The big day. The first big concert in Korea and the first meeting with Lavinia’s biological father. Neither could have turned out better. I met the father in the lobby shortly before the concert but nothing was exchanged beyond courteous nods. The performance was spectacular and Lavinia sparkled as her hands crafted their musical spell across the strings of the harp. In the break, I led the father and the translator backstage to a suddenly nervous version of the diva that just exited the main stage.
They embraced immediately as the formal introduction was being made. Then to Lavinia and to me, several times, and then several more times again, he apologized, profusely, sincerely, with words and emotions bottled for 23 years. After such a display, there was no place for guilt, blame or anger at this reunion and Lavinia told him as much. She’s not mad, no one is to blame. As we listened to his story and observed his posture and shaking hands, it was clear that he had truly wrestled with the decision then and had chosen in the best interests of the children. He told how he regretted the decision and only three months afterwards had spiraled into alcohol, depression and thoughts of suicide. His life has never been easy, orphaned at a young age and lacking any siblings, he grew up fast with his own blood and sweat. His hands alone tell the story of a man twice his age. Scars, swollen joints and missing digits. I kept thinking what Lavinia’s immaculate fingers would look like had she grown up here instead of her Dutch paradise.
After the initial meeting and a round of questions, we separated for a chance to dry our tears and attend the obligatory round of schmoozing that follows any important cultural event. Lavinia met the Korean minister of culture and sipped champagne as a thousands flashbulbs exploded and journalists struggled to hold the line against the advancing army of fans and curious hangers-on. When the party ended, we all shared a cab back to the hotel where we found a quiet table in the corner and settled down for a few drinks. The questions came now without so much effort or scripting. Even the silence felt good and warm. After a few false starts, Lavinia slowly reached out and took one of her father’s gnarled hands in hers. She traced the years of welding and construction through the wrinkles and scars. He smiled, dried his eyes again, and smiled.
We made no definite agreement on further contact. Lavinia will decide that for herself when she’s ready. If this is the beginning of a longer relationship, or just a one time affair, it was still the perfect way to do it. From start to finish there was only forgiveness and happiness. He seems a good man, honest and true, just down on his luck with a wife who deserted him and a life of manual labour that left no room for children, at least not the room he felt they deserved.
