Christmas Eve Traditions

I had just finished an arduous day of last minute holiday shopping. It was Christmas Eve and I had treated myself to a lavish meal at Ernie's on Montgomery Street in San Francisco. This was THE most luxurious restaurant I had ever had the pleasure to dine in. My favorite of all my local hangouts.

The service was impeccable and the food outstanding. It was on the high end of the price range, but worth every penny to me. The famous mahogany bar with its intricate, stained-glass back was carved from a single tree, the walls were covered with maroon Scalamandre silk brocade, magnificent crystal chandeliers hung above the main dining area. The rooms were adorned with antiques procured from some of the greatest mansions in all of San Francisco.

Ernie's had the distinction of receiving 32 consecutive 5 star awards and Alfred Hitchcock chose the restaurant to be featured in his film Vertigo. To say this establishment epitomized fine dining would be an understatement. Ernie's opened around the turn of the 20th century, but sadly closed their doors in September 1995. I was honestly crushed. I have NEVER had a fine dining experience of that caliber since then. In fact I always wanted to own that type of high end dining establishment like Ernie's.

Screenshot of Ernie's from Alfred Hitchcock’s "Vertigo" 1958

That night I dined like a king! I deserved it. I worked hard. I began with a bottle of California Cabernet Sauvignon. A plate of veal Oscar (sautéed veal on fresh asparagus tips, topped with Dungeness crab legs, and drizzled béarnaise sauce) magically appeared before me. Next to my delight the brandy caught fire, the blue flames shot aloft and an order of boffo crepes Suzette were summoned forth from a thin copper pan. The flames did their work, burned themselves out and vanished. It was theatrical heaven table side! And for the grand finale, a fine Cognac, or perhaps two to celebrate such a wonderful Christmas Eve.

After the $120 dining spectacle I was driving home in my new convertible Corvette. Life just couldn't get any better. I was on top of my game and thought nothing about spending that kind of cash for a meal. I had everything a person could ever want at my beck and call, monetarily speaking.

As I drove through the city making my way back to an overly grandiose home nestled in the foothills of the East Bay, I noticed an unusually large amount of homeless people sleeping under large pieces of cardboard and tattered rags, huddled in doorways trying to sleep on the cold cement stoops of homes and shops. It hit me hard how unfair life can be and how awful a life like that must be. I had everything and more and they had a cardboard box for comfort without a roof over their head.

I stopped the car and stared at one old man as he shivered before me, curled up in a ball, all alone. I just couldn't believe what I was seeing after thinking about the wonderful day I just had shopping and gorging myself on an overly priced meal. It was Christmas Eve and this poor man had nothing! I thought, "That could be me someday." The thought haunted me as I continued to stare in disbelief. I remembered I had a down comforter I just purchased that afternoon for my spare bedroom. A spare room...not even a necessity. There was nothing to think about. I grabbed the bag, got out of the car, and quietly shrouded the old bearded homeless man as he slept. I didn't wake him. I crept away and thought, "I need to do more." It felt good, and for years I told no one about what would become a Christmas tradition.

As I drove home that evening I promised myself I would begin to collect clean, used blankets from any source and every Christmas Eve I would drive into San Francisco and play Secret Santa to the homeless. I usually collected so many blankets that I needed to rent a van to deliver the tidings. It was my way of giving back. I would usually send out a press release for such an event to capitalize on it because I was a media whore in business. But this was personal and it felt so good to do it without anyone’s knowledge. It felt DAMN GOOD!

For years I did this until I became very ill for the first time in 1995. Around the same time Ernie's closed their doors for good. After that it was hit and miss although my company was involved in helping Glide Memorial Church feed the homeless in San Francisco and sponsoring the Easter Seals Telethons. I made sure there was always some charity we were giving to, but nothing has ever felt better than playing Secret Santa.

As I write this, I’m sequestered in bed fighting my second battle with cancer. I wish I had the energy to do more. There will always be someone who is in need of support and they might even be too proud to let anyone know how bad it is for them. Please do me a favor. Do something good in the world this year. Buy a stranger some coffee, leave an extra-large tip for the hard working wait staff, donate toys for a children’s charity, pay for a less than fortunate family’s entire holiday meal, or volunteer at a local homeless shelter or soup kitchen. If you can’t manage that…keep a smile on your face as you pass others in the street and actually say, “Merry Christmas” or “Have a great day” to strangers.

Make a difference to someone this year. If you have the means to read this story you already know you have more than so many with real need in the world. Someone desperately needs your help. Your heart will be richly rewarded. I guarantee it!

It's time for me to settle in with my hot cocoa, a roaring fire, cuddle up with my little dog and watch “It's A Wonderful Life.” I need my wings! Anybody here a bell? Yes, life is wonderful...tonight let there be peace on Earth.

God bless you all, Merry Christmas!
Peace B

THE CHRISTMAS TREE

Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas

I know some of you might have read this story before, but every year as the tree goes up I stop in peace to pay tribute to my wonder father. I think this Christmas story bears repeating. Happy Holidays! Peace B 

I grew up in Michigan. My aunt had a very realistic imitation Christmas tree manufactured by Mountain King, which I loved. I searched high and wide to find this tree, to place in the lobby of my new restaurant. When I was unable to locate one, I mentioned to my father during one of our nightly phone calls, “When I return home for the holidays this year, I’m buying a Mountain King to bring back to California.”

I searched for that Mountain King tree in California with no avail. It seemed the majority of Californians purchased real trees. I never agreed with the idea of cutting down a tree just for a few weeks of self gratification. I admit, they are beautiful and fill a home with a heavenly aroma, but I can’t kill a tree for that reason. Just the thought of the shear national number of trees cut only for this reason each year, makes me ill.

I was only in business for 6 months as the holidays approached. I wanted so badly to return home, to Detroit, to see my father for Christmas. I was born on this day and this has always been my favorite time of the year.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but I thought I could slip away between December 24 and 26. I was expecting business to be slow those days, but knew New Years was going to rock, so I had to return before. The crew was still green and I was still learning how to run a business. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I was going home! I missed my dad.

Nightly, I spoke with my father on the phone to discuss the day’s events. I’d bitch or brag and he’d listen and offer advice when he could. My father was a good man with the best work ethic of anyone I’ve ever known. He was a good listener and always offered sound advice.

Al Starkey and his wife Marge were new Little Caesar franchisees and had come to my restaurant to learn, while they waited for their first location to open in Monterey, California. Al and Marge were much older. Well... all the other franchisees were much older. I was the youngest franchisee at the time. Al wanted more experience running a Carry-Out unit and I needed the help, so it was a win, win.

I remember that day so clearly. It was a busy dinner rush and I was working the register. In the beginning, I had a hard time letting anyone touch the money. We had 4 phone lines that were constantly ablaze during the dinner hour. As I opened the cash drawer to make change, I heard an employee say, “Brian, it’s for you.”

