He's checking his list...

I was talking to Karsyn the other day about something I can't quite remember, but the conversation turned toward something I mentioned that I really liked. It was something at a store or something I had seen on the street. I don't recall which.

Anyway, she turns to me and tells me that I should “ask Santa for it.” It is that tie of the year after all.

“Well, I haven’t asked Santa for anything in a very long time,” I replied. “I’m not even sure I’d qualify, since I’m not a kid.”

It was at that point that realized my mistake.

“You can only ask Santa for stuff if you’re a kid?” asked the inquisitor.

“Um…well, I’m not quite sure, but I’ve never thought about it. There just came a time when I stopped asking him for stuff,” I mustered weakly. “I guess I could ask him for it.”

Then out of the blue, the logic started to roll.

“Why don’t you ask him for your Porsche?” she asked.

“Well, I guess I could ask him for the Porsche that I’ve been waiting for all my life,” I responded with a matter-of-factness that only a 7 year-old would dare.

Had there actually been a Santa Claus nearby, I probably would have plopped my big butt on his lap and laid it all out. “Can I have a 911 Santa? A midnight blue one?”

I think I’m going to ask him the next chance I get. That would of course require for me to actually set foot in a mall, which as my wife will attest, is something I would choose after a root canal if given a preference.

The point of all of this is that I had forgotten when it was like to experience that fantastic time in your life when guys like Santa Claus still existed. It’s only a matter of time before some punk kid at school ruins the whole thing for her. That will then be quickly passed on to spoil her little brother’s idea of that Santa guy.

So with that, I’m going out on a limb and am formally publishing my Christmas with list for 2006:

My baby

– Midnight Blue Porsche 911 Carrera 4 (any year will do…I’m not picky!)

– 2 year subscription to Vintage Motorsport Magazine

- $15 climb in Yahoo stock price by May 1st

- A speedy recovery for my dad

- Health and prosperity for all my family and friends

- Peace on earth (ok, who am I kidding)

- A Stanley Cup in June

That’s it…I know it’s a short list, but I’m not a greedy.

One tough son-of-a-gun

My dad has cancer. Words I never thought I’d say. When I think of my dad, I think of this being immune from the reality of things as nasty as cancer. He’s the one constant in my life which has never changed. My mentor and consigliare, always available for advice and counsel.

He had surgery last Wednesday to remove his prostate. And as I’ve always known him, he’s been a rock through the whole ordeal. He never whined about having to faceoff with his ailment. Not once has he uttered a word about being scared or worried. He’s a rock you see.

He’s always been like that. I can’t think of one time in my life when I’ve ever seen him to be scared of anything. He’s been pretty matter of fact with this latest test, which scares me. I’ve lost loved ones before who didn’t seem to openly fret about their illnesses, even though they would eventually succumb to the diseases that seemingly snuck up on them.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying he’s being cavalier about his illness. In fact it’s exactly the opposite. My dad doesn’t take anything lightly. It’s just that he has this attitude that he will get past this and he get on with his life.

For that attitude, I’m eternally optimistic. It’s hard not to be when the person in the middle of the fight is that strong. He can’t wait to get the clear from his doctor, so he can spend Christmas in Hawaii, like he’s done every year for the past 15 years.

He’s a tough son-of-a-gun. It’s a trait I wish I had inherited more of. Perhaps it’s the way he’s carried himself over the years. When I was a kid, he smashed his thumb while he was assembling a drafting table in our old house. Rather than writhing in pain (like I would have been doing), I found him laying on his back with his mangled thumb stretched out over his head.

“It won’t bleed as much if I keep it elevated over my heart,” he said to me. “Do me a favor and go get Lilliana (our neighbor who lived across the street) and see if she can drive me to the hospital…I don’t think I can drive.”

To this day, I still can’t believe he didn’t scream when that spring loaded table arm nearly severed that thumb off. Did I mention that he’s one tough son-of-a-gun?

When we checked into the hospital last week, he was just as matter of fact. He’s made it very clear that Thanksgiving dinner at his house will go on as planned and nothing will change. Six days after having major surgery, he’s more concerned that the cranberry sauce is the same as it’s always been.

I can’t wait to look back on this in a few years and reminisce with him about the time he reminded me of just how damn tough he is.

Marrow Donor

If you haven't received my email yet, Sonya and I have taken up a cause to help a dear friend of ours. His name is Lars, I've blogged about one of his pervious battles before. He has a new fight on his hands. It's called Leukemia.

He won't fight this one alone.

Find out more at: Marrow Donor

Help Us Help Lars

Boo!

One of our pumpkins

OK, I know I'm lame for taking a week to post this, but here's my 2006 Halloween report. It's been a busy October, and things are just destined to get nuttier with the Holidays and all.

We had a good Ole Hallows Eve. The day started with a costume parade at Karsyn’s school, which was followed by a day or work at the office for me (frightening stuff actually), and finally wrapped up with some trick-or-treating. Actually Sonya took the kids out, while I manned the candy bowl at home.

As usual, out neighborhood is lame. We had maybe 30 kids come by all night. I remember when I was a kid, we’d hit every house within a 5 mile radius of home. We trick-or-treated until we had homes burned in our shoes. These kids today are just plain lazy I tell you. No wonder they’re all obese!

Shirly Temple, Jack Sparrow and Belle

I remember this trick I had as a kid. I’d always make sure I had a mask incorporated into my costume, because I could double up on houses. I’d hit a house up for some candy with the mask on, walk around the side of the house, remove the mask, then hit the same house again. I have to say that I was quite brilliant as a 9-year-old.

OK, I was a little punk, but I’d collect twice the candy in half the time. It’s not my fault you were dumb and took twice as long as me to score your loot. That’s resourceful if you ask me.

And they wonder where Ry gets it from?!?!?

Anyhow, it was a pretty quite evening. We had one loon come by. He was 13, maybe 14 years old, about 6 feet tall, dressed as a pumpkin. Yes, a 6-foot tall pumpkin. Glasses, disheveled hair, the whole nine yards.

West Valley Costume Parade

Anyway, I give him a piece of candy, but he doesn’t like it. Only he stands there for about 30 seconds silent. He then tells me he doesn’t like the type of candy I’ve selected for him and proceeds to attempt to grab something else out of my bowl.

Fortunately, my guard is already up, because the kid just looks weird. So I pull the bowl back and tell him to keep his mits out of my candy bowl. And yes, I locked the door after closing it, and yes, it did cross my mind that the kid would return with a cleaver an hour later.

Thankfully, he did not.