Bits and Pieces

 

Long, long ago in a city far, far away I was an older than average Resident Assistant at Southern Methodist University  in Dallas, Texas.  At the time I was struggling to come to grips with a very bad breakup with a young lady I cared very deeply about.  In my young, often idealistic way I could see us having some sort of future together, maybe not marriage but something long term.  She didn't see it that way and as I was making my way from her dorm room (she was an RA as well) after she broke the news to me that we were through I happened to find this poem posted on a resident's door;

 

Bits and Pieces

People.

People important to you,

People unimportant to you cross your life, touch it with love and move on.

There are people who leave you and you breathe a sigh of relief and wonder why you ever came into contact with them.

There are people who leave you, and you breathe a sigh of remorse and wonder why they had to go and leave such a gaping hole.

Children leave parents, friends leave friends. Acquaintances move on. People change homes.

People grow apart. Enemies hate and move on. Friends love and move on.

You think of the many people who have moved in and out of your hazy memory.

You look at those present and wonder.

I believe in God's master plan in our lives.
God moves people in and out of each other's lives, and each leaves a mark on the other. You find you are made up of bits and pieces of all who have ever touched your life.
You are more because of them, and would be less if they had not touched you.

Pray that you accept the bits and pieces in humility and wonder, and never question and never regret.

Bits and pieces, bits and pieces.

For some reason I decided to copy it down and I kept that copy for many years.  I think I finally threw away my copy as I moved and my wife Amy told me I should probably get rid of some of my old college detritus (I still have all my college notes from my English classes "just in case" - much to Amy's chagrin) since I probably didn't need it. 

At the time, I didn't know the author of the poem.  It wasn't until many years later that I descovered it was written by Lois Chaney and included in the book of poems "God is No Fool".  Although we can be his fools and make him laugh (I seem to do it on a weekly if not daily basis), he is not the type to wear motley and play the fool for us (can you tell I've been reading the Game of Thrones series?).

This past summer as I pedaled my way across America (and fried my brain in the process), I found myself ruminating on various aspects of my life to pass the time as I watched the miles roll by from my 3 1/2 foot perch.  What had led me to do what I'm doing now?  How had things aligned to meet my wife (without whom my cross country journey would never have been successful)?  How had things all worked in such a way that my three beautiful and special children could be born?  What were the influences in my life that brought me to the place I was now?  Who were those people that have shaped who I am?

And I would think of the poem from years ago and fragments would come back to me.  As those fragments shaped themselves in my head I would find myself thinking about "the many people who have moved in and out of [my] hazy memory."

First of course is my father.  He has always been my hero and always given me the example of what it means to do your duty, to do a job well and give it your all - not for glory and accolades but for the simple pride of knowing you did your very best.  I guess all Army brats think that of their fathers for all our fathers, especially those of us whose father's were "lifers" know what it means to have a parent who is career military.  Their deeds go unnoticed by the outside community and even we don't often know what they've done until years later.  My father was (and is) such a man.  In his indomitable silent way he is still my hero.

And as my thoughts continued to wander amongst the many bits and pieces of those who have shaped me, I would often think of teachers whose encouragment and example led me to my career as a performer and a teacher.  First on this list would be my fourth grade teacher Mr. Jean Archambeaux who taught me that it was okay to be very smart and that I needn't hide the fact that I was intelligent and creative.  My middle school teachers were all a blur to me as I kept moving from place to place but it was in high school at Ansbach American High school that the most important impressions were made on me by teachers and fellow students alike and as I rode I found myself thinking of those days in Southern Bavaria and the friendships (and not-so-friendships) that were formed there and how they created who I am today.

First the teachers, not as numerous but important in the impact on my young impressionable mind.  Oddly enough, I think Peter Micelli would be first and foremost on that list.  He welcomed me to his German I class and because of that I excelled (so much so that years later when I went to Switzerland on tour I was complimented on my German by a Swiss watchmaker - high praise indeed, methinks) in the language but most important, he invited me to try out for the wrestling team.  I was smaller and weaker than all the other kids and basically became the wrestling equivalent of a "tackling dummy" but I was hooked and my stubborn Irish make up refused to quit.  I became the butt of jokes and hazings but those only served to shape my personality even more (more on that later).