“Is it an emergency?” a question I would ask anytime a personal phone call came in during a busy hour. I always heard a no, but this time the employee said, “Yes, it is!”

I was handed the phone and had a bad feeling in my gut. It was my Aunt Carol. This is a woman who NEVER calls. All she said was, “Brian, are you sitting down?”

Instantly I knew there was something wrong with my father, but before I had a chance to calculate it, she tearfully said, “Your father is dead.” At that point everything stood still. All I remember is sinking to the floor behind the front counter with the cash drawer left wide open and unattended as Al swooped down like an enormous eagle and scooped me up in his arms as I screamed, “NO!” with tears streaming down my face.

I wasn’t supposed to fly back for a few days and I wasn’t near prepared to leave at this moment. How will the restaurant run while I’m gone? I will need to be away now for more than a few days and I only have one assistant manager in my employ. I had no manager since that was my role. Who will make the deposits, get bank change, place the food order, pay the bills? Who’s going to sign the payroll checks? I will be thousands of miles away and for how long? What am I going to do?

It was all a blur, but in less than 12 hours I was on my way to the airport and a Corporate Little Caesar Supervisor was being flown up from Los Angeles to run my restaurant until I returned. There wasn’t anybody else closer to help. My restaurant was the first in the Bay Area.

When I arrived at the San Francisco airport, there were people everywhere, sleeping on luggage. The airport looked like a homeless shelter. Dozens of flights were canceled due to inclement weather. I waited in such a long line staring blankly at everyone and everything, not knowing how I even got to the airport.

Al had called our corporate headquarters and made arrangements for the supervisor and then managed to get me packed and rushed to the airport. I was on autopilot without a clue what was happening.

As I approached the United Airlines ticket counter, I handed the lady my ticket. It was for a flight on the 24th of December and today was the 22nd. I vaguely recall the conversation, but it didn’t go well. She assumed I was just trying to get on an early flight, because of the holidays. All flights out of SFO to Detroit were booked for days because of the weather.

I explained my father had died and I had to return home today. She accused me of lying, sighting that I already had a ticket and that she was sure I was just trying to leave earlier. She asked for proof of his death and requested a copy of his death certificate. With that I exploded. All my emotions came spewing out. “I don’t have one! He just died!” I snapped. With authority she responded, “I need to see some type of proof.”

I became enraged, belligerent in fact. “My father is dead dammit! I’m not lying to you! What the hell is wrong with you? Why would I make something like that up?” I was so loud and she was so offended and scared from my anger she called security.

I was escorted, screaming, into a private room, calling everybody, "Crazy!” It was I that was falling off the deep end. The security officer calmed me down and asked if there was a way to call the funeral home for more information. Once they confirmed my father was indeed deceased, EVERYBODY’S demeanor changed. My coach ticket was exchanged for a first class seat and I was on the next plane to Detroit. They couldn't do enough to make up for their mistake.

Seated next to me was a young boy, perhaps five years old, traveling alone with a large bag of toys. The flight attendant was well aware of my dilemma and apologized for the seating arrangement, but that was all that was available. It didn’t matter, just keep feeding me drinks (Black Russians) for the next 5 hours and I’ll be fine. I just want to go home!

I drifted off to sleep and the young boy escaped from his seat. That was just fine with me, until a very angry man stood before me, screaming at me, “Keep your brat and his toys out of the isles! His sh*t is everywhere!"

Apparently the lone child took out all of his toys from the paper bag his mommy packed and had strewn them all over the coach cabin without a care. As the angry man verbally assaulted me, I stood up to explain he's not my kid and fired back at my assailant, telling him to go f*ck himself. I think it took the entire flight crew to restrain the two of us. If this would have happened today, with all the flight regulations they have, we both would have been jailed.

They escorted the man back to his coach seat, picked up all the toys throughout the cabin and instructed the boy not to leave his seat again. I requested yet another drink, as the little tyke said to me, “You don’t like me, do you?”

“Right now? NO, I don’t!” I scowled, and the little boy pouted as tears welled in his eyes. “Look,” I said to him, “Let's make a deal. I’ll make you a tent to play in if you just be good, deal?”

That made him happy and I pulled out his tray table and shrouded it with an over-sized blanket. He disappeared into the darkness of the blanket and quietly played with a toy. It was peace on Earth…well peace at 35,000 feet anyway!

When I arrived, I was pleasantly plumbed from all the free liquor. My Aunt Carol was waiting at the baggage claim to pick me up. I insisted on immediately going to the house where I grew up. My aunt didn’t think it was a good idea. “Your father died in that house.” She expressed with concern. My two aunts and a neighbor were the ones that found my father dead in his arm chair.

“I don’t care. I didn’t see it and it doesn’t bother me. I want to go home!” I insisted. When we arrived, I let myself in and closed the door leaving my aunt outside, so I could be alone with my thoughts. I don't even recall saying good-bye.

As I entered my home I was in awe. Before me, lit up so beautifully in the living room, was the most precious gift I have ever been given. There stood the most spectacular Mountain King Christmas tree I have ever seen. It was decorated in all blue and green. My father, being the perfectionist that he was, had purchased strings of blue and strings of green lights. But, to make it perfect, he managed to exchange every other bulb, so they were arranged: blue, green, blue, green, blue, green. He knew only I could appreciate such an effort. Can you imagine the time that took?

The Most Beautiful Christmas Tree EVER!

There were blue satin bells and blue satin balls hanging, yards of blue and green tinseled garland, blue tinsel icicles, all topped with a huge blue velvet bow. To perfectly finish it off, wrapped around the base was a tree skirt that was made for my first Christmas birthday by a loving aunt. It was spectacular! Through my tears I spied a Christmas card propped at the base of the tree. I felt my father in the room with me as I slowly reached down to read the card:

“Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas. You were the best Christmas present I ever had.   Love Dad”

As I read, endless tears streamed down my cheeks. I fell to my knees and whimpered uncontrollably, gasping for breath. How did he know we would never see each other again? "Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas???" He knew I had a ticket to come home. I reread the card over and over “Wish We Could Be Together” It still read the same. How did he know?

The Most Beautiful Christmas Card EVER!

I cried myself to sleep that night and quenched the moon with my tears, curled up like a baby beneath the shimmering blue and green until daybreak fell upon the room, the wetness in my eyes still present from my crescendo of tears.

After the funeral there was so much to arrange and many bills to pay. When my father’s credit card bill arrived, the story of the tree gained clarity. My father bought the tree and decorations the very day he died.

My father died after he finished putting up and decorating that wondrous tree. Judging by his time of death, 11:05 PM, December 20, he purchased the tree that afternoon, spent hours putting it up and decorating, and began his nightly ritual; getting ready for bed, showering, putting on his PJ’s, then sitting down to watch the 11 o'clock news in his favorite tangerine colored Naugahyde armchair, seated within his bedroom. He passed away in that chair of a heart attack. I was told it was so massive, he probably never knew what hit him.

