Loving just who we are:

Reflections on interview with Steven Steiner

My dad and Noa

I touched down yesterday in Prince Edward Island for an academic conference devoted to L.M. Montgomery, the author I wrote about in AFTER ANNE, where I’m giving a book talk tomorrow. In my few hours spent at the conference so far, I’ve been flooded with the question of the road not taken. The academic life is that other road for me. I came very close to going to grad school to become an English professor instead of a lawyer. As I sit here wondering if I would feel worthier if I had, thinking back to my dad’s interview last week helps. It reminds me that we don’t have control over every aspect of our stories, but we always have control over how we tell them.

After his interview last week, I could see my dad as a young boy, teaching himself woodworking with his grandpa’s old tools after losing his dad at age five. “My dad died just before my sixth birthday, and my mom courageously gave my two sisters and I a grounded, moral, loving upbringing. I didn’t have grandparents. I didn’t have any teacher mentor that I ever got to know,” he said. “My mom was my mom and my dad.”

My dad often talks about the lack of a father figure or mentor in his life. His interview helped me feel this sadness more deeply. And it’s true, mentors matter. Sometimes we can only see as far as the vision someone else holds for us.

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The grain of a life can feel rough in one direction and soft and just right in another.

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That young boy who painted the family picnic table meticulously at age six after his dad was no longer there to do it—that is still my dad today. His is a story of dedication and deep care.

He is the ultimate perfectionist in his woodwork, measuring not just twice but as many times as it takes. And what he makes is slow, deliberate, and unfailingly beautiful.

He may not have tried every club or activity, but he dedicated to his friends growing up. So much so that they are still his friends today.

And above all, he dedicated to family. His mom raised him that way. She lost her husband suddenly to a heart attack when his younger sister was still a baby. As a single mother of three kids living on social security, she found her courage, leaned into her values, and kept going. Decades later, we lost my brother Ben suddenly to a brain aneurysm. My dad found his courage, leaned into his values, and kept going. 

My dad also lived the values he learned from his mom every day Ben was alive. Ben was born with physical and cognitive disabilities—conditions that lead over 80% of couples to divorce. My parents not only stayed together but grew together.

And my dad raised kids who didn’t hold back, including a son who defied expectations at every turn. Ben applied for college at a school my parents didn’t know about on his own—and got in. His sister had gone to college 1000 miles from home, and he would too.

My dad became the dad he didn’t have.

Some people who look back with regret about not having a parent or mentor are always looking somewhere else. That is not my dad. He adores the life he has built; it shows in every line of his interview.

At the end of his interview, he said that he hopes 20-30 years from now, his granddaughter Noa will say, “Grandpa really truly loved me as I am.” It can be hard sometimes to love our people just the way they are. It can be even harder to love ourselves that way.

I believe Noa will say this 20-30 years from now, dad, because it’s the way you love her. It’s also the way I love you.

I’ll be taking a break for the next week while traveling. I’ll be back Friday, July 5 with reflections on the trip!