Next on that list would be Cooper Patterson and Emily VanSweden - the music and drama teachers.  Because of them I learned a love and appreciation for music and theatre that would become my life.  I wish I had been more talented as a musician but Mr. Patterson was patient with me and encouraging to the point that I joined almost every band possible.  He even offered to keep me at his house when my parents went back to the States so I could graduate with my class but my folks said no.  Ms. VanSweden kindled in me a love for English and acting as well as expressing myself that helped me find a place at C.E. Ellison High School when we moved to Texas.  Music and drama were the two clubs I gravitated to and because of what she kindled in me I found a niche there.  Today I carry a part of her in me constantly - especially when I'm teaching my own drama classes today.

And there were two others during my Ansbach days that shaped who I am, both coaches - one for football and one for wrestling.  Gary McCauley was a guidance counselor but a much loved (and sometimes feared) football coach.  He drove us mercilessly but he was fair and passionate and he taught me not only a love of the game but also how to work as part of a team.  I was small but I was strong and he gave me the chances to prove myself eventually putting me in enough quarters to earn my varsity letter.  The second of these two was Ron Materna who taught physical education but took over for Coach Micelli when he moved away.  Coach Materna was tough in the way that only a phys ed teacher of the 70's could be and it shaped me in more ways than I could ever thank him for.  His practices (and classes) taught me how to push myself physically farther than I thought I could - often to exhaustion.  But then I would dig deeper to try and find more.  I was as talented a wrestler as my fellows but my junior year I had developed such an incredible amount of stamina that I won matches because I could outlast my opponents.  The endurance and tolerance for pain that he instilled in me served me well as I became a professional dancer and as I was pushing myself in 115 degree heat over 123 grueling miles in the desert.  Without that core and that NEVER, EVER QUIT mentality he instilled in us I would never have made it.

About a year ago I became a member of a facebook group for Ansbach American High School and in the last few weeks a few of the members have begun scanning in and posting pictures of our yearbooks.  While I was riding cross country I did find myself thinking of many of my high school classmates from my Ansback days but in the last week I have begun thinking on them even more as I have been virtually flipping through the pages of these yearbooks.  Maybe its the fact that almost all of the classmates I would have graduated with are either approaching the half century mark or have just passed it but as I ponder my own impending passage of that dubious honor I find myself thinking more and more of them - the friends, the "frenemies" (in all honesty I can't say I ever hated anyone), the loves, the crushes, those who were (and still are to a very large extent) a part of my life and who shaped who I have become.

So where to begin?  I think I'll take the bitter pill first and start with the "frenemies".  Now don't get me wrong, looking over my life I can't honestly say there is anyone that I have ever really HATED!  I've disliked people intensely a few times but I've never hated them.  But these guys were ones that teased me rather mercilessly and considering the fact that I was 4'6" as a freshman and couldn't hit 100 pounds if I was wet I guess I can't totally blame them - I WAS and easy (if somewhat fast and elusive) target.  Guys like Richard Webb, Bud and James Pettit, Chester Sykes, Steve Longland, Richard Ahearn and pretty much everyone on the basketball team my freshman year.  As a freshman (i.e., "mat back") wrestler they were like the leaders of my initiation into the sport.  But as much as they tormented me they also pushed me to be better.  They made me earn their acceptance of me and it took all season but at the end I think I gained a bit.  They taught me perseverance and the importance of not taking no for an answer.  They taught me to push through it no matter what and made me a better athlete because of it.  Qualities I sorely needed this summer when I was pedaling through the desert for 123 miles in 115 degree heat.