Two years passed and I could not bare to reconstruct the tree. It never made it into my restaurant still dormant after being placed back into its original box. I kept it for myself thinking someday I might put it up in my home, but it hurt too much to even look at the box. Eventually I gave in and thought, “He wanted me to have this tree to enjoy. He died giving me this tree to enjoy. Dammit, start enjoying it!" So, every year you will find dad’s tree lovingly displayed at Christmas, decorated as he left it for me to find, with the tree skirt and his card beneath.

To Dad,
Wish we could be together at Christmas. You were the best father a son could ever have.

Love Brian

A Hero's Message on Memorial Day

In honor of Memorial Day and Skin Cancer Awareness Month a message from a brave hero, Bob Pemberton: A strong Veteran and Cancer Warrior whose last selfless act was to leave this message for others to learn and grow...Mr. Pemberton...I salute you!

Dead Man Talking

By Brian N. Walin

After living with my cancer for many years now, I have met several cancer patients along the way. Most have some other type of cancer. Only a few have the same, rare tongue cancer that I do.

What makes this story so difficult to write is the fact that most tongue cancer patients I have met along my journey are no longer with us. Squamous carcinoma of the oral cavity is responsible. This is an extremely aggressive cancer that leaves the recipient with a 50/50 chance to live five years, after being diagnosed. If it has infiltrated the lymphatic system, it can further worsen those odds by an additional 25%.

In 2007, after being diagnosed myself, I began to aggressively fight back. I underwent several operations to remove the Stage IV venomous growth along my left lateral tongue and the floor of my mouth. Cancerous lymph nodes were excavated from my neck. An uncomfortable tracheotomy allowed me to breath. The corners of my mouth were filleted open to allow access to the project within.

Body parts were rearranged: a skin graph from my thigh covered the hole that was left after removing a skin flap from my forearm that was then used to fashion a new tongue. Dangerous radiation and cancer killing chemotherapy followed…more invasive surgery to my oral cavity and a two and a half year engagement with a life sustaining feeding tube protruding from my belly.

After months of speech therapy, mouth and tongue exercises, food modification, depression, and mounds of mind-numbing medication, I’m exhausted. I’m still alive, winning my battle, and eating some solid foods, but always concerned cancer will strike again and I will repeat this dance anew.

The clock is ticking. Half of my time here is gone, according to statistics, yet I am still cancer-free. In my mind I fear the evil will return. I think that is a fear all healthy survivors have. You live day to day with that cancer cloud looming overhead. I’m free, but am I really?

Every time I lose a fellow tongue cancer patient, it’s a staggering blow that brings me front and center to the harsh realities of this dreaded disease. I personally don’t have an issue with dying. I’ve faced that road before. It’s the suffering, pain, and overall loss of the quality of life that goes along with continual treatment that is an issue for me. Horrifically, “life altering” does not begin to describe the reality of the situation.

Many friends and family members of cancer patients ask themselves, “What do I say at a time like this? How do I react? What can I do?” or even, “Why?” as they watch their loved ones suffer a slow, agonizing defeat.

First, let me go on record to say there is no answer to, “Why?” It is what it is! It isn’t anybody’s fault. It’s not a punishment, nor is it anything you have total control over. For those of you with controlling personalities such as myself, let this one go!

Having been close to death a few times now, I feel I can give advice as to how you should treat a cancer patient. Just treat us as you always have. No matter how bad we look or how weak we are, we want life to be as normal as possible. Save the tears, we don’t need them. Jokes are a good thing, laughter is best. Reminisce about the good times, and hugs are always welcome, if not longed for.

We are no different with or without cancer, even if we have no hair! Be honest with us and yourself. We know our odds aren’t good. Don’t make things worse by throwing a pity party. Now is not the time to hide from the truth. While life hangs in the balance, emotions are raw. Don’t say or do things YOU might regret later AND say all the things you wish to say, before we are gone. We need to hear them now.

We need a caregiver and patient advocate who is strong and caring and understanding of OUR wishes and not those you think we want. If others object to the plan in motion, remind yourself, these are our wishes, not theirs. This could be our finale, our last goodnight, and therefore needs to be our choice how things should be managed.

Personally, I don’t like to be fussed over. I prefer to do as much as possible for myself, even if it appears I’m struggling. I will let you know when I need help. I need that independence to get my strength back. If I let you do too much, it’s like saying, “I give up!” which is never a good thing. I think it’s essential for a cancer patient to remain emotionally strong and independent to survive, if not be down right stubborn.

I’m compelled to write this, because once again a fellow tongue cancer patient’s life hangs in the balance. The harsh realities are rearing their ugly heads. Bob Pemberton, is a friend and fellow tongue cancer patient. I met Bob after I completed my last surgery, while still sporting my feeding tube. We had a long “talk” about life with tongue cancer and the necessity of a feeding tube.

Bob, is someone I look up to after being through so much more than I have at this point. When I now look at Bob, I see what my future might be. He’s like the senior classmen and I the novice freshman student.

I generally maintain this blog to surround readers with my life and my cancer issues…Me, Me, Me! But, today I am inclined to open up the door and let Bob in. Not just Bob, but other readers and fellow cancer patients. I thought I would set the stage and have an open, raw, discussion with a man who is facing a death sentence. Something has compelled me to do this. I can’t tell you why, but I think either selfishly I need it, or I feel that others need to hear it. Especially those who are healthy and think they have something to worry about. Perhaps we’ll even touch on the meaning of life.

For me this is a personal project. I wanted to enroll the help of several people who are also surrounded by cancer in some way, to interview Bob. My goal is to obtain an open and honest dialog about doctors, treatments, and what it is like when you’re not sure if there is a tomorrow. For those of you who get upset because you get caught in a traffic jam, or have lost your home or job in this bad economy…look out, this might just change how you view the rest of your life!

If you had the opportunity to ask a dying man life altering questions, would you, could you? In Part 2 of this blog post you will find six seasoned cancer veterans who volunteered to step up and ask Bob some riveting and emotional questions. Bob has agreed that EVERYTHING is on the table for discussion. This has not been easy for any of us involved. So, stay tuned for the most enlightening story I’ve ever written.

©2009 Brian N. Walin (All rights reserved)

LINKS: PART 2 - PART 3

I've Met My Match

Well, where do I begin? Nothing earth-shattering, just trying to get back into the swing of things. I've said it before and I will say it again...I KNOW I'M ONE OF THE LUCKY ONES!

I'm now into my 7 year Cancerversary and life should have returned to "normal" a long time ago. As a cancer patient you fight hard to survive as you watch some on your fellow warriors lose their battle and you begin to wonder if you are next. I started this blog as a means to communicate to friends and family what was going on in my life so I wouldn't have to repeat myself every time the phone rang.

