These fine looking young folks are my first cousins, the Porrettas. From left to right, you see Anthony "the Big A", Maria, Tom, and Carla. They're turned out in front of their Detroit home and are dressed in their Easter finery.
They're the children of my mother's sister, Mary Ellen and her husband Tony.



My brother Paul and I are the youngest cousins of our generation. When were visited relatives, the duty of entertaining us usually feel to younger cousins, and this meant that when we went to the Motor City, the job fell to Tom.


Tom did good work. He turned me on to Soupy Sales, and that simple act provided me with joy for years. We did White Fang and Black Tooth, and when he called me "Birdbath" I laughed uncontrollably. He had a friend down the street, a blond haired kid named Tim, and they told me that Tim was Lion quarterback Bobby Layne. I believed them both and happily told everyone who would listen that I knew Bobby Layne. It was a cool time. I was about four. I was dialed in.


Tom lived a good life. He lost his battle with colon cancer earlier this year. He was kind, and gentle, and smart. His life was rich with family. I have a Tom story that lives on in my memory--which means that some of the details may or may not be correct, and Tom would be good natured in correcting any details that I may misrepresent. Here goes: When I was in high school, and he was fresh out of the navy, he performed one of the all-time family stunts. He drove his mother's Buick convertible down to Florida. One night he parked on the beach, lowered the convertible top, and went to sleep. Over night, the tide came in. The car was flooded, and Tommy had some 'splaining to do. However much 'splaining he did, it didn't prevent his story from being told in solemn tones with pregnant pauses sprinkled throughout to allow the guilