Dad Talks #6: Michael Galinsky
In conversation with the filmmaker and musician about adding (grown) kids later in life
By the time you read this, I’ll be just settling into my family’s vacation in the French Alps. Sounds snobby? It is. But it’s also because traveling with our kids and exposing them to as much of the world as we can is one of the most important things Emily and I aim to do as parents. Still, I recognize what a total knob I sound like when I say shit like that. Alas, bonsoir et à bientôt.
I first met Michael Galinsky shortly after we moved into our home in Chapel Hill. Someone had posted a notice to our neighborhood listserv saying that one of our neighbors was screening a film he and his wife had made about eminent domain and the battle for a section of Brooklyn. Coincidentally, the film is called Battle For Brooklyn.
The film’s title jumped out at me, as I remembered an old friend of mine and longtime boss from my years in the record business singing the documentary’s praises years ago, back when it was shortlisted for an Academy Award.
I texted my friend.
Hey. Don’t you know the couple that made Battle For Brooklyn?
Yeah. That’s my sister-in-law and her husband.
Dude. I think we’re neighbors now.
Fast forward a few years and Michael and I have developed a friendship (which I hope will grow more as my kids get older and can do more grown-up things). We’re even playing in a new band together. It was during one of our rehearsals that Michael came into my basement bearing news.
“I have a daughter,” he said.
“I know,” I said. “You have two.”
“No. This is a new one.”
I’ll let our interview tell the rest of the story.
So you have two daughters. Or, I should say you had two daughters. Now you have three. Tell me the story behind that.
When I was in college I was a bit unsettled. I had a chip on my shoulder about how fucked up the world is/was/still is, and I didn't have much of a future focused plan of action. I knew that I loved photography, rock and roll, and increasingly had an interest in being an artist. Since I didn't have a plan, I just took classes that seemed interesting to me and lo and behold, by the end of my sophomore year I had completed a Religious Studies major. Both of my parents were academics and I also had a chip on my shoulder about academia, so it's not like that major had any real world value to me. However, it did give me a much broader understanding of the complexities of culture, religion, philosophy, and where we all fit in the scheme of things. I know I'm digressing a bit, but I'll get to the point in a minute. At the end of my sophomore year I drove across the country and shot pictures in malls. This gave me my first inkling that I might find a path as an artist. After that trip, when I got back to NY for my junior year I started a band with friends. We were a sloppy incoherent mess and I loved it. That summer we lived together in Providence and met some amazing people. Sometimes the world just serves you up the resources you need. When I got back to NY the band started to play shows a lot, rolling our amps to grungy clubs like the Pyramid in bins from the dorm basement. When it came time to sign up for my final semester I realized I was done. This was exciting and difficult at the same time. All of a sudden I had to scramble to find a place to live and a job.
I had long stringy purple hair, a terrible attitude, and while I'd worked a lot of jobs ever since 8th grade, I had no real "job skills". I had not real interest in, or understanding of, the way the "normal" world worked. Through some friends I got a few different gigs. I typed for an animal rights activist, worked as a messenger for a production house, bussed tables at Keene's chophouse, and did a tiny bit of photography. New York was't crazy expensive them like it is now, but rents were rising. My college roommate and I had found a studio on St. Marks for under 800 dollars, but working as much as I did, I wasn't really saving anything, and I was feeling totally burnt out. Between work, band practice, and heavy drinking I didn't have much energy left for being creative.
My roommate had been a sperm donor all through college and suggested I visit the lab. I thought there was something pretty messed up about the idea, but even with my heavy reading about philosophy and religion, the argument that donation was doing a mitzvah for couple's in need was hard for my 21 year old brain to refute. Growing up I had seen a lot of afterschool specials about kids looking for their birth mother. We were never given the message that birth father's really mattered. In addition, I grew up somewhat isolated from extended family, and didn't have the sense that the family connection was so strong. In addition, if a donation was accepted the compensation was 50 bucks. This was 1991, and that was about the same amount I earned for a shift as a busboy.
So, to make a long story just a little bit shorter; I went to the lab off and on over the next couple of years. My memory has never been real solid, but I guess I went about 15-20 times. The lab was on 34th street so I would sometimes run in while delivering a video tape to 42nd street. I didn't hide my job from other people. In fact it was a fun to throw it out there when meeting people. You have to remember, I was in a band, working a bunch of crappy jobs, so it was much more exciting to throw that card on the table than bus boy or messenger when I was meeting people in a bar. Shortly after I took on this new responsibility I moved to a much cheaper apartment, and that low rent and and little bit of extra money made it possible for me to work less and spend full days just being creative.
After a couple of years I started to do a little better paying Production Assistant work and I got into a more serious relationship and I stopped going to the lab. I didn't think about it again for a long time.
Back when you were donating, did you ever think this might happen?
In around 1993 I met my future wife and we started to make films together. In 1995 we moved in together. In 1996 we almost broke up and had a little bit of a reckoning. in 1997 we got married and made a film on our honeymoon. In 1999 we got a dog and bought a house together. I also got my first "real job" which crushed me creatively. I got the job in order to buy the house. All of a sudden I started to think about having a kid. It was kind of shocking really. I was 30 and I realized I was becoming an adult. I'd spent the previous decade playing music in bars, and I was burnt out. Having a dog was a big factor in thinking I might possibly be a parent.