Over time it morphed into a way to vent about my struggles and then a way to help others through theirs. As time progressed some of those I met at hospitals, doctor's offices, and this blog became friends. We shared our highs and lows through emails and other social media, but then things started to change. One by one I lost some of those people I began to feel so close to. We shared things with each other that only a fellow cancer patient would understand and we helped each other through of the rough times. Some of the emails I sent would not be returned and later I found they had lost their fight. Soon I would morn people I only knew for one reason, cancer. Some I had only known online.

I guess I should have realized this would happen, but I never realized the magnitude and the number that would die. Some of these people I knew for years. Last December I had the hardest blow of all. Jeanne Sather helped me edit this blog at times. Because of her blog, The Assertive Cancer Patient, which I referred to as 'Bitch Don't Mess With Me!" she helped me through more than just cancer.

One story she helped me with and I am most proud of was "DEAD MAN TALKING."  A story of a fellow tongue cancer patient who was losing his battle and finally passed before we put the finishing touches on the story. Bob Pemberton was the first cancer friend that really hit me hard because we had the very same oral cancer. When I heard the news of Jeanne's passing I just went into a fog. She fought so hard to stay alive. There was nothing more she could have done to survive that she hadn't already tried. This woman was a force to be reckoned with.

She was a professional writer, editor, teacher, National Merit Scholar, jewelry designer, and lived with cancer for 13 years. She studied in Kobe, Japan, achieved a Master's Degree and Japanese Language and a second Master's Degree in Journalism. Jeanne was a translator, worked for a Japanese Broadcasting company and also worked for Newsweek among other news organizations. All this while adopting and raising two boys.

I guess this remains the hardest part about this blog and the people I meet because of cancer. There are times I get so tired of explaining how I can talk, how hard it was living on a feeding tube for so long, and how much my life has changed. I tried to wipe away the bad memories and pretend all is well and the worst is behind me. Looking in a mirror doesn't help. My battle scars are plentiful and bring me back to the day I lost my tongue every time I gaze into one. I avoid mirrors as much as possible and don't even allow pictures to be taken anymore.

Jeanne once asked me to send her a current picture and as tough as it was I sent here one. She was being kind I know, but she sent a simple note back..."Very handsome man." Friends have said I've had the scars and bandages for so long they don't even notice them because they know me from within. A very kind way to see others and so appreciated.

On occasion a stranger wanders by and has to ask the inevitable question often at a time I'm feeling very normal and cancer is not even on my mind. Then with one sentence I'm back on the operating table. Last week I was out in the front yard trying to tend to the flower beds when two young brothers four and five years old walked past eating candy. They stopped and very politely asked.."What happened?"

Doppler wires that came out of my neck 3/14

A few days before this I had another battle with those damn Doppler wires coming out of my neck. Last year at this same time I had the same problem. This year four more tiny wires worked their way out of my neck infecting it and causing great discomfort. Once again I am bandaged up for the quadbillionth time. I've been one big bandage for longer than I can recall!

I had surgery SEVEN years ago and my body is still SLOWLY rejecting the shrapnel I was told was made of surgical grade material and I would not have a problem with. THEY WERE WRONG!!!

Total Doppler wires that have come out between  2007-2013

ANYWAY...As the two young boys approached and asked politely the very question I am so tired of answering, I went right to my canned smartass answer. I sharply replied, "What happened? You mean to my face and neck? I got hit by a bus!" The young boy thought for a moment and then replied in a very serious tone, "Oh, well then...you should have driving the bus!" He put his liquorice stick to his mouth, pulled with a snap, and happily continued his walk down the street.

BAM! I've just been one-upped by a four year old! Yes, sometimes you just have to find the humor in all of it. Even if it takes a little man to remind you! Cancer can be funny.


Peace B

The Christmas Tree

Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas

I know some of you might have read this story before, but every year as the tree goes up I stop in peace to pay tribute to my wonder father. I think this Christmas story bears repeating. Happy Holidays! Peace B 

I grew up in Michigan. My aunt had a very realistic imitation Christmas tree manufactured by Mountain King, which I loved. I searched high and wide to find this tree, to place in the lobby of my new restaurant. When I was unable to locate one, I mentioned to my father during one of our nightly phone calls, “When I return home for the holidays this year, I’m buying a Mountain King to bring back to California.”

I searched for that Mountain King tree in California with no avail. It seemed the majority of Californians purchased real trees. I never agreed with the idea of cutting down a tree just for a few weeks of self gratification. I admit, they are beautiful and fill a home with a heavenly aroma, but I can’t kill a tree for that reason. Just the thought of the shear national number of trees cut only for this reason each year, makes me ill.

I was only in business for 6 months as the holidays approached. I wanted so badly to return home, to Detroit, to see my father for Christmas. I was born on this day and this has always been my favorite time of the year.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but I thought I could slip away between December 24 and 26. I was expecting business to be slow those days, but knew New Years was going to rock, so I had to return before. The crew was still green and I was still learning how to run a business. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I was going home! I missed my dad.

Nightly, I spoke with my father on the phone to discuss the day’s events. I’d bitch or brag and he’d listen and offer advice when he could. My father was a good man with the best work ethic of anyone I’ve ever known. He was a good listener and always offered sound advice.

Al Starkey and his wife Marge were new Little Caesar franchisees and had come to my restaurant to learn, while they waited for their first location to open in Monterey, California. Al and Marge were much older. Well... all the other franchisees were much older. I was the youngest franchisee at the time. Al wanted more experience running a Carry-Out unit and I needed the help, so it was a win, win.

I remember that day so clearly. It was a busy dinner rush and I was working the register. In the beginning, I had a hard time letting anyone touch the money. We had 4 phone lines that were constantly ablaze during the dinner hour. As I opened the cash drawer to make change, I heard an employee say, “Brian, it’s for you.”

“Is it an emergency?” a question I would ask anytime a personal phone call came in during a busy hour. I always heard a no, but this time the employee said, “Yes, it is!”

I was handed the phone and had a bad feeling in my gut. It was my Aunt Carol. This is a woman who NEVER calls. All she said was, “Brian, are you sitting down?”

Instantly I knew there was something wrong with my father, but before I had a chance to calculate it, she tearfully said, “Your father is dead.” At that point everything stood still. All I remember is sinking to the floor behind the front counter with the cash drawer left wide open and unattended as Al swooped down like an enormous eagle and scooped me up in his arms as I screamed, “NO!” with tears streaming down my face.

I wasn’t supposed to fly back for a few days and I wasn’t near prepared to leave at this moment. How will the restaurant run while I’m gone? I will need to be away now for more than a few days and I only have one assistant manager in my employ. I had no manager since that was my role. Who will make the deposits, get bank change, place the food order, pay the bills? Who’s going to sign the payroll checks? I will be thousands of miles away and for how long? What am I going to do?

It was all a blur, but in less than 12 hours I was on my way to the airport and a Corporate Little Caesar Supervisor was being flown up from Los Angeles to run my restaurant until I returned. There wasn’t anybody else closer to help. My restaurant was the first in the Bay Area.