I guess following close on their heels would be those athletes whose abilities I admired and strove to emulate.  Once again, I can list Richard Ahearn on that list along with Freddie Jones, George Webb, Merle Rogers, Tony Washington, Rainer Hoedl (he was a beast!), Mike Chairat, George Franciscus and Brett Hardin.  They were such well rounded athletes that I strove to be like them and in some cases competed with them for spots on teams.  Wanting to be like (or better) than them drove me to get up in the morning and run three to five miles a day, even in the snow. I figured if I could create great endurance I might be able to be as good as them, I could be the kind of athlete they were.  By the end of my junior year I think I succeeded somewhat, although I would never reach the heights some of my heroes had attained, they at least showed me the way to push myself - again, a quality I sorely needed this past summer!

Then there was another group of guys who really, really formed so much of what I am today.  Guys like Brett Hardin, Scott (Tiny) Hoyt, Tony Washington, and Jon Forester.  They weren't my best friends but they were definitley guy who accepted me for what I was and helped me get through a lot of my awkwardness.  By their acceptance of many of my quirks they showed me it was okay to be myself.  It was especially great when we moved to Ft. Hood and Tony was my next door neighbor (again) and Jon was there in town and he reconnected with my cousin Taeil and spent a lot of time at our house.

And then there were the bros!  Way before we heard about things like "bronies", "bromance", "bro code" and the various other "broliciousness" there was a group of guys who accepted me totally for who I was, short and slightly geeky - Ed Trevarrow, Mark Pariseau, Ralph Ellis, Vincent Swadis, and Jon Pongratz.  I have to say that it was mainly Ed and Mark who helped me form something that would truly become a core of who I am today for they inspired in me the love of cycling.  The time we spent digging through dumpsters for bike parts and then painstakingly crafting them into our own Frankebikes (remember the basement rooms full of parts?) created in me a love for bicycles.  However, it was actually riding these creations all over Southern Bavaria that became part of who I would be for the rest of my life.  The love of freedom the two wheeled contraptions gave us (not to mention the philosophical discussions that would ultimately ensue) gave me a core for what would become a life long passion and love affair - one that continues to this day.  I can't tell you how many times I thought of the Ansbach bikers as I traversed the country this summer.  And quite honestly, I would often think how much fun they would probably have if they were with me - and then I would realize they would.

And speaking of passion.  Okay, perhaps not "passion" but certain far off crushes.  As I have been perusing the old familiar yearbooks it really took me back how many there were.  I know almost none of them ever realized that the skinny, geeky kid they had in class, in clubs and on teams had any sort of feelings for them.  To be honest I was too scared to even ask them to dance at the ever popular dances we would hold at school.  But from afar I worshipped/crushed/adored so many of these girls.  Girls like Pam and Patty Krueger, Heather Renner, Angie and Lisa Sasser, Monique Pariseau (okay, I think she knew, much to my chagrin), Kathy Emmert, Nancy Hughes, Martha Valasquez, Tracy Cloud, Sonja Snyder, Robin Fortune (I know, you never knew), Nancy Mick, Debbie Rogers, Sylvia Johnson, Christy Cunningham (I think she knew), Becky Lewis, Sandie Hudson, Michelle Cleveland, and one that I could never, ever tell - Sherri Powell.  There were also others like Dia Harlow and Virginia Mckloskey that so influenced me that I can't even write it all down here but you ladies still reside in my heart, every single one of you.  Although I could never be in your league, you all were adored from afar and became part of who I am today and remind me of the wonderful times of Ansbach.

And so many memories of clubs, field trips, games, concerts, dances, practices, sledding, cycling, discoing, wandering, and just hanging out with all of you that truly taught me to be accepting of the world and that there was more to life than the little corner of Georgia I had left behind.  And even though I would move on to Texas and ultimately New York and across the world as a performer - you Ansbach Cougars of 1976-1980 made me who I am today and I thank you all.  I carry you with me as I go through life and I couldn't ask for better company.