We had our first kid and she was a wild charismatic hot mess. Then we had another girl, and she was so different it was hard to believe they were sisters. With a dog, two cats, and two girls I was feeling overwhelmed. There was a hair salon a couple of doors down and the owner saw how I was struggling with the dog and the three year old and the baby, so she offered to watch the three year old so I could walk the dog and the baby. When I got back she told me that I needed to "go for my boy". That was a holy shit moment, because I realized two things at once; that I might have a boy somewhere and that everything that I thought I knew about nature vs nurture was absolute bullshit.
Growing up with a Psychologist. and a Social Worker as parents was confusing. This was in the post hippie era of Sesame Street ad Free to Be You and Me; I was left with the understanding that if we just nurtured children well they could be or do anything. Having my daughters made me realize just how profound nature is; that so much of who we are is written in our genes in ways that I didn't understand. Until I saw my first child on my first sonogram I had no idea just how strong the love for a child could be. When she was actually born my heart exploded with love. Parenting was not easy by any means, but that connection was so profound, that when I realized I might have other children out there who might want to know who I was I knew that I had to look into it.
The first thing I discovered was that there were a lot of donor conceived children looking for their birth fathers; not all of them by any means, but a strong and vocal contingent were. This was back in 2006, and the first cohorts of donor conceived children were coming of age. So, after a few months I wrote an Op-Ed explaining that as a former anonymous sperm donor I had come to see that there were ethical issues with this kind of donation. I also started to work on a documentary. Within minutes of sharing the Op-Ed on facebook I was contacted by a donor conceived young woman who offered her music for my film project. I was also contacted by a friend who was adopted. Over the next decade I did a lot of filming, following several different complex stories. In the meantime, after some hard work, I found my donor number and listed myself so that I could be found. No one found me. A few years later sites like Ancestry and 23 and Me popped up. Given my distrust of big companies, I couldn't bring myself to give my DNA.
Then, in January 2019 I got a call that mom was in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. It's a long story, but she had severe pneumonia and when I got to the ER she was in a panic. After some time I got her calmed down and she was resting fitfully as I held her hand when I got a text from my cousin, " I just got off the phone with your daughter Holly. Do you remember that you were a sperm donor? She's awesome". There's no feeling like holding your mom's hand, fearing that she might not survive, and finding out that you have a 25 year old daughter. I quickly texted her explaining my current situation and let her know that I would be in touch the next day. I was up all that night, moving my mom to a different hospital and trying to keep her calm.
What were your biggest concerns about meeting your daughter who, by that point, was/is a grown woman with a life and upbringing that was totally absent of your influence?
Having sat with the understanding that I might have other children, and getting a deeper understanding of how their donor conceived status affected them, I felt a strong sense of responsibility to center her emotional comfort and needs well above mine. I was a bit excited, confused, and exhausted when I called her on my way back to the hospital. We had a good discussion. When I got back to the hospital my mom was doing a little better. They had drained a couple of quarts of fluid out of her lungs with a needle so she was getting more oxygen. I told her about Holly but I don't think it really registered and an hour later she was sundowning and thinking that I was my dad and that we were on vacation. My dad had been hit by a car nearly 15 years earlier and it was a very strange few days after that. She got out after about 5 days, and it probably took me longer to recover than it did for her. At first all I could think about is how much Holly might want to meet her grandmother.
Less than a month later I met Holly two days before my 50th birthday in New York at Penn Station. It was simple and life altering at the same time. She looked way more like me than my other daughters and she had a lot in common with my mother, including a last name. Her name was Holly Berman, my grandmother's maiden name. She was also getting a Phd, and no one in her family had gone to college. We talked for a couple of hours and then she hopped back on a train to NJ. Over the next few months I tried to figure out how to get her to meet my mother. Then my mom fell and crushed her skull and went into a 4 month decline. During that time Holly and I talked a fairly often, slowly getting to know each other. I had a lot of sadness that she didn't get to meet my mom. I think this was partly fueled by one of the stories from my documentary. A woman I knew had been adopted into an evangelical cult. when she was 20 she got pregnant in Bible college and at the same time connected with her birth mother. She was quite emotional when she met her mom and her family. Her grandmother gave her a box with 20 birthday cards. She'd written one every year hoping she'd get to meet her granddaughter. So, again, I had a stronger sense of family connection when I was 50 than I did when I was 20 and donating my sperm.
What's been the biggest surprise in developing a relationship with her?
Holly is one of my best friends. What's kind of awesome is that we have a lot of connection with almost no baggage. I get to start over as a parent. My other kids are 21 and 16, and while I did my best, I was far from a perfect parent. In that time I've grown a lot, and being able to start and adult relationship with my adult child has been really healing. One of the best aspects of our relationship is her friendship with my oldest daughter. It's really meaningful for both of them, to meet someone they can relate to, and Holly struggled with some of the same things that my daughter Fiona does, and has moved through a lot of the issues, and is such a profoundly helpful older sister.