When I arrived at the San Francisco airport, there were people everywhere, sleeping on luggage. The airport looked like a homeless shelter. Dozens of flights were canceled due to inclement weather. I waited in such a long line staring blankly at everyone and everything, not knowing how I even got to the airport.

Al had called our corporate headquarters and made arrangements for the supervisor and then managed to get me packed and rushed to the airport. I was on autopilot without a clue what was happening.

As I approached the United Airlines ticket counter, I handed the lady my ticket. It was for a flight on the 24th of December and today was the 22nd. I vaguely recall the conversation, but it didn’t go well. She assumed I was just trying to get on an early flight, because of the holidays. All flights out of SFO to Detroit were booked for days because of the weather.

I explained my father had died and I had to return home today. She accused me of lying, sighting that I already had a ticket and that she was sure I was just trying to leave earlier. She asked for proof of his death and requested a copy of his death certificate. With that I exploded. All my emotions came spewing out. “I don’t have one! He just died!” I snapped. With authority she responded, “I need to see some type of proof.”

I became enraged, belligerent in fact. “My father is dead dammit! I’m not lying to you! What the hell is wrong with you? Why would I make something like that up?” I was so loud and she was so offended and scared from my anger she called security.

I was escorted, screaming, into a private room, calling everybody, "Crazy!” It was I that was falling off the deep end. The security officer calmed me down and asked if there was a way to call the funeral home for more information. Once they confirmed my father was indeed deceased, EVERYBODY’S demeanor changed. My coach ticket was exchanged for a first class seat and I was on the next plane to Detroit. They couldn't do enough to make up for their mistake.

Seated next to me was a young boy, perhaps five years old, traveling alone with a large bag of toys. The flight attendant was well aware of my dilemma and apologized for the seating arrangement, but that was all that was available. It didn’t matter, just keep feeding me drinks (Black Russians) for the next 5 hours and I’ll be fine. I just want to go home!

I drifted off to sleep and the young boy escaped from his seat. That was just fine with me, until a very angry man stood before me, screaming at me, “Keep your brat and his toys out of the isles! His sh*t is everywhere!"

Apparently the lone child took out all of his toys from the paper bag his mommy packed and had strewn them all over the coach cabin without a care. As the angry man verbally assaulted me, I stood up to explain he's not my kid and fired back at my assailant, telling him to go f*ck himself. I think it took the entire flight crew to restrain the two of us. If this would have happened today, with all the flight regulations they have, we both would have been jailed.

They escorted the man back to his coach seat, picked up all the toys throughout the cabin and instructed the boy not to leave his seat again. I requested yet another drink, as the little tyke said to me, “You don’t like me, do you?”

“Right now? NO, I don’t!” I scowled, and the little boy pouted as tears welled in his eyes. “Look,” I said to him, “Let's make a deal. I’ll make you a tent to play in if you just be good, deal?”

That made him happy and I pulled out his tray table and shrouded it with an over-sized blanket. He disappeared into the darkness of the blanket and quietly played with a toy. It was peace on Earth…well peace at 35,000 feet anyway!

When I arrived, I was pleasantly plumbed from all the free liquor. My Aunt Carol was waiting at the baggage claim to pick me up. I insisted on immediately going to the house where I grew up. My aunt didn’t think it was a good idea. “Your father died in that house.” She expressed with concern. My two aunts and a neighbor were the ones that found my father dead in his arm chair.

“I don’t care. I didn’t see it and it doesn’t bother me. I want to go home!” I insisted. When we arrived, I let myself in and closed the door leaving my aunt outside, so I could be alone with my thoughts. I don't even recall saying good-bye.

As I entered my home I was in awe. Before me, lit up so beautifully in the living room, was the most precious gift I have ever been given. There stood the most spectacular Mountain King Christmas tree I have ever seen. It was decorated in all blue and green. My father, being the perfectionist that he was, had purchased strings of blue and strings of green lights. But, to make it perfect, he managed to exchange every other bulb, so they were arranged: blue, green, blue, green, blue, green. He knew only I could appreciate such an effort. Can you imagine the time that took?

The Most Beautiful Christmas Tree EVER!

There were blue satin bells and blue satin balls hanging, yards of blue and green tinseled garland, blue tinsel icicles, all topped with a huge blue velvet bow. To perfectly finish it off, wrapped around the base was a tree skirt that was made for my first Christmas birthday by a loving aunt. It was spectacular! Through my tears I spied a Christmas card propped at the base of the tree. I felt my father in the room with me as I slowly reached down to read the card:

“Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas. You were the best Christmas present I ever had.   Love Dad”

As I read, endless tears streamed down my cheeks. I fell to my knees and whimpered uncontrollably, gasping for breath. How did he know we would never see each other again? "Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas???" He knew I had a ticket to come home. I reread the card over and over “Wish We Could Be Together” It still read the same. How did he know?

The Most Beautiful Christmas Card EVER!

I cried myself to sleep that night and quenched the moon with my tears, curled up like a baby beneath the shimmering blue and green until daybreak fell upon the room, the wetness in my eyes still present from my crescendo of tears.

After the funeral there was so much to arrange and many bills to pay. When my father’s credit card bill arrived, the story of the tree gained clarity. My father bought the tree and decorations the very day he died.

My father died after he finished putting up and decorating that wondrous tree. Judging by his time of death, 11:05 PM, December 20, he purchased the tree that afternoon, spent hours putting it up and decorating, and began his nightly ritual; getting ready for bed, showering, putting on his PJ’s, then sitting down to watch the 11 o'clock news in his favorite tangerine colored Naugahyde armchair, seated within his bedroom. He passed away in that chair of a heart attack. I was told it was so massive, he probably never knew what hit him.

Two years passed and I could not bare to reconstruct the tree. It never made it into my restaurant still dormant after being placed back into its original box. I kept it for myself thinking someday I might put it up in my home, but it hurt too much to even look at the box. Eventually I gave in and thought, “He wanted me to have this tree to enjoy. He died giving me this tree to enjoy. Dammit, start enjoying it!" So, every year you will find dad’s tree lovingly displayed at Christmas, decorated as he left it for me to find, with the tree skirt and his card beneath.

To Dad,

Wish we could be together at Christmas. You were the best father a son could ever have.

Love Brian

LOCKS OF LOVE

Splitting Hairs

I have been growing my hair out since last summer to donate it to Locks of Love. Frankly it's been very hard having it get in the way...long stray hairs everywhere. It kept me pretty miserable for many months, but an event came up this last weekend that I wanted to attend. It was time to cut it off and move into a sportier model!


BEFORE



AFTER!

I hope it goes to good use. Please think about growing your hair or if you already have long hair, have it cut for a good cause. Locks of Love is a public non-profit organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children in the United States and Canada under age 21 suffering from long-term medical hair loss from any diagnosis.