I know I probably have forgotten some names in each of the categories and if you're reading this and I left you out I truly am sorry.  I blame it on the CRAFT disease I have contracted as I near the half century mark.  What's CRAFT you may ask?  Can't Remember A Freakin' Thing!  So I'm sorry to have forgotten but plesae know that you are still a part of me!

Oh, and for a little then and now action;

Chillin in 'Da Hood - Back in the Day with Bobby Longland, the Original Photo Bomber!

Chillin' with my Boy in the Hood! 

Stay well my friends and I'll be thinking about you on the road!



The Rumors of My Demise........

Growing up, one of my favorite authors (among so very many) was Samuel Clemens, most famously known by his nom de plume, Mark Twain. As anyone who has read much of his prolific output can attest, his had a somewhat rapier wit. Many of my favorite quotes have come from his writings, including the one included in the picture above. I spent two years of my life when I was in middle school (in Georgia of all places) reading as much of his writing as I could get out of the school library and other sundry places. Among some of the other works I read were these;

The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County

The Innocents Abroad

Roughing It

The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today

Sketches New and Old

Old Times on the Mississippi

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer

A Tramp Abroad 

The Prince and the Pauper

Life on the Mississippi

Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court

Pudd'n'head Wilson

How to Tell a Story and other Essays

The Man That Corrupted Hadleyburg

The Diary of Adam and Eve

A Dog's Tale

The War Prayer 

Is Shakespeare Dead?

Letters from the Earth

So it's not surprising that in 8th grade I was accused by one teacher of having a "smart mouth".  I couldn't help it, I was influenced by all the sharp witicisms I was consuming from the pages of his work.  Of course, this was Martinez, Georgia in the mid-70's and my English teacher was thrilled that she had a student that was in love with word play and the power of the written word.  Not all of my teachers felt the same.

 

Although Mark Twain died in 1910, on two occasions the writer was incorrectly feared dead. Though only the second case would really be considered as a premature obituary, the first is often erroneously cited as the most famous case of the incorrect report of the passing of an individual:

1. In 1897 a journalist was sent to inquire after Twain's health, thinking he was near to death; in fact it was his cousin who was very ill. Though (contrary to popular belief) no obituary was published, Twain recounted the event in the New York Journal of 2 June 1897, including his famous words "The report of my death was an exaggeration" (which is usually misquoted, e.g. as "The rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated", or "Reports of my death are greatly exaggerated", or quite often "The rumours of my demise have been greatly exaggerated").
2. On 4 May 1907, when people lost track of a yacht he was traveling on, the New York Times published an article saying he might have been lost at sea.  In fact, the yacht had been held up by fog, and Twain had disembarked. Twain read the article, and cleared up the story by writing a humorous account in the New York Times the following day.

And its the first quote that I take as my inspiration for this blog entry. 

 

I have to admit I have never been a very good pen pal or correspondent of any type.   Back in the day (which as you can see below would have been somewhere along the mid spine)

 

 

I really did try to keep a few pen pals as that was before the joys of instantaneous internection connectivity but those brief forays into long range correspondance always faded after six months or so.  Therefore, it should be understandable that my natural proclivity is not able to keep up long term correspondence.  Its not that I don't know how to write.  Since high school I've received compliments on how well I express myself in the written forum.  Its just that given the choice, I would much rather read than write. 

 

There have been two notable exceptions to this natural order.  The first was during the long separations that I had from Amy when we were first together.  As young performers we would take work wherever we could get it and more often than not it meant that we weren't in the same place at the same time while doing it.  As a matter of fact, a month before we got married I was performing West Side Story in Berlin, Germany while Amy was performing Nunsense in Akron, OH USA!  Nevertheless, I would dutifully write her letters and cards to keep alive our connection.  It was part of the reality of that constant separation that caused me to leave "the business" as it became increasingly more clear to me that the only way we could have a family was if we were in the same place at the same time.

