Grateful's Daughter

Grateful’s Daughter

Tallulah ‘Lula’ Anne or L.A. as she preferred to be called, always considered herself a west coast girl. Her mother and her mother’s people had grown up in California and she never thought she’d leave the sunshine and sunny dispositions. It was not until her 18th birthday, the month before her college applications were due and she received a letter and package from her father --a man that she had heard of, never met, never known, and ever only imagined meeting, that she ever considered heading east.

Her mother only had one photo of him -- an old black & white print out they had taken back when they quickly fell in and out of love during a semester abroad. Lula Anne’s mother, Ruth Tallulah Anne Jones was a woman of mystery. Ruth had studied abroad during her junior year of college in Paris and one weekend decided to go on a solo trip to Belgium.

Ruth packed her bags boarding the plane from Paris to Brussels thinking she’d fall in love with the chocolate, the waffles, and the culture. And, while all of that happened, she also fell hard and fast for a young man named Grateful “Grate” Wilson IV. Grate - the son of a legacy of Grateful Wilsons from New York City was studying Art History & Finance at Columbia University, and was the smartest, dreamiest, most captivating and beautiful man Ruth had ever met.

The only stories L.A. ever knew of her father ended this way, “I should have stayed in Paris that weekend...” Lula grew up believing that her father never wanted to make things work with her mother. With the recounting tales of “I should have stayed in Paris” and “L.A., promise me one thing, that you will never study abroad in Paris….”. With a cynical eye toward romantic comedies and a love/hateship with Paris, L.A. kept her questions about Grate Wilson to a minimum. Somewhere around the age of 10, she realized that any stories about who he really was would never be answered by her mother or grandmother.

At an early age, L.A. realized that she would fil the gaps with people, places, and things that had nothing to do with her missing half caused by her biological father’s absence. She had what her grandpa called an “Aretha-like voice.” And, her mother and grandmother always made sure she was busy -- a cooking class by the time she was old enough to help her grandmother in the kitchen. As an all star tennis player, honor student, president of her senior class and with a hidden love of singing and songwriting -- these were all the things that made L.A. whole. “Who had time for a dad?,” she’d often think when many of her friends talked about their parents on the brink of divorce or having to decide between living with one parent or the other at the age of fourteen.

It came as a shock and surprise when one abnormally chilly day in February, she received a package from Grateful Wilson IV. By the time the package arrived at their doorstep, L.A. had determined that it was no longer worth daydreaming or caring whether or not her father cared about who she had been her first eighteen years of life and who she would become in the next eighteen.

The beautifully designed package that arrived on the Jones’s doorstep looked like something out of a curated fashion magazine; it was high-end and high-brow and something that her mother would say, “smelled like east-coast money.” At first, L.A. thought it might be some sort of prank. Was Gee taking the senior year prank challenge up a notch?

“No. That wasn’t it and that’d be too cruel, “ L.A. thought as she picked up the box. It did not make sense. Eighteen years of life without a card, a call, a text, a message, or even the thing she feared the most: a facebook friend request. And, at her grandmother’s home on the front porch, sat this shiny, golden box.

She could not risk taking the glitzy package into her grandmother’s home. There was much damage done and eighteen years of silence that would have led to Ruth taking the glitz and shine to the dumpster. L.A.’s best moments were at the beachfront coffee shop, Tiny’s owned by her godmother and where her best friend, Gee worked. Tiny’s was the kind of place people write sitcoms about and it was where she did her best song-writing. At Tiny’s, L.A. could unwrap and learn what was in this capsule. Would it be eighteen years of letters-- one for each missed birthday ? Had her father passed away and had this as her dying wish?

“I need my friends for this,” L.A. thought as she hopped in her grandmother’s old A3 hatchback that she now cruised around town in and named “Dodger” in honor of her grandfather who had taken her to every Dodgers opening game since she was born.

He had passed on her sixteenth birthday after an unexpected heart attack. She missed him and longer for his wisdom. For reasons she never understood, Grandpa Jones or “G-pa J” as she lovingly called him never spoke ill of her missing-in-action father. He’d always say, “Some men never answer the call and some men weren’t meant to be called.” It didn’t make a lot of sense until L.A. got to high school and realized that G-pa J was one of the smartest men she’d ever met.

“Look what my angel brought me today,” Tiny said to L.A. as she entered with the box in hand.

“And it’s not even my birthday,” Gee said.