Peace B

It's Never Easy To Say Goodbye

As the moon settles to slumber, the sun arrives to begin anew. I yield to yet another anniversary of sorrow. As the passage of time heals the pain, the memories still flourish within the transition.


Peace B

MY LITTLE DICKY!

I have a new edition to the family. He is a rescue dog from the animal shelter. Yes, they named him Dicky! For some reason people give me funny looks when I tell them I've been playing with my Dicky all day. He's very loving and sooo hyper. I hope I can manage to keep up with him. Isn't he a sweetie?

Dicky

Sexy Beast!

EARTHQUAKES, TSUNAMIS, AND SANDY - OH MY!

                 
BE HUMBLED AND LEARN

I have been through 4 hurricanes and 2 major earthquakes. Always an ominous experience to be humbled by nature. A time when even the biggest control freaks lose their ability to maintain order. On January 15, 1994, I was in a suite high atop of the Mondiran Hotel in West Hollywood to attend a special event. I was a regular patron of the hotel as this is where I often home based  when filming our national commercials. But this trip was not for business. I was a VIP guest of a benefit show that raised money to aid the homeless in America. The show; Comic Relief VI.

As a large donor, I was given two premium seats to attend the show. Feeling like a big shot I have to say, I found myself laughing with Whoopi Goldberg, Robin Williams, and Billy Crystal. With all access passes for the evening, I was having the time of my life with a long list of stars and comics who shared their laughter for a wonderful cause while attending the private after party. I will never forget being backstage and staring into Kirstie Alley's mesmerizing, yet eerie hazel green eyes. They're like one of the many wonders of the world...all aglow, but nobody was home that night. She was on another planet having a great time.

We were seated next to Kurt Cobain and a friend of his (I think a base player?) in a VIP section of the Shrine Auditorium. My buddy Eric who was working with Fran Drescher at the time on "The Nanny" was with me and is normally very low key around celebrities, but this time was rather excited about the guests seated next to us. I leaned over the friend seated next to me to introduce myself to Kurt, "My buddy tells me you're a pretty good musician, I'm sorry I haven't heard of you before, but my bud is a big fan." He just chuckled and said with a puzzled smile, "How refreshing. Very nice to meet you." Sometimes I don't always think before I open my mouth around strangers in a relaxed environment. I'm just me. I don't do pretense well. It was an odd way to introduce myself, but it was the truth. I think that disarmed him and he was quite cordial and a bit flirty afterwards. I had so much fun that night.

We chatted a bit between acts and later hung out at the after party. It seemed so strange that only a few months later the man would be dead from an apparent suicide. That whole meeting and weekend still haunts me. I don't think he killed himself, not the man I met that night. This was a man full of life and enjoying every minute of it. I have many moments in my life I question, "Why was I there? Was there a reason? Am I to learn something from all this?" But, I never find an answer to, "Why?" This was only two days before the most profound event of my life that would overshadow all that was happening at this event. I would soon realize we are nothing but a small speck of dust in the vast cosmos of space.

January 17, 4:31 AM, a 6.7 magnitude earthquake struck the Northridge area of LA causing over $25 billion in damages, ranking it the 4th most expensive natural disaster of all time. (Northridge Economic and Social Impact) I was sound a asleep in my suite as it began to tremble and shake. I was literally jolted out of my comfortable bed. Stumbling to the window I grabbed the drapes to steady myself as the panel ripped away from my grasp and I stared at the panoramic view of the city below in awe.

I thought we were being attacked as there were bright flashes of light bursting in front of me like I have never seen. Bombs of brilliant white exploded before me like a war zone. A flash of light and a section of the city went dark, like pieces of a lit puzzle being plucked out one by one. BOOM-FLASH another piece went missing. I would later learn the electrical transformers that fed the city its power were blowing as the ground rattled beneath them. Then I heard a crash of glass. The mirrored sliding doors of the closet had just fallen across my bed and shards of mirror fell at my feet. Holy SHIT! This is serious!

I heard a sound on the roof above. I was on the top floor and I could hear a loud click, then a hum, and then silence. This would repeat over and over. I was unaware that the emergency generators were trying to kick on unsuccessfully leaving the hotel in total darkness.

Then came a frantic knock on my door from a woman next door screaming, "Help me! Please help me." I was sure someone was hurt, in serious trouble, probably bleeding to death. The panic in this woman's cry was blood curdling. I made my way through the living room naked with shattered glass beneath my feet answering the door in total darkness. As I opened the door, trying to hide behind out of sight from the crazed woman, a bright light flashed into my face attached to a uncontrollably shaking arm. I told the woman if she let me use her flashlight for a moment to get dressed I would gladly help her.

I pried the light from the shaking woman and found an XXL T-shirt in a grab bag that had been given to guests with gifts from Comic Relief next to the door along with my shoes. Thank God the shirt was long enough to cover my knees and hide naughty bits!!! After that I never travel without a flashlight.

The woman dragged me back to her room and into the bathroom saying, "Hurry! In here!" Then she said in a panic, "Hold the flashlight so I can put on my make-up!" WHAT????? YOU WANT ME TO WHAT??? Where is the bleeding husband or the small dog stuck in a toilet? Where the hell is the emergency??? MAKE-UP?? OMG! This poor woman was in full panic mode.

She was a fight attendant demanding me to hold a light so she could put on her make-up and get to the airport so she could get the hell out of town! I tried to explain that during emergencies like this they would be shutting the airports down until inspections could be made, but she wanted nothing to do with it. So I held the light until a loud bang came on her door. It was security telling everyone to evacuate their rooms and go down to the lobby using the stairs. The power was still out and dark is pretty darn...well...dark! Later I found out that the emergency generators failed because they were out of fuel. Yeah for maintenance!

The woman was in full uniform, make-up, hair, and packed ready to go as we crept into the hallway with a crowd of other hotel guests. One man had a large candle in his grasp. I yelled at him and blew the candle out. He screamed at me, "What the f*ck do you think your doing asshole?" I screamed back, "I don't want my ass scattered across the hotel in the event of a gas leak you Dipshit! Don't you know what to do in the event of an earthquake???" I learned most are clueless during emergencies because they are too thick to even imagine anything could ever happen to them!

At that point I was thrust to the front of the group and somebody said, "So what do we do?" We follow the direction of the security guard who was nowhere to be found nor was the flight attendant with the flashlight. In the commotion she fled to the lobby in a just get me the hell out of here kinda way. I have to admit, that was one woman who knew how to fly. A few people had cell phones and I asked who had the one that cast the brightest light. We crept our way down the cascading stairwell aided only by the light of a few phones.

In the lobby were all the hotel guests that followed orders. There were still some so afraid they refused to leave their rooms. The lobby was filled with sobs and trembling people clinging to each other grateful to be alive. I was surrounded by maybe a hundred people in various states of dress and undress. Yes, there were even some naked who bolted from their rooms with only the thought of safety. They were generously given clothes by those over dressed for the occasion.

