was just keeping my side of the street clean and it was totally liberating.