 

The other exception was this past summer when I made a concerted effort to try and write every day while on the road to let everyone know how the journey had progressed.  However even that was not a complete success as I have twelve entries in various stages of draft completion.  Although considering we were gone for 74 days, I guess that's not so bad for me.  Added to that I have five other drafts stretching back to 2011 that I started and never finished for a total of 17 unfinished drafts - but I'm working on it.  One idea I have is to collect all of those blog entries and create a book of our travels with each entry being a separate chapter.  For those of you who have followed my blog posts you know they tend to be long and verbose (despite my best efforts, this has been a lifelong "curse" I always write TOO much) so with a little judicious editing and addition they can be chapters unto themselves.

So what has all of this got to do with Mark Twain's quote?  I've been far to silent for far too long and I do know that I have followers who are interested in some of what I say as evidenced from the almost 30,000 views this blog has received.  I'm sure some of you who read my blogs somewhat regularly over the summer have probably wondered what the hell happened to me and what is going on?  To be sure, a lot has happened in my life both good and bad, most recently we had a scare of sorts with William but we just received word this past week that he is "clean" and healthy and that the likelihood of his tumor returning is pretty nil.  To be honest this has consumed most of our life here in the month of February.  The news has really brought us all back to life, pretty much the way this guy feels;
 

 

As you can imagine our lives are incredibly happy now because our little boy is healthy and clean. 

 

Another thing that has been going on is my incredible lack of motivation to ride.  I've chalked up my riding log and I've realized that I've only ridden five days since the first of the year.  I've had many colleagues at school ask me if I'm still riding and I've been incredibly embarassed to admit that I haven't.  Now I can justify a lot of the last eight weeks away by talking about how I'm just getting over the flu, how the roads were really bad because of Winter Storm Nemo, how I've been unable to ride on the weekends because I'm a member of the Northport Fire Department and I want to be able to go on calls, my nagging knee injury that made bending my leg near impossible for two weeks (which I treated myself, shhh don't tell my orthopedist), etc.

 

But in reality the answer is simply I SUCK!  I have allowed myself to fall into the post "I HAVE  ACHIEVED MY DREAM" doldrums.  Last year I logged the most miles that I have ever ridden in my life on the road (7746.26) and I've just been feeling worn out and unmotivated to get back out there.  I've been forgetting the reasons I started riding in the first place;

 

It's fun!

It's freedom!

I can make a difference!

 

So I'm happy to say I'm back and I'm getting back in the saddle and starting to pedal again to help those who need it.  For starters, I'm going to be part of the Bicycle Rescue Squad for the Doug Wood 5K Cross Country Run on April 13!  Its one of the reasons I wanted to join the Rescue Squad in the first place - to combine my passion for helping others with my passion for cycling.  Its my hope that by next year I'll be a fully certified EMT and I can really be even more of a help to folks.

 

Secondly, I'm joining my wife, daughter and one of my sons in shaving our heads for the annual St. Baldrick's event.  Amy and Sarah have formed a team called Bald and Beautiful and although they are beautiful, I'm just going to be bald.  The only problem is as of yet I haven't raised any money towards my $500 goal.  If any of you would like to help me get there, you can contribute to funding children's cancer research by clicking here.  C'mon, whose going to be the first?

 

Oh, and I got back on the bike today and rode in to work.  And that was fun.

 

So, I'm not dead yet, I'm coming back to life and I hope you'll all join me for the ride!

 

And to make sure I don't really die, at least I'm not dumb enough to do this on my commute;

Stay well and I'll see you on the road!

A Decade of Dual Dynamos

(Ahhhh, The Havoc They Can Wreak)

Ten years ago today our world was turned topsy turvey by the arrival of two long awaited individuals - Willam Padraig Gabriel and his twin James Eamon Gabriel.  If the road to their conception wasn't long and arduous enough, the day of their both was a tortuous affair all on its own.  Let me sum up;

 

You see, the boys were originally due in April but it had not been an easy pregnancy for Amy.  First, we had an amniocentesis to make sure the boys were going to be healthy and unfortunately it caused one of the amniotic sacs to rupture requiring Amy to be on bed rest for weeks.  Not too long after she recovered sufficiently to be get out of bed she had to be taken to the hospital three separate times for extreme dehydration due to the incredible morning sickness she was experiencing.

