April Winchell

I have received about 2,000 emails in the last 48 hours. I want to personally thank all of you who have written to me. Your letters have been, by and large, very kind and generous, and I am grateful for them.

I have also received a few that are very disturbing. Some of you are very angry with me, and have seen fit to tell me so.

Here is an email I received today:

"I enjoy you web site, But probably to your disgust, enjoyed your father as well. You sound like a mommy dearest victim. Why not just go on in life and achieve notoriety on ones own accomplishments not ones fathers backgrounds like you have done? I think you need to take a deep inward look at yourself and see what you have said or written. You say you appreciate being informed of his death through an associate rather than the news. Well hell you were lucky the way you hated him did you really expect it any other way? Your father was not maybe who you would have liked him to be but he was still your father."

Let's be clear. The gentleman who wrote this letter did not "enjoy my father". He didn't know my father. What he enjoyed, and remembers with fondness, is my father's work. With all due respect, they are two completely different things.

Anyone old enough to remember my father is also old enough to know that every public figure has a private side that no one but those closest to them will ever see. Surely no one over the age of 12 believes that what you see on television is a reflection of reality.

But therein lies the problem. Childhood memories become idealized. We think of everything we loved from those days as being completely good. Do you remember how endless the summer seemed to you? How long we waited for the weekend to come? And when, as an adult, have you ever thought that Christmas didn't get here fast enough?

The mere mention of my father's name evokes bowls of cereal on the floor on Saturday morning, a sense of wonderment and a suspension of disbelief we don't have as adults. His work was magic to us.

And it was to me as well. I loved his work. I was at every puppet show, every recording session, every supermarket opening and public appearance. I was his biggest fan. Never at any time, will you ever hear me discount his talent or his accomplishments.

My father was an extremely gifted man. He did amazing things with his intellect. He contributed not only to television, but to medicine, society and technology. Some of you have even said that he was infinitely more talented than I will ever be. You're probably right. But I was never in competition with him, nor am I jealous of his accomplishments. I am very, very proud of them. I can honestly say that he left this world a better place than he found it.

I sometimes wish I too, could have had the experience others had of him. If I could have known only his public persona, I'm sure I would have had nothing but warm and happy memories of him. I envy you that.

But you must be fair and understand that he was my father. And even in the best of circumstances, no one has an idyllic, uncomplicated, painless relationship with a parent.

And these were not the best of circumstances. This was a terrible situation for all concerned. Every one of my siblings suffered more than you will ever know.

I'm sorry if you're disappointed, but it was not Winchell Mahoney Time at my house. It was dark and frightening and very, very sad.

And I didn't want to disappoint you, believe me. It was never my desire to tarnish the memories of those who grew up watching my father. For many years, I never publicly said one negative thing about him. I was always deferential.

But last year, my father wrote a book called "Winch". That book was so cruel, that I no longer felt compelled to protect him, or you.

Perhaps you think I went wrong there. And perhaps I did. But I'd like you to put yourself in my shoes for just a moment, and imagine your course of action.

Imagine that your father writes a book depicting your loving and generous mother as a whore. Imagine him laying waste to your entire family, under the guise of "getting well". Imagine too, that all his memories are filtered through years of self-admitted drug abuse and mental llness, and bear no relation to the real events .

What would you do with that?

All I can tell you is what I had to do. I had to defend my mother. Because she really is a hero.

My mother stood by my father for 12 years, throughout his drug abuse, his infidelities, his paranoia, his psychotic episodes, his physical abuse and his institutionalizations. She did so because he was my father, and she did that for me.

When she finally realized our own mental health was at risk, she left. She was heartbroken. He retaliated in ways that are unspeakable.

Still, my mother insisted that I keep in contact with him, because he was my father. She forced me to go on visitation with him, because he was my father. She constantly reinforced his talent and value to me, because he was my father. So please don't send me emails saying, 'He's still your father", because my mother already said it. And coming from someone who withstood the abuse he dished out and still did the right thing, it really meant something.

Whether you think I'm funny or not, my sense of humor is my greatest gift. It has been my vocation and my lifeline. And that sense of humor was a gift from my mother. She taught me the value of laughter. She gave me self-esteem. And most importantly, she was there.

So here I am, feeling a million things. I'm grieving, I'm angry, I'm sad, I'm heartbroken, I'm hopeful. But please don't ask me to feel guilty for defending a woman who saved my life.

I would also like you to know that before this book came out, I had worked long and hard to get to a place of forgiveness. I accepted his illness, and tried to have a relationship with him for many, many years. Eventually I came to the sad realization that he could brighten the lives of children all over the world, but he could not be a father. And I was able to forgive him for that as well.

Today I join you in a celebration of his work, and the joy his gifts brought to the world. Those gifts will be missed. The infinite sadness will not.

Please try to forgive me if this causes you unhappiness. I am at a place where it's your life or mine, and I have to save myself.