The only one fully dressed was of course good ole Mary Kay, the flight attendant from hell, who was ready for her flight, just not getting it at all. Even after her superior, who was still in her nightgown, tried to explain there would be no flight today. She did not want to listen. She was leaving LA and headed to the street to hail a cab for the airport. She was going home! She was in charge! She didn't stop to think that even if she made it to the airport, she needed a pilot who was still in the lobby with the rest of us. Yes, of course she was back a short while later still having a hard time with it all. There were no cabs to hail, not even a crosstown bus. EVERYTHING had ground to a halt.

Cell phones were dying around me and I remembered mine was in my rental car in the parking structure. I was told by the car attendant that we were not allowed to go there, but he would get my phone for me. When he returned, he had some bad news. A portion of the parking structure shook some concrete loose and damaged the Porsche I had rented for the weekend. That was the furthest thing I could worry about right now.

I called my personal assistant to explain I didn't know when I would be back in the office as this might take several days. I called my mom to let her know I was safe to avoid worry. Then I passed the phone around the lobby until the battery died to let others notify their families. It was a surreal moment. You don't know how you will react in the event of an emergency until you are actually in one. I was as calm and level headed as could be until I saw the damage in my room.

The sun had risen as the staff was inspecting the hotel for structural damage. We were told we could go back to our rooms and if there was a major mess that needed cleaning to inform housekeeping. Clean-up was going to take a long time. If structural damage was found we were to report it to the front desk to be moved to another room. When I entered my suite there was glass everywhere. The TV had fallen onto a glass coffee table in the living room. The full bar and broken drinking glasses scattered the floor. The refrigerator door was open and the contents lay with the glass along with a broken jar of salsa that began to permeate the carpet.

It was many hours after the catastrophic event and for the first time I felt my chest tighten. The reality of the situation set in as I looked upon the damaged suite as though it were the set of The War of the Roses. I left this behind unseen in total darkness to help a panicked woman put on her f*cking make-up and now it's real, visual, and seriously happened. I learned that day I have a delayed reaction when facing emergencies. The panic will come after the event has past. Not really sure why that is. I'm wired wrong I guess.

The phone rang and some guy (another hotel guest I didn't know or maybe even a hotel staff member trying to get guests out of the way of the clean up) said, "Grab all the liquor bottles from your bar and meet down by the pool in an hour. We are having an After Shock Party!" I called housekeeping, gathered all the unbroken liquor bottles and headed to the pool ready to shake all this off. That afternoon a majority of the hotel partied poolside and exchanged their war stories of the great earthquake. All the tables that surrounded the pool were filled with hundreds of empty mini liquor bottles and very happy to be alive guests mingling with strangers from all walks of life oddly enjoying the tragedy.

As night fell I was growing hungry. We were all a captive audience with the same problem and nowhere to go. Everything was shut down and we all had to eat. That evening we were forced have dinner with total strangers to fill all tables in the dining room with little choice of meal. The only food available was what was already in the hotel before the earthquake as all deliveries had ceased after.

The room was filled to capacity and yet there was a hush that engulfed us. We spoke softly almost in a whisper learning about each other, grateful to be alive. Peace be with you, and also with you. Like the way you speak in a place of worship with honor and reverence for all. It was something in my whole life I had never witnessed. It was humbling.

I met record producers, writers who were in LA pitching scripts, a few Hollywood elite and their managers. I was even taught a few words of Chinese, by a young male model sitting at our table who traveled between LA and Beijing for work. But that night we were all the same. None greater, none less. Just a collective of peaceful happy (probably from all the alcohol) people humbled by mother nature and all her majesty. It was the most profound event of my life as we were one big family, soft spoken, grateful, and humbled beyond belief with respect for all. Comic Relief with its cast of spectacular stars should have been my highlight for that weekend, but the Academy Award goes to Mother Nature, hands down!.

When I went back to my suite now cleaned up, I looked out over LA once again with some of her dazzling city lights ablaze, something was ominously different. It was so peaceful and beautifully surreal. There wasn't a soul nor car on the street. The stoplights changed from green to yellow to red for no one. The only sound was a wistful breath of wind dancing across my balcony. That night there was peace on earth. A night I will never forget.

Nature has a way of humbling even the biggest of control freaks, the high and mighty, the prim and proper, the holier than thou. You are educated by that fact that as much as you think you have control...you do not. This is the whole premise of the book of my life. This modified excerpt from my book I never intended to post here and has nothing to do with cancer, but it seemed fitting given the current events. My prayers to all those on the East coast dealing with the aftermath of Sandy. I understand your mixed emotions. Be strong. You will be better for it.

Peace B (with you)


PLEASE DONATE TO THE AMERICAN RED CROSS HERE

Innocence

The young seem better equipped to handle cancer from my experience. I have met so many much stronger than I.

The Christmas Tree

Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas

I grew up in Michigan. My aunt had a very realistic imitation Christmas tree manufactured by Mountain King, which I loved. I searched high and wide to find this tree, to place in the lobby of my new restaurant. When I was unable to locate one, I mentioned to my father during one of our nightly phone calls, “When I return home for the holidays this year, I’m buying a Mountain King to bring back to California.”

I searched for that Mountain King tree in California with no avail. It seemed the majority of Californians purchased real trees. I never agreed with the idea of cutting down a tree just for a few weeks of self gratification. I admit, they are beautiful and fill a home with a heavenly aroma, but I can’t kill a tree for that reason. Just the thought of the shear national number of trees cut only for this reason, makes me ill.

I was only in business for 6 months as the holidays approached. I wanted so badly to return home, to Detroit, to see my father for Christmas. I was born on this day and this has always been my favorite time of the year.

It wasn’t going to be easy, but I thought I could slip away between December 24 and 26. I was expecting business to be slow those days, but knew New Years was going to rock, so I had to return before. The crew was still green and I was still learning how to run a business. I don’t know what I was thinking, but I was going home! I missed my dad.

Nightly, I spoke with my father on the phone to discuss the day’s events. I’d bitch or brag and he’d listen and offer advice when he could. My father was a good man with the best work ethic of anyone I’ve ever known.

Al Starkey and his wife Marge, were new Little Caesar franchisees and had come to my restaurant to learn, while they waited for their first location to open in Monterey, California. Al and Marge were much older. Well... all the other franchisees were much older. Al wanted more experience running a Carry-Out unit and I needed the help, so it was a win, win.

I remember that day so clearly. It was a busy dinner rush and I was working the register. In the beginning, I had a hard time letting anyone touch the money! We had 4 phone lines that were constantly on fire during the dinner hour. As I opened the cash drawer to make change, I heard an employee say, “Brian, it’s for you.”

“Is it an emergency?” a question I would ask anytime a personal phone call came in during a busy hour. I always heard a no, but this time the employee said, “Yes, it is!”

