You have given us so much more happiness than discontent
A loving letter of fatherly advice
Dalton Trumbo was one of Hollywood’s most brilliant and defiant screenwriters. Best known for Spartacus, Roman Holiday, and The Brave One, his career was abruptly halted when he was blacklisted during the McCarthy era for refusing to testify before the House Un-American Activities Committee. Convicted of contempt of Congress, he spent nearly a year in prison in 1950, an experience he later described as transformative. The following letter was written on this day in 1957, six years after his release. Addressed to his 17-year-old daughter Nikola, who was travelling in Europe, what begins with a list of travel advice becomes something much more touching and profound—a letter I imagine she went on to cherish.
Los Angeles, California
January 10, 1957
Dear Nikola:
I may not write frequently, but, as I think you’ll agree, my communications are rarely sparse. I’ve a number of things on my mind, and I’ll bring them up in order:
First: Now that you are traveling alone, do not hesitate frankly to be what you are: i.e., a tourist. There is nothing disgraceful about it, and there are many nice Americans who share your state. Pay your money and climb on a tourist bus and take in the sights of Paris. Climb on a number of buses and take in the sights a number of times. Make friends with your fellow rubbernecks. You are not, after all, a Parisienne, and it would be inverse snobbery to pretend you are. So resign yourself in every city you visit, and look and listen and be guided. You can, later and on your own, make such independent investigations as you wish. But you need to get an idea of the general (through guided trips) before you can appreciate the particular.
Second: In Paris there must be ways and means of going on tours to other countries in the company of other persons. Please look into it. Don’t select a tour that involves the smart watering places and the luxury hotels, for on such a tour you will learn little, and the quality of your fellow travellers will be low. Find a tour that keeps economy in mind, and there you will find yourself among tourists who are more seriously interested in what they’re seeking, as well as an itinerary that will bring you somewhat closer to the people whose countries you visit.
Third: Regardless of homesickness, do not limit yourself in time. We will furnish the money if you will give the time. Put out of your mind the delightful thought of homecoming, and think of immediate pleasures just ahead. I learned this trick in jail, and all convicts know it well. You don’t permit yourself to think of your release date, for that is too exciting and too distant. Rather you think forward to next Sunday, when there is no work; or to Labor Day, and then Thanksgiving, and then Christmas. Thus time becomes much shorter because it is segmented. This is a good trick to learn in any event, and you might as well try it now.
Fourth: Life being short and uncertain, you must face the possibility that this could be your only opportunity to see Europe. See it well and thoroughly. Do not hesitate to linger a little. . .
You mentioned in one of your last letters that you are getting all “straightened out.” This is nonsense, because you were never twisted up. You were merely unhappy, and your horizons had closed down on you and penned you in. Insofar as we are concerned, you travel not to straighten yourself out, but to learn happiness through learning of other people, other countries, other points of view.
The first child, as we observe it from our lofty parental peak, always has a fierce time of it. The parents are fighting through to a new understanding; they are pioneering (as one day you will see) into a new area of life; they have this extraordinary first child, and they want to do everything right (thus very frequently doing much that is wrong), and so a mutual torment occurs. Parents watch a first child more jealously, with greater anguish and concern than they do their succeeding children. The first child, on the other hand, reacts to this lack of experiences on the part of parents with certain protective devices necessary, I daresay, to the situation. Indeed, I sometimes think that a first child is regarded with so very much affection (and with such timidity) by its parents that the love itself must often seem to the child a reversal of love.
Anyhow it’s a common experience, suffered equally by all first children and by all new parents. In breaking through to a balanced relationship they inflict much pain on each other, have many misunderstandings, and arrive at many unthought-for conclusions. You have taught us as much as we have taught you; and Chris and Mitzi have better parents for the efforts you expended in instructing us about the nature of a growing child.
The important thing for both parent and child is that each, at a certain point, should conclude what is right and what is wrong with himself; and that, before the child becomes entirely an adult, all the troubles should be solved and forgotten. We think this is happening. We think you are going to be a happy girl and a happy woman, and this will make us happy, and that, in its turn, should make you happy. And so it will and must go.
You have, in common with every child who ever grew up, made minor mistakes—I repeat, minor: but are you also aware that regardless of those small concerns we may have felt from time to time about your development (and all parents feel such concern), you have given us so much more happiness than discontent—in a ratio of, roughly, a million to one—that we shall never be able to reward you adequately for having entered our lives.
We wanted you, took measures to have you, got you—and are forever the winners. . .
Please write us what you think of the itinerary, and what you think of the world, and what you think of yourself, and what you think of various things mentioned at such length in this letter.
We shall have fine times and fine lives, and we all love you very much and miss you greatly.
Daddy
Letter excerpted from the fantastic and (sadly) long out-of-print book, Additional Dialogue: Letters of Dalton Trumbo, 1942-1962. Edited By Helen Manfull. Published in 1970 by M. Evans and Company, Inc.
Support Letters of Note…
Perfect timing to have this drop into my inbox. We have had a troubled few months with my eldest. I printed this and left him to read it, we both had tears and spoke frankly. This has helped our relationship, thank you.
This brought me to tears, what a thoughtful, generous and amiable father.