An Impromptu Note on Love
A questionable love story, and my thoughts on Dave Grohl’s new daughter, by a fellow love child
If you haven’t already heard, Foo Fighters frontman Dave Grohl announced some pretty big news via his Instagram on Tuesday:
I’ve recently become the father of a new baby daughter, born outside of my marriage. I plan to be a loving and supportive parent to her. I love my wife and my children, and I am doing everything I can to regain their trust and earn their forgiveness. We’re grateful for your consideration toward all the children involved, as we move forward together.’
Wisely, Grohl disabled the comments, but there has been a flood of commentary in the wake of his confession. From news outlets around the globe to viral fake Instagram posts, the consensus appears to be an outpouring of pity for his wife and three (legitimate) daughters, and a public condemnation of the rock star’s infidelity and selfishness. Some have said he’s only sorry because he got caught. Even if he was forced to fess up against his will, this can only be a good thing for his new daughter.
A wife-cheater Grohl may be, but to his credit, once the initial deed was done, he did the next right thing for all parties involved (again, after the fact). Regardless, in the mess he has created, the most important one for “consideration toward all the children involved” is the new girl. She did not ask to be born and has no idea what a firestorm her arrival has ignited. As she grows up, she will learn about the pain she inadvertently caused, bear hostility from her half-sisters simply for existing, and, quite possibly, shoulder the blame from Grohl’s wife for the breakdown of a 21-year union. That’s if his wife cannot forgive him and ends the marriage. There will be many bumps in the road ahead as they “move forward together”. I wish them all luck.
I am only speculating, of course, but one thing I know for sure is that Baby Girl Grohl will never have to wonder if she was accepted or loved by her parents. She—and the world—knows who her Daddy is. From personal experience, having this basic knowledge, even if it comes with a “love child” label, will give her the best possible start in life. There is no secrecy or shame surrounding her arrival and no identity issues awaiting her. Everything is out in the open. For me, this was not the case.
Although my biological father wasn’t a rock star but a prominent British politician, his early years resembled the life of one. Before he got into politics, he was a war correspondent in Vietnam, and in 1967, while reporting on the Summer of Love in San Francisco for a British newspaper, he met and befriended Jim Morrison (yes—Dionysus of The Doors himself). The lucky young man (my father) was personally invited by “Pigpen” from the Grateful Dead to the Monterey Pop Festival, traveling there in the band’s tour bus with Jerry Garcia & Co. jamming all the way. During the road trip, my father had an incredible experience involving LSD and switching vehicles to drive a too-high-to-drive Jim Morrison (this is such a great story, I will save it for another time).
My mother met my father in Beirut in the mid-1970s while she was still married and working as a photojournalist. Harper's & Queen magazine assigned her to photograph and interview an up-and-coming politician. For several years afterward, an on-off “relationship” (not monogamous) ensued. With his movie star good looks, my father bedded so many women, including his boss (the Prime Minister)’s daughter, that he earned the nickname “Commons Casanova”.
The lothario finally decided to get married in 1979, and while his wife-to-be was pregnant with twins, he cheated on her for one more night of passion with my mother. The following year, all three of his daughters were born within a month of each other. To be fair, my mother never told him she was pregnant. She fled the country and gave birth to me in America. As well as keeping my father’s identity from me, she also kept my existence a secret from him. He later admitted that if my mother had told him about me at that time, or anytime up until the mid-1990’s, he would have “swatted that bluebottle away.”
In other words, unlike Grohl, he would not have stepped up and publicly accepted me for fear of ruining his career, marriage, and reputation.
As it happened, I met my father by chance. I was in the right place at the right time, moving in the same social circles as his twin daughters, one of whom I first met in a London nightclub. We became fast friends, not knowing we were sisters. The year was 1998 and by then, my father had resigned as Chief Secretary to the Treasury and was waiting to be sentenced to prison for perjury, defeated, disgraced, and bankrupt.
After the DNA test results, he acknowledged me as his child and made a humble public statement that I was the result of his “self-indulgence, selfishness, and sinfulness.” In a recent interview 25 years later, when asked about the shock of my arrival, he had a more laissez-faire response: “I thought, yet another bout of bad publicity isn't going to change the price of fish.”
Perhaps not for him, but the news of my discovery was the final humiliation for his long-suffering wife—and the catalyst for their divorce. In turn, I became the sticking point of a catastrophic fallout, and one of his other children blamed me (my existence) for destroying their nuclear family. Once reality set in, my new sisters were not so friendly anymore, nor did I feel particularly friendly towards them. None of us are to blame for this.
My parents have told me many stories, told in different ways at different times, of how I came about. I will never know all the facts as these events took place before I was born, but last year (the last time I was in a room with them both), my father made a pointed, offhand remark to my mother about the day they met: “That was when you had your eagle eye on me.” This was the first time I’d heard him speak of (or to) her in such a way.
Eagles, as we know, are predators. I found his comment to be an interesting and somewhat accusatory implication.
My mother has always maintained that during their “relationship”, they were very much in love and even engaged to be married—(before he married someone else)—but the fact is, born out of wedlock, I was fatherless for eighteen years (although I did have an absolute Gem of a stepfather/surrogate father, my mother’s aforementioned ex-husband whose name I still proudly carry) before becoming a public figure’s illegitimate child/“love child”.
I wonder, would it have been better for all involved if my mother had stayed in America and raised me there instead of bringing me back to England where my biological father and his children lived? Might that choice have avoided the fateful meeting between the teenage girls who didn’t know they were sisters? And what was my father thinking when my mother took this picture of him staring off into the distance?
Did he ever love her? Did she ever love him? I will always wonder.
What a welcome surprise! Thank you for taking on this difficult subject matter. The contrast between you and Dave Grohl’s new love child is palpable. I wonder if both scenarios aren’t wrought with issues for the child. In a perfect world, a child’s birthright should be unconditional love from both his parents. Sadly it hardly ever is.
This was so beautiful! Also, plz tell share your Jim Morrison story?? 🦎🤴🏼