SINCE MY DAD DIED, strangely, he has become more of a presence in my life than he had ever been when he was alive. From that first day I was on Larry King, I was catapulted into a world where I was now the face and voice of my dad’s legacy. And his heart, too.
What immediately became clear was that there were tens of thousands of people who mourned his death as deeply as I did. I had lost my dad, but they had lost their uncle George. He had extraordinary talent, but he was everyman on that stage. He was the man who was capable of allowing every person who saw or heard him to feel less alone, or not so crazy in their family growing up. He had awakened people to new ways of seeing, much like a Zen master does for his acolytes. He was a god you could sit down and smoke a joint with.
My dad talked often about how his family was small, but that his extended family was thousands strong. He knew he could go to any city or town in America and there would be someone there whom he’d be able to connect with because of his work. But until he died, I had never felt a part of that family.
All of that has changed. Since his death, whenever I meet his fans, my new family, I know what my role is now: to be a receptacle for the love people have for my dad. I no longer need to live in my father’s shadow, or try to catch up with him, or latch on to the buzz of his fame. All I need to do is listen and receive. One day I was talking to a fan and it hit me: Just by being present, and graciously accepting what was being said, I could be a physical link between this world and the magical other—in this case, George Carlin.
I guess Dad was right—I am the family shaman after all.
The fans, and the dozens of comedians I have met during this time, have given me so much. They are no doubt my family. The amount of love and support I have received has been immeasurable. And, after losing the last wing of the Three Musketeers, essential. I am strong. I have survived much. But without my new family’s love and light, I’m not sure how well I would have fared. Without them my world would not only be lonelier, but more boring, too.
My father gave me so much—a sense of humor and justice, a passion for language, financial support, a love of peanut-butter foldovers and the music of The Band—but the two biggest things he gave me were curiosity and trust in oneself. I use both daily to help me find my way to a larger and deeper sense of myself. Balancing being “George’s daughter” with being me, a separate person, has always been my path to walk, but even more so now. And it has been a dance, for sure. But I move forward. I am filled with curiosity about what life presents me, and I have been emboldened by a deep trust that all that I have seen, lived through, overcome, and received from my life with my father has prepared me for whatever comes next.
Knowing what I know now, my seat belt is buckled, and I’m ready for anything.