Her Father’s List

The list called to own a black tuxedo. Not rent, not buy — own. We took that to heart. Then we took photos.

I.

Laura Carney hit the ground running.

With New York City in her rearview and another one around the corner in March, it made sense to start there. This item wasn’t even at the top of her list — it was No. 23, actually — but the order didn’t matter anyway; it just felt right. Besides, she was already registered. And if Laura was going to “Run 10 miles straight,” the Los Angeles Marathon seemed as good a place as any to get that done.

This race was already different from the last. This time, she wasn’t  starting with the rest of the pack, at Dodger Stadium. Instead, she would step off during the second half near the Chateau Marmont in West Hollywood, then take Sunset Boulevard toward the finish line, in Santa Monica. Laura also wasn’t running alone. Within the sea of 24,000 other runners was her college friend Kelly who, unlike Laura, was not an avid runner, but felt inspired enough to tag-team the distance. This gesture of solidarity gave Laura an idea. “It started occurring to me,” she said, “that this might actually affect other people’s lives who help me.”

Laura completed her portion of the run in around three hours, and officially crossed off her first item.

She kept her stride. The following month, Laura’s picture appeared in a national magazine (No. 31) when she penned an article for Good Housekeeping. Then in May she swam the width of a river (No. 24), the French Broad, near Asheville, NC. By summer’s end, Laura ticked off three more: Skydive at least once (No. 51), Ride a horse fast (No. 58), and Talk with the president (No. 6) (Jimmy Carter, because you’re wondering). She wasn’t done. To close out 2017, the 39-year-old from Delaware returned to California, so she could surf in the Pacific Ocean (No. 47). This brought the tally of year-one completed bucket list items to 11.

Laura had 43 more to go — and three years remaining.

II.

When Laura and I attended the University of Delaware around the same time, we had at least one other thing in common — we both worked for The Review, the student-run college newspaper. She began as a contributing artist, submitting illustrations to accompany articles and op-eds, before becoming a City Desk editor. I got my foot in freshman year during E110, an English course that required us to complete four news articles for credit. Reporting, editing and managing for the paper over the next three-and-half-years turned out to be my biggest accomplishment during college (maybe second to graduating. Maybe). I never became the journalist I imagined for reasons, so I settled into corporate marketing a few years after leaving Delaware. I did that for one company for 10 years.

When Laura and I reconnected last fall — almost two decades since UD — we had something new in common: we had both lost our dads in the ensuing years. Mine succumbed to cancer in late 2016, while Laura’s dad, Michael Carney, had been killed 13 years earlier in a crash involving a distracted driver: a confused teenager who used her cell phone to get directions but instead ran a red light and took his life away, according to the cops, in an instant. In the decade-plus that followed her father’s death, Laura went through a lot more that I never knew. She became a freelance and full-time copy editor in New York City, working for such publishers as Meredith Corporation (formerly Time Inc.), American Media, Hearst, and Condé Nast, among others. She became an activist against distracted driving, including a role with the National Safety Council as a survivor advocate. She married her partner of 13 years in a modest ceremony in Santa Fe. Then, in late 2016, she found her dad left behind a bucket list he never finished. 

By last November, Laura was almost three full years into My Father’s List, the name she gave the project dedicated to completing’s Michael’s 60 dream wishes. The list itself filled up three pieces of ruled paper, front to back. At the top of the first sheet: “Things I Would Like to Do in My Lifetime!”. Michael, who was also known as “Mick” to friends, underlined it. The list brimmed with aspirations that ranged from flashy — Drive a Corvette (No. 34) — to self-conscious — Have a 34-inch waist again (No. 36) — to entrepreneurial — Sell millions of dollars’ worth of merchandise (No. 10) — to devoted — Give my children the most love, the best education and best example I can give (No. 12). But what Mick wanted above “Make more money than I need” (No. 5) or “Own a great record collection” (No. 56) was to “Live a long, healthy life at least to the year 2020” (No. 1).

* * *

I was gradually drawn to My Father’s List on Instagram — curious as to what would happen next, touched by Laura’s opportunity to reconnect with her dad, impressed by her commitment to such a long-term project. Around the same time I had become stuck. It had been more than a year since I decided to transition to photography full-time and was not witnessing the creative or financial success I wanted. The pressure was mounting, but the pressure, I realized, was mostly coming from me. That’s when I imagined my own ongoing project, which I quickly called THE COMMITTED. It would be a series of photo essays that allowed me to explore stories of devotion however I wanted. My early ideas for potential subjects included street dancers, podcast hosts, a graffiti artist, and My Father’s List. Laura happened to be the first person I reached out to, so I was encouraged when she seemingly embraced my proposal at the outset.

I was drawn to My Father’s List — curious as to what would happen next, touched by Laura’s opportunity to reconnect with her dad, impressed by her commitment to such a long-term project.