How did everything progress with your other daughters? What was their reaction like when you told them they had a sister? Did they know this might happen someday? Most importantly, did their reaction line up with how you thought they might react?
I can't remember exactly but I think Fiona burst into tears and my younger daughter didn't fully understand why Fiona was upset. I had been working on a film project about it since shortly after Harper was born so it wasn't a secret, but it's still not something you can understand until you experience it. We took it very slowly for everyone's sake. I did my best to let Holly take the lead. So, as much as I thought it was important for her to meet her grandmother, I did not push it, and even though I developed a really strong connection with Holly, I tried to hold that in check and let her set the boundaries. That worked out well and as we built more trust we have been able to expand that space. I talked to her a lot that summer as I struggled to deal with my mother's decline. About a week after my mother passed away we went on a scheduled trip to NY and we all met Holly at Penn Station. I tried to film but didn't hit record which was too bad because Holly shocked herself by bursting into tears upon meeting her sisters. She was fine after a minute and it was nice to all meet. I had met her one other time; shortly before my mom died I went to Italy to print a book and I had along layover in Newark, so I took Holly and her husband out to lunch. Since then we have all spent time together at the beach, a trip to Miami, in New York, and at our home here in NC.
What kind of father was your father? What about his parenting style did you endeavor to take into your role as a dad? What about thing you actively tried to avoid doing?
My father was awesome in so many ways, and totally fucked in others. He died in 2006 less than a quarter mile from your house. His death was sudden and shocking and I'm thankful that we were in a good place when he passed. In fact I was leaving him a message at home (I don't think he ever had a cell phone) when he was hit by a car on his way to a Carolina game.
My father set a lot of largely unspoken and almost impossible expectations for his kids. In some ways he expected us to be little adults, and for us to excel in some unreasonable ways. For example, though I was not as academically interested as my brother he insisted that I apply to Harvard even though I had no interest in going. When I finished school and focused on becoming an artist I felt very unsupported and that he never really made an effort to understand what I was doing. Each week he would end our call with "write when you get work". To him it wan an innocuous joke. When I explained that it bothered me he never made the effort to shift.
Eventually, when my wife and I made our first film he leaned into supporting the project. When we sent him the script his only note was scrawled across the front page when he sent it back, "Where the fuck's the conflict?". The speech that he wrote for our wedding a few years later was so good I still google it to make sure he didn't steal it from somewhere else. I'll past it below.
My siblings and I all remember how he would hold us in the ocean as he we bounced over waves, and how loved and protected it made us all feel. He got down on the ground and played with us when we were little. However, once we could read he expected us to read War and Peace, and to be communicate on a level that was a bit too far to reach. I've tried to inspire my kids to care, to support them as best I can, and to push them, but not too hard. I've done ok, but I've gotten a lot better at it all in the past few years. It's never too late to become a better parent. I think my dad did that a little. However, one thing I struggle with about both of my parents is how little work they did to reckon with, and address the trauma that they endured in childhood. In fact, I think that the work they did served to help them avoid dealing with it. As a social worker my mom could help others, but she stayed stuck in a perpetual state of anxiety. My father was a psychologist who was amazing at helping people address their own problems, yet he struggled to deal with his own. He grew up very poor with parents who had fled pogroms as children. He went to Duke on a scholarship and worked in cafeteria to pay for food. He said in the era of baggy pants he gathered lost change from the frat house couches each night to cover expenses. He never dealt with that sense of poverty, and he passed some of that on to us. Mostly though, when he retired he started to have a lot of physical problems and depression. He knew it had emotional components, but I don't think he was successful in addressing them. One thing I am committed to doing is addressing them when I still have more capacity to do so. I saw both of my parents suffer a great deal as they aged. It was less the physical ailments than the loss of their sense of self and their own agency. I have been doing that work and I think it's helping me to become a better parent even now. If we can set an example that it's possible to change, and possible to account for ways in which we could have done better, we can teach our children to do so as well.
My Father's perfect wedding speech:
“I would like to share with you the secret of successful living — filmmaker’s version.
Central casting has assigned you a role in The Human Comedy. You have to accept the role, but view it as a continually changing and evolving part. Above all, do not hold to the false belief that you are audience, not actor, that you are a watcher of other’s foibles and pratfalls.
You are both actor, audience (i.e. observer of your own performance), script doctor, editor, and director. The script and performance are always being revised — this is a work in progress. The better you understand the comedy and your own behavior as an amusing player — the lighter your touch, the better you become at improving and enriching your performance. Those who deny they have been cast in parts become sterile, inflexible caricatures, while those who embrace their roles and keep working to improve their performances, grow, change, and expand their selves.
Above all, remember the script is not Long Day’s Journey into Night nor the tale of woe of Juliet and her Romeo, but it is The Human Comedy, a warm and endearing script. Play it well and your days will be mostly joyful.”
Words Spoken by David Galinsky, 9/13/97
Great interview! Enjoy your vacation.