Always armored with a joke, Gee had been L.A.’s best friend since they were toddlers. Taking on Montessori school, elementary school, a brief break-up in sixth grade after they both had a crush on Timothy Reynolds - who ended up moving to San Francisco with his family the next year - and then back to being best friends, Gee was the green-tea to L.A.’s espresso.

After the warmth and familiar welcome of Gee and Tiny, L.A. knew that she’d be able to open the golden-speckled gift shipped from Harlem and addressed to one Ms. Tullulah Anne Jones. With Tiny and Gee there by her side, L.A. decided to unbox the glamorous golden box.

“You sure you want to do this, sweet angel?,” Tiny said in a hushed tone.

L.A. was ready for whatever surprise she’d find in the box. Whether it was her inheritance or a box full of belated birthday cards, she was ready.

“I think so and better here and now” L.A. said to her best friend and Godmother Tiny.

L.A. unwrapped the box as if she was peeling back eighteen years of pain, confusion, loneliness, and the scars that she thought never existed that were there from Grate’s intentional absence. As she unboxed the package, L.A. thought of how unexpected she must have been to her grandmother when her daughter returned home from Paris with more than she went there with, a beret, a new love of bakeries, and me. She thought of her G-pa J and how his wisdom and big heart. She thought of her mother, Ruth, and her fierceness and ability to raise her with peace and grace, filling her cup.

When she finally got through the golden exterior of the package, there was a box with an older black notebook with yellow tabs, a pen, a guitar pick, and a card.

“Do you need time to sit with this, angel?,” Tiny said to L.A.

“Let’s see what the card says,” L.A. said to Tiny.

Dear Tallulah Anne,

I know that you must be headed to college soon. And, I don’t know what your mother has told you about me or what she has not told you about me. But, I wanted you to know that I know about your gift and you must never forget that part of you. When I found out your mother was pregnant, I filled this old notebook that she bought for me full of songs. I wanted to take her with me on the road and start our life together as musicians and she wanted you to have a normal, solid, foundation with family and sun. She made that decision and well, I let her. I know that you have it in you. Your grandfather would write to me each year on your birthday to let me know that you had the voice of a young Aretha Franklin. Please keep singing. Please keep writing. You come from artists. I gave it up after I realized I couldn’t replace home and love with fame or booze. I should have fought for your mother and for you. For the pain I’ve brought you, there are no words that can express how sorry I truly am. This is not so that you’ll forgive me. This is so you will fill the rest of the pages of this notebook with your songs and with what you want out of life. To not ever be your father is my life’s greatest heartbreak. To know that you have a gift that you can take with you forever is my greatest joy.

-G.W.

__

As L.A. read the note, a few burdens fell from her chest. It wasn’t that the words were extremely poetic, but the imaginative persona she had of Grateful ‘Grate’ Wilson, the Fourth no longer felt abstract. He was a man, a flawed man, and one that clearly had been holding onto regrets and should-have beens. Eighteen years too late, he sent a piece of himself and that piece of himself was a nudge to live her dream even if he had never lived out his.

“Let’s see what’s in the notebook,” L.A. said to Gee and Angel.

In the notebook, L.A. found lyrics to songs that were dated and written about her. On the pages tabbed, were songs written about her birthday. Eighteen yellow tabs and eighteen songs.

In the back of the notebook was an envelope with the following words on the front:

“Tell Her To Keep Singing”

Lu opened the envelope to find a check for $20,000 and a post it note that read, “For Tullalah’s new guitar and anything else she may need for her music, Mr. Jones.”

L.A., never being one for crying especially not in public was in tears. Her G-Pa J and Grate had a relationship she never knew about. And unexpectedly, here was $20,000 along with a notebook full of songs from a man she never expected to meet or see or know. For the first time since L.A. had known Gee, she was at a loss for words. And, Tiny, being more sentimental by nature was in tears.

It wasn’t the money for L.A., though she was thankful to have these funds to set aside toward her college savings that Grateful had worked with G-Pa J to create.

“I don’t know how to respond to this of if I need to respond,” L.A. said aloud though it was meant more for her than anyone else to hear.

In her infinite wisdom, Tiny said, “You’ll know when it’s time, L.A.”

Gee said, “Let me know when you want to head to Harlem and I’m there.”

For the first time in her life, L.A. not only thought of herself as a girl born and bred to live her life happy among friends and people she cared about in California, but she also thought of herself as Grateful’s daughter.