True to her journalism background, she had questions. “How do you see this playing out in the end?” she answered over email. “As Instagram photos? Blog posts? An art exhibit? A book?” I was already thinking about this, but first I had to be honest with myself. So much of what I would call regrets have to do with letting fear control me. Fear of what others thought. Fear of the sacrifices involved. Fear of rejection. Fear of discomfort. Fear of, perhaps down deep, actually succeeding, because then you have to work at it. I knew I was getting ahead of myself already, its own form of sabotage. So I managed expectations — Laura’s as well as my own — and set the bar at a comfortable level where I wouldn’t be overwhelmed. To me THE COMMITTED lived by execution: I would choose a subject I was interested in, determine if it made my photographer juices flow, write an accompanying story that respected both the person and the process, and put it out there. Onto the next one.

The vision with My Father’s List began to materialize before I ever messaged Laura. I wanted to embrace my sensibilities in photojournalism and document her tackling one of the bucket list items. Her social media account dedicated to the List shared details of past accomplishments like running, sailing and surfing — all with such visual potential — but it did little to share what was left to check off. Laura’s website didn’t help. There were posts and links to articles about her project, but the full list wasn’t published anywhere, which I found surprising. Laura admitted this was by design, but by then she had already figured out the item for THE COMMITTED.

“P.S.,” she tacked onto our third email exchange, “I think I know what your photo might be.”

III.

It was a mild winter afternoon in February and three of us were getting ready inside a 500-square-foot photo studio located in East Williamsburg. It was a climactic day. By then, Laura and I had been corresponding for months, developing an idea that would balance simple execution with professional results. I had booked the studio a month in advance, prepared a mood board, recruited a friend to help out, and watched enough YouTube videos to feel equipped … still, I was outside my comfort zone. Despite all my prep I knew studio photography made me uneasy. I also knew given what I wanted to capture, photographing Laura outdoors in February would have been, between the light, temperature and other conditions, too risky. I needed control. So far we only had a handful of images from her tailoring appointment, but that wasn’t going to be enough.

At least Laura felt confident. Today she brought with her a camouflage sack, plastic leopard-print garment bag, and a four-pane window frame with her father’s bucket list between three panels of glass; a photograph of a U-shaped horseshoe floated in the fourth. I had my camera bag and computer. Everything else came with the studio.

Still, I remained anxious. We had three hours to set up, capture our few looks and reset the studio, and we were already running late. While Laura adjusted her makeup in the vanity,  my friend Alessandro (whom I call Joey after his middle name) arranged the lighting equipment for the first of two backdrops we planned to use. Joey, also a photographer, ably assembled our light and configured the remote triggers so Laura and I could discuss her wardrobe choices. Black neck tie, ruffled shirt. Black bowtie, cummerbund, ruffled shirt. Black camisole, horseshoe necklace. She left to change in the bathroom.

When she returned she was wearing it.

It: a $500 Ecru women’s black tuxedo she bought from a boutique near her apartment two months ago. Like the formal portrait shoot about to take place, the timing of the purchase wasn’t part of the plan. The plan had us going shopping together so I could document the process as part of my story. But the list had its own agenda and Laura knew by now to follow along. So that’s why today and not December 4 when she got it for 25% off, which is why this Tuesday and not that Wednesday when she first noticed it in the window of Co Co’s store for women in Upper Montclair, which is why this afternoon and not that afternoon while on her way to get coffee she finally got to cross off No. 38  — Own a black tuxedo.

IV.

The opportunity to spend several years living out a man’s dreams has fundamentally altered Laura. She credits Mick with not being a “sexist dad” who’d raised his daughter one way and his son another. “My ideas of what I could do with my life were never limited by my being a girl,” she said. Still, or perhaps because of Mick’s open-minded values, Laura struggled to be the person she aspired to be while living up to what she felt were society’s expectations for her. So My Father’s List came to life at a moment when Laura, newly wed, needed it most. As a wife, the pressure to behave “wifely/motherly” weighed on her. But as a daughter completing her late dad’s hopes, the list liberated her. 

“I stopped wearing makeup, stopped paying to get my haircut and colored every couple months, stopped buying new clothes,” Laura explained. “I’ve basically dropped my previously feminine persona, which was just that — not real. I’ve become much more comfortable in my skin as a woman, less afraid of seeming vulnerable, by doing these ‘manly’ things.” 

A new confidence possessed her, along with a desire to speak candidly — even with strangers. I witnessed this first-hand. In our voluminous correspondence over several months, Laura caught me up on much of her life, sharing what many would consider private details concerning her parents’ divorce, dad’s double life, her battle with depression, and other personal turbulence. Some might look at this as over-sharing. Laura found it to be one of many gifts bestowed on her by working on My Father’s List. Indeed, it even helped her start one of her own bucket list items: write a book.

My Father’s List came to life at a moment when Laura, newly wed, needed it most. As a wife, the pressure to behave “wifely/motherly” weighed on her. But as a daughter completing her late dad’s hopes, the list liberated her.

If Laura represents the project’s beating heart, then its lifeblood could be the stream of unexpected moments, connections, revelations, and lessons since she first stepped off in Los Angeles three years ago. Some of these have already been shared on her blog and social media, but many are being saved for the book. When Laura turns in her manuscript, sometime around 2021, the story will be held together by its dozens of bones: the very list items her dad unintentionally passed down.