I was handed the phone. It was my Aunt Carol. This is a woman who NEVER calls. All she said was, “Brian, are you sitting down?”

Instantly I knew there was something wrong with my father, but before I had a chance to calculate it, she tearfully said, “Your father is dead.”

All I remember is sinking to the floor behind the front counter with the cash drawer left wide open and unattended as Al swooped down like an enormous eagle and scooped me up in his arms as I screamed, “NO!” with tears streaming down my face.

I wasn’t supposed to fly back for a few days and I wasn’t near prepared to leave at this moment. How will the restaurant run while I’m gone? I will need to be away now for more than a few days and I only have one assistant manager in my employ. I had no manager since that was my role. Who will make the deposits, get bank change, place the food order, pay the bills? Who’s going to sign the payroll checks? I will be thousands of miles away and for how long? What am I going to do?

It was all a blur, but in less than 12 hours I was on my way to the airport and a Corporate Little Caesar Supervisor was being flown up from Los Angeles to run my restaurant until I returned. There wasn’t anybody else closer to help. My restaurant was the first in the Bay Area.

When I arrived at the San Francisco airport, there were people everywhere, sleeping on luggage. The airport looked like a homeless shelter. Dozens of flights were canceled due to inclement weather. I waited in such a long line staring blankly at everyone and everything, not knowing how I even got to the airport.

Al had called our corporate headquarters and made arrangements for the supervisor and then managed to get me packed and rushed to the airport. I was on autopilot without a clue what was happening.

As I approached the United Airlines ticket counter, I handed the lady my ticket. It was for the 24th of December and today was the 22nd. I vaguely recall the conversation, but it didn’t go well. She assumed I was just trying to get on an early flight, because of the holidays. All flights out of SFO to Detroit were booked for days because of the weather.

I explained my father had died and I had to return home today. She accused me of lying, sighting that I already had a ticket and that she was sure I was just looking to leave earlier. She asked for proof of his death and requested a copy of his death certificate. “I don’t have one! He just died!” I snapped. “I need to see some type of proof,” she responded with authority.

I became angry, belligerent in fact. “My father is dead dammit! I’m not lying to you! What the hell is wrong with you?” I was so loud and she was so offended and scared from my anger she called security.

I was escorted, screaming, into a private room, calling everybody, "Crazy!” It was I that was falling off the deep end. The security officer calmed me down and asked if there was a way to call the funeral home for more information. Once they confirmed my father was indeed deceased, EVERYBODY’S demeanor changed. My coach ticket was exchanged for a first class seat and I was on the next plane to Detroit.

Seated next to me was a young boy, perhaps five years old, traveling alone with a large bag of toys. The flight attendant was aware of my dilemma and apologized for the seating arrangement, but that was all that was available. It didn’t matter, just keep feeding me drinks (Black Russians) for the next 5 hours and I’ll be fine. I just want to go home!

I drifted off to sleep and the young boy escaped from his seat. That was just fine with me, until a very angry man stood before me, screaming at me, “Keep your brat and his toys out of the isles!"

Apparently the lone child took out all of his toys from the bag his mommy packed and had strewn them all over the coach cabin. As the angry man verbally assaulted me, I stood up to explain he's not my kid and fired back at my assailant, telling him to go f*** himself. I think it took the entire flight crew to restrain the two of us. If this would have happened today, with all the flight regulations they have, we both would have been jailed.

They escorted the man back to his coach seat, picked up all the toys throughout the cabin and instructed the boy not to leave his seat again. I requested yet another drink, as the little tyke said to me, “You don’t like me, do you?”

“Right now? NO, I don’t!” I scowled, and the little boy pouted as tears welled in his eyes. “Look,” I said to him, “Let's make a deal. I’ll make you a tent to play in if you just be good, deal?”

That made him happy and I pulled out his tray table and shrouded it with an over-sized blanket. He disappeared into the darkness of the blanket and quietly played with a toy. It was peace on Earth…well peace at 35,000 feet anyway!

When I arrived, I was pleasantly plumbed from all the free liquor. My Aunt Carol was waiting to pick me up. I insisted on immediately going to the house where I grew up. My aunt didn’t think it was a good idea. “Your father died in that house.” She expressed with concern. My two aunts and a neighbor were the ones that found my father dead in his arm chair.

“I don’t care. I didn’t see it and it doesn’t bother me. I want to go home!” I insisted. When we arrived, I let myself in and closed the door leaving my aunt outside, so I could be alone with my thoughts.

Before me, lit up so beautifully in the living room, was the most precious gift I have ever been given. There stood the most spectacular Mountain King Christmas tree I have ever seen. It was decorated in all blue and green. My father, being the perfectionist that he was, had purchased strings of blue and strings of green lights. But, to make it perfect, he managed to exchange every other bulb, so they were arranged: blue, green, blue, green, blue, green. He knew only I could appreciate such an effort. Can you imagine the time that took?

The Most Beautiful Christmas Tree EVER!

There were blue satin bells and blue satin balls hanging, yards of blue and green tinseled garland, blue tinsel icicles, all topped with a huge blue velvet bow. Wrapped around the base was a tree skirt that was made for my first Christmas birthday by a loving aunt. It was spectacular! Through my tears I spied a card propped at its base. I read the card:

“Wish We Could Be Together At Christmas. You were the best Christmas present I ever had. Love Dad”

As I read, endless tears streamed down my cheeks. I fell to my knees and whimpered uncontrollably, gasping for breath. How did he know we would never see each other again? He knew I had a ticket to come home. I reread the card over and over “Wish We Could Be Together” It still read the same. How did he know?

The Most Beautiful Christmas Card EVER!

I cried myself to sleep that night and quenched the moon with my tears, curled up like a baby beneath the shimmering blue and green until daybreak, the wetness in my eyes still present from my crescendo of tears.

After the funeral there was so much to arrange and many bills to pay. When my father’s credit card bill arrived, the story of the tree gained clarity. My father bought the tree and decorations the very day he died.

My father died after he finished putting up and decorating the wondrous tree. Judging by his time of death, 11:05 PM, December 20, he purchased the tree that afternoon, spent hours putting it up and decorating, and began his nightly ritual; getting ready for bed, showering, putting on his PJ’s, then sitting down to watch the 11 o'clock news in his favorite tangerine colored Naugahyde armchair, seated within his bedroom. He passed away in that chair of a heart attack. I was told it was so massive, he probably never knew what hit him.

Two years passed and I could not bare to reconstruct the tree. It never made it into my restaurant. I kept it for myself. It hurt too much to even take out of the box. Eventually I gave in and thought, “He wanted me to have this tree to enjoy. He died giving me this tree to enjoy. Dammit, start enjoying it!" So, every year you will find dad’s tree lovingly displayed at Christmas, decorated as he left it for me to find, with the tree skirt and his card beneath.

To Dad,

Wish we could be together at Christmas. You were the best father a son could ever have.

Love Brian