 

Then at the end of January, the second sac (not to be outdone by his brother) ruptured as well and this time they hospitalized Amy instead of having her stay on bed rest at home.  The idea was to keep her from going into labor as long as possible and also to try and introduce steroids into the boys so their organs would continue to develop.  If they could make it two weeks then it might be enough time to let their lungs (the last of the internal organs to fully develop) grow completely.  I would go and visit her as often as I could which was difficult since Sarah was only 3 1/2 at the time and I couldn't always get her there.  Yes, I was Mr. Mom and the entire world did not end.

 

The night of Februay 6, 2003 started out with a heavy snow that just kept coming down.  We knew that becuase of Amy's condition she could go into labor any day and we were trying to be ready for it but deep down we hoped we could just get past this blizzard they were predicting.  Now back then they didn't name the winter storms as they ahve taken to doing since last year (as of this writing Winter Storm Nemo is bearing down on us) so I couldn't tell you what the storm was, only it was piling up outside my door. 

 

At about 6:00 in the morning I get a phone call from Amy telling me to call her mother and ask her to drive to Smithtown to watch Sarah because I should probably get to the hospital.  I called her and she said she would come out and in the meantime I got Sarah dressed and I proceeded to start shoveling the driveway which at this time had about a foot of snow.  I then get another phone call from Amy telling me I should get the neighbor from across the street to watch Sarah because we weren't going to be able to wait for her mother to come.  By now it's really coming down and I don't even have the back of the Volvo wagon uncovered but I go and get Sue and she comes over to stay with Sarah.

 

I'm digging feverishly when Sue comes out to tell me there's another call from Amy.  I get on the phone with her just in time to hear someone in the background saying that she can't talk to me and they are taking her now.  I can't even get anyone to answer me, I'm just hearing it all over the phone.  So I hang up the phone, I shovel what I can and just make the decision to drive out of the rest.  And its still snowing hard!

 

I get on 25A ( small winding two lane road) and suddenly I find myself behind every person who should ABSOLUTELY NOT on the road in the snow.  It truly seemed like everyone had completely forgotten how to drive - especially everyone in an SUV!  But eventually I get there, get parked and get to the delivery room - only to try and get myself into the paper jumpsuit and into the delivery room to be with my wife.  Apparently Amy was still composed and conscious enough to tell the nurse to tell me that one of them was already delivered just to see if I would freak out.  Luckily for me she didn't do that.

 

The boys were tiny, only 3 lbs 5 oz, and 3 lbs 6 oz.  We were able to glimpse them just for brief moment before they were rushed off to the Stonybrook NICU where they stayed for the next six weeks.  We were so lucky because not only were they in arguable the best NICU on Long Island, they had no physical complications due to their ten week prematurity.  And this is what we were finally able to see once they got them all cleaned up;

 

 

It's been a rough ten years and for the first three or four we were constantly worried that some sort of physical complications would arise becuase they were born so early.  We would attend all the March of Dimes meetings with parents of other preemies and always feel so guilty that our sons were healthy and doing so well.  After a while we had to stop going because our "survivor's guilt" was just too much.  And now it's ten years later and they are the joy of our lives.  Our little fighters made it through all the possible complications and they are smart, inquisitive, giving, empathic, funny, brave, helpful, kind, polite, and so much more.  We are truly blessed by all they give us.

 

And yes, we are still dealing with waiting on the results of William's operation.  Although the surgeon was 98% sure it was benign we are not going to be completely at ease until we get the pathology report that says 100%.  Until then we just wait and count our blessings - both of them.  And now a brief retrospective of their young lives;

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And there you have it, a quick retrospective in the lives of our two miracle boys who made it through the blizzard, survived the improbability of no complications after six weeks in an incubator and now they are the twin terrors tornadoes joys of our lives.  We couldn't imagine what life would be like without the topsey turvey journey they have given us but we wouldn't trade the ride for anything!