The process of writing, she admits, has been far more difficult than any of the actual list items. Years one and two in particular required Laura to explore the darker periods in her life, things she had mostly avoided thinking about since Mick’s death. The list and, by extension, the book about the list have allowed Laura to drive out a number of ghosts keeping her from living out her full identity, something she also credits her husband, Steven, with recognizing. “I think it’s why my doing this list was his idea. He wanted me to exorcise this,” she said. And as a result, “my experience of who my father was has changed drastically.” 

The desire to write a book predates the list’s appearance. As an activist since 2013, Laura sensed she had a story worth telling, worth sharing because it could be helpful to others. She knew it would involve her dad’s death by distracted driver, but she feared turning him into a tragic figure. Even given how Mick’s life ended, she never saw him this way. That became a profound challenge she had a hard time overcoming. “I could never wrap my head around how am I going to do this,” she said. “And I think after a while people hear more and more tragic stories, they become desensitized to it. I knew whatever I made had to be interesting in its own right and have its own character arc.”

Laura’s husband Steven was present the day when her brother pulled out the list, which he discovered during a recent move. Steven, who works in publishing, instinctively recognized it as her “hook”. “As soon as I saw that list emerge from the bag her brother gave her, I knew she'd found her format,” he wrote me over email. “It was like the missing puzzle piece to complete her story.” Laura explained it another way. “I’d been wanting to write a book for a few years ... So it almost felt like a collaboration when this came along, like, Oh, [my dad’s] giving me my chapters.”

“It was like the missing puzzle piece to complete her story.”

— Steven Seighman, Laura’s husband

Not everyone shared their enthusiasm once the list surfaced. Laura’s mom Joan told me over email about her initial apprehension. She worried, as a mom might, about the cost, time, and “overwhelming” scale of chasing down Dad’s dreams. Laura hinted at these feelings early on in our conversations, noting that her mom didn’t “take [the list] seriously” when it was it written. Joan said back then she had more practical concerns. “Although I never questioned the validity of the items,” she wrote, “I did wonder at times whether some were attainable or even necessary. With raising a family and having a demanding job, my focus was usually on daily tasks.”

The list ultimately prevailed. With less than nine months to go, Laura, Steven, and Joan all feel enriched by the journey Mick’s daughter has undertaken. Steven confirmed a belief she peppered into our ongoing conversations — the so-called “list magic.” This essence has taken many forms, some symbolic, others more manipulative. “If ever there's something that seems like it can't be done, the list magic steps in and makes it happen,” he said. Joan has also been swayed. Early on, she feared the impact of My Father’s List on Laura. Now, she’s a believer, too. “My opinion of the list has been changed,” she said. “I am constantly amazed at her determination and dedication. I believe she has widened my horizons and all of those following her. Laura has been inspired by the list and in turn, motivates us to strive beyond what we feel are our limitations.”

V.

It has been two days since our shoot and Laura can’t sleep. She and Steven are at his parents’ in Pennsylvania. A cold has set in. She emails me around 6:30 in the morning. Despite the lack of rest and feeling unwell, Laura is reveling in new thoughts, “and they’re pretty great.” She’s had some time to dwell on the experience.

When we first started to talk about her wearing this outfit in front of a camera, Laura focused on how she would, or wanted to, feel. She knew little about shopping for, tailoring, or accessorizing a tux, though the prospect excited her. She talked about making a statement, and she appreciated the implication of “‘owning’ a tux” — not just making an investment or needing to wear it again in the future, but also actually owning it: “I would need to look comfortable doing this.”

When she messaged me days later, her mind had pivoted to Mick, specifically what this list item really meant to him. Laura thinks it was about confidence, something her dad might not have possessed enough of. It’s not so much that she’s questioning his masculinity that she’s now wondering if we expect too much of it from men and the ramifications thereof. She placed herself in a man’s shoes for three years, and now briefly in one’s clothes (albeit cut for a woman), so suddenly she’s seeing things from a perspective she previously would have labeled her oppressor’s.

It’s complex stuff, but these gender roles factor in big-time to My Father’s List. But that’s another story, to be revealed in Laura’s time with the publishing of her book. And if that never happens, the experience alone — committing four years to complete her father’s bucket list and write a profoundly personal story about loss, authenticity and healing — will have been worth it. She told me this a couple times over the last four months, but it was after our session together that I really felt it.

“I wasn't thinking of looking like him or being like him at that photo shoot,” she said. “I was thinking about being the most confident version of me, a person I lost touch with a really long time ago.

“And how happy he'd be that I've rediscovered her.” ■

Laura Carney was photographed February 18, 2020 at Egg Studios NYC in Brooklyn, NY. The shoot was assisted by Alessandro “Fresco” Cerdas, with makeup service by Lyndsey Ariel.

THE COMMITTED is an on-going series developed, photographed, written and published by Adrian Bacolo. To submit ideas for future entries, please email bacolos.photos@gmail.com.