Not My Father's Son

by Alan Cumming

It’s really hard to talk about being famous. We live in a society that is obsessed with it, that ranks it as the best thing you could possibly achieve in your life.

It’s great to feel popular of course, but there is a downside.

Being famous is mostly great. I have a really amazing life. I get to do a job I really like and I get paid really well for it and I am loved. Because I am famous I have a voice and I can help effect change. And I get loads of free stuff. But. I am constantly self-conscious. Every day I spend large amounts of time meeting or talking to people I would rather not engage with. I sometimes fear for my physical safety.

It was just that the truth was really painful right now.

We both sought to fill that lack in our adult lives with family and love, as everyone does, but also with thrills and sometimes periods of recklessness.

I wondered, if I didn’t have the job I have, which provides me with such thrilling, visceral release, would I be seeking those thrills in destructive ways?

I thought of her, the laughing, joy-filled character who had always encouraged me to be naughty, to be reckless, to be myself.

I cried for my granny and my mum and every working-class woman who had sacrificed like them and been denied proper closure and emotional balm because they had slipped through the system, no, had been failed by the system, and hadn’t the means to do so.

Life can be so fucking bleak,

We all learn lessons from our parents, of course, and they from theirs. But perhaps more importantly we glean our wisdom from our circumstances and our feelings of security, or lack thereof.

neither money nor my work define me. I like them, they allow me to do many things I enjoy, but if I did not have them, I know I would be able to find something else to do, I would be able to survive, I could be happy.

Sometimes the worst thing about change is the shock of the change itself and not actually the new circumstances.

Sadly, the article went on to say that suicide is the leading cause of death for members of the U.S. Army today, which has seen its rates double since 2004.

“His death is not so shocking when you look at his life,” I began when the crew was set up.

the truth can hurt, but not knowing can hurt more.”

there is never shame in being open and honest.

It was shame that prevented us from knowing what a great man Tommy Darling was. And it was shame that made my father treat me and Tom and my mum the way he did.

I felt surprisingly happy. I had not lost anyone, I had found someone, and I was here to celebrate him. He was in a nice spot, under a big tree. I paid my respects,

I have a webcam on my house that looks out to the meadow and the rolling hills beyond. It’s meant to be one of those security cameras that you face towards your house, but I like that it shows me what I look out at when I’m up there. If I feel needy of my life in the Catskills, it’s only a couple of clicks away. You’d be amazed just how helpful and relaxing a few seconds staring at it on a computer screen can be.

Everything I had known as sure and true had been taken away, shaken up, and then recalibrated back into my life and I was supposed to carry on regardless. I guess I had no choice.

Though of course, having known many friends who suffered from Compulsive Break-up Talking syndrome and unfortunately having suffered from it myself more than a few times, I knew the danger was that my Compulsive Familial Bombshell Talking syndrome could oh so quickly and easily develop into Boring Old Fart Who Just Can’t Seem to Move On syndrome.

I went back into therapy. One of the annoying things about starting with a new therapist, I have discovered over the years, is that you have to bring them up to speed on a lifetime’s worth of your stories. And that can be quite time-consuming!

It was so strange to feel sorry for myself.

Even in a show like this, where one is supposedly ignoring the cameras and the viewer is a fly on the wall, there is always of course some awareness of being filmed. Several times on my episode, all that was stripped away as I received information that completely floored me. I saw myself as I never truly have seen myself on-screen before: completely unadulterated, vulnerable, and authentic. It was fascinating but not very pleasant.

If she had not understood the magnetism and the legacy of her father, she must now, surrounded by people who, for the most part, had never known him but who had felt his influence and his charisma in the very fabric of their lives.

“You know the best thing about this whole trip?” he asked. “What?” I replied. “Your father wasn’t mentioned once!”

this amazing odyssey. No, none of that. We just didn’t think of him. He wasn’t that important to us. He no longer had any power over us.