 

Stay well and I'll see you on the road (I'm still riding for William)!



 



One of Our Own

This past Wednesday dawned way too early as we got all the kids up, dressed and fed.  It wasn't the simple fact that it was 5:30 in the morning, nor the fact that I had been on call with the Northport Fire Department last night (one call at 12:00 so that wasn't too bad) and had slept on the couch.

Instead, I think it had much to do with the fact that Amy and I didn't get much sleep over the last two nights as we were waiting for January 30th to roll around.  No, its not an anniversary of any particular event in our lives, rather it was the day that we would be taking our beautiful little boy in to Stonybrook Hospital to have the tumor removed from his shoulder blade.  None of us had really slept well for quite a few nights worried about what might happen.  William would get up a few times a night not really sure why but it was clear he was more anxious than his nine-year-old brain could rationalize.  Amy and I weren't able to sleep for the simple reason that this was OUR little boy.

Those of you who followed our Connor's Army Ride Across America (or CARAAM for short) know that we were riding for the children of Sunrise Day Camp and with the combined efforts of our entire family Connor's Army was able to raise $25,000 for the camp (by the way, if you're reading this its still not to late to donate, all you have to do is click here for more information) and send four kids to a life changing summer experience. 

What many of you may not know is how much my children invested themselves in this mission to help the kids of Sunrise.  It wasn't just giving up their summer to ride in a van and support their insane summer.  Wherever we went they were the embassadors and PR crew par excellence.  All it took was for Amy or I to engage in a conversation with someone about what we were doing for the summer, one of the kids would come up and hand them a CARAAM brochure and talk about it too.  And more often than not it was William who was being the PR rep.

The kids also had a goal this summer of riding along with me and also contributing to the effort to help the kids of Sunrise by doing a small percentage of what daddy was doing.  Sarah's goal was 10% or 400 miles.  The boys on their little 20" bikes were going to have a harder time of it and couldn't really handle steep hills so they could only join me when the going was relatively flat so they made a goal of 100 miles - 1/4 of Sarah's goal.  They would pedal along as fast as they could move their legs and any time the terrain sloped upwards William seemed to feel it the most.  But he was determined that he would get his miles in.  He was the one that was the most raring to go and even now when the weather is 20 degrees outside he wants to go on a bike ride with daddy.  He loves it and that's why he was so devastated when during our day of riding from Mount Vernon to Alexandria on the Mount Vernon Trail he pooped out and couldn't finish.  Amy had to pick him up and take him along and for the next week he would continue to fret about not being able to finish his miles, not being able to get his 100.  So during our layover in Swedesboro we made it a point to go on a ride so he could be even with James. 

My son is a fighter and yet he is one of the most empathic little boys you'll ever meet.  He was so into helping the kids fighting cancer and when we met Elijah Dalton he immediately bonded with him and they began playing as if they were old friends.  He understands that children who are sick are just like he and his brother, it doesn't matter if they have no hair or if they have other physical things going on.  And he just wants then to feel better.  That's why this week has been so hard.

You see, over the summer William, Sarah and James were spending lots of time in the pool.  We always tried to stay places where they could swim so we could make sure they got some exercise.  With all that time shirtless we became aware that William had a lump small lump on his left shoulder blade that didn't match the lump on his right.  We kept an eye on it and it didn't seem to hurt him.  But over the course of the summer we noticed it was getting larger.  It felt hard to the touch so we new it wasn't cartiledge or soft tissue but we had no idea what it was.  We returned to Northport and it still wasn't hurting him so we just kept an eye on it.

