Norman's Daughter. Henry's Son

Though I’m no particular fan of Jane Fonda (considering I’m retired Army), I do like one particular segment in the movie, “On Golden Pond.”

 

I understand that Jane Fonda and her dad, Henry, were alienated prior to the making of this movie. Of course, Henry Fonda and Katherine Hepburn had the major roles with Jane Fonda assuming the role of "Norman's" daughter. In the film it just so happens that portrays a grown child at odds with her fictional father.

    We see Jane’s character speaking to her mother. She implies that she really wants to make things right… eventually. Responding, Hepburn looks at Jane with wonderment, and says something like… “Honey, he’s had two strokes and he’s pushing eighty. Just when do you plan to make it right?”

     Hepburn’s admonition makes all the difference. Jane’s character immediately speaks to her father about reconciliation. Though the old man suspects a plot, he meets her halfway, and their alienation ebbs. What appears to be genuine tears well up in Jane Fonda’s eyes, and flow spontaneously down her cheeks. I tend to think that she and her father actually reconciled that day. It was just too real.

     I’ve never been alienated from my father, but he’s definitely from “the old school.” And while I’m not being critical, that old school lacks warmth and the kind of expression referred to as “touchy-feely.” While I know my Dad loves me, I’m not absolutely sure I’ve ever heard him say those words out loud.

     Things continued pretty much the same well into my fifties. Obviously, my Dad was well into his seventies when something rather extraordinary happened in our relationship. Now don’t jump to conclusions, reader. He’s still not a touchy/feely kind of guy, but he has changed, nonetheless.

 My father is an amateur historian, and has traced his family back to the early 1700’s. My triple-great grandfather, Isham, grew up in Ireland, born of Scottish parents. (But if you’ve read my previous writing, you already know that.)

     My dad had always wanted to visit his ancestral home; at least the one on this continent. After having planned for several months, and researching documents and maps, he was ready to go. Of course, he invited his eldest son to go with him… and as Forrest Gump might say; “And so I went!”

    We were unsure that any trace of the river still existed. You see, Isham lived on a particular river in South Carolina. But rivers change course, and even dry up. Sometimes place names change.

     Through a series of connections, we ended up in the home of a ninety-year old man who recounted a hunting episode of forty years past. It seems he was chasing a raccoon, only to fall into the river of our dreams. Well, we didn’t waste a lot of time talking after that. We followed his directions, and we found the place, though it could have hardly been called a river anymore.

     A little culvert ran under the road, and there was just a foot of water in it. And it could hardly be distinguished from any ditch that runs under a road. But this was definitely it! What a remarkable experience. We never did find the exact plot of land Isham farmed, two centuries hence, since there were no remaining land records available to us. It seems that General Sherman’s men had destroyed most Southern land records during the Civil War. 

     My dad and I are already planning another trip. He wants to visit his mother’s grave site… one more time. I’ll be going with him. Again.

     So much like Jane and Henry and “On Golden Pond.” Odd, my dad’s name is Henry too.

 

By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Unconventional Devotions" Copyright 2005