In October we noticed it was about three times the size it had been in July so we decided to take him to get it checked out.  His pediatrician suggested we go to a specialist and that would suggested another.  To make a long story short, after a lot of testing (MRI, Xray, and others) they couldn't decide conclusively what it was but the best guess they had was that it was an osteochondroma.   And it looked something like this - PLEASE NOTE, WILLIAMS' WAS NOWHERE NEAR THIS SIZE! It was perhaps 1/4 the size of this one.  I only show this picture because for some stupid reason we never took a picture of William's and this one is roughly in exactly the same place.

However, after all the testing they weren't 100% certain.  They also said that although they were reasonably sure that it was benign, it would continue to grow as he grew and if it did it could end up matasticizing at some point.  It was at that point Amy and I both said "take it out".  If there was to be any chance at all that William's growth could become full-blown cancerous we wanted it gone.  Added to that is the fact that most osteochondromas tend to be found at the end of growth plates on long bones and this one was in a scapula, not in soft tissue so the doctors are completely sure.  All William knew was that he had a tumor and he was going to have an operation which is what I think led to all the sleepless nights.

So on Wednesday Amy took William to Stony Brook Hospital and I dropped James off at intramurals at 7:00 and then I headed off to join them.  We didn't have a lot of time with him before he went in and then it was time to decide who would be with him as he dropped off to sleep from the anesthesia.  Of course mama won out and she sang him one of his favorite lullabies from when he was little;



Finally, a little after 9:00 they came out to tell us that the surgery had begun.  Now it was just the waiting.  We posted on facebook, caught up with e-mails and generally tried to think positive, healing thoughts and direct all our energy towards our brave little boy.  Finally Dr. Kahn met with us and told us that he got it all, it looked clean, he was 98% sure it was benign but that we would have to wait for two weeks until the pathology came in to be certain.

When they finally let us in to see him it was all I could do to keep from bursting into tears.   From all the calls I have gone on with the Northport Fire Department I'm fairly used to seeing folks in hospital beds.  A lot of the time I help put them in there.  But those are full sized adults and they're not my little boy.  As I saw him there on his side with the IV dripping out and surrounded by rolled up blankets to keep him from rolling on to his back I felt so helpless because there was nothing I could do.  Because I know my way around the beds I could adjust them and I knew what the SPO2 meant and how to interpret it.  It made me feel like I was doing something useful.

William was in a lot of pain and it tore me up to not be able to make him feel better at all.  The nurses all fell in love with him and his pink streaked hair (which he explained was for Valentine's Day - see it up top) and he charmed them all.  His nurse kept giving him a small dosage of pain reliever every five minutes but finally she had to give him an oral as that wasn't helping.  Small wonder since the doctor's basically scooped out the bone.  Finally we were able to take him home.

William has spent the last two days at home in his pajamas with mama, watching videos and resting.  He still wakes quite often in the night because of the pain and we have to give him doses of Tylenol with Coddeine which only last about three hours.  But he is healing and he is getting better thanks to all the prayers and thoughts of our family and friends.  But I'm still feeling helpless to do something for our little boy so I have to ride.  After a summer spent riding for the children of Sunrise with my own children its now time to ride for one of my own, my little William.

So when I rolled into Syosset High School this morning, this is what the Weather.com listed as the current conditions.

 

Was I freezing?  Definitely.  Was the wind blowing faster than I could pedal?  Roger that.  But all the pain and cold I felt today was nothing compared to the pain my little boy is feeling in his bones.  So I ducked my head and just kept pedaling.  And if I was hoping for a killer tailwind to help me on the way back that would be a big negatory - I had it right on my beam the entire time.  But it was all for my boy, my brave, truthful and unselfish real boy.

 

So now I need to finish gluing on the weights for the boys' Pinewood Derby cars and get them set for the weigh-in tomorrow.  William is going to get out of the house for the first time in three days and I can't wait to hear all the stories of how his friends are going to appreciate his being back.

 

And now I leave you with the lullaby I always sang for William when he was a little boy, "New Words" by Maury Yeston from the musical In the Beginning as sung by Brian Stokes Mitchell, enjoy.

  



Stay Well Y'all, and I will see you on the road - I'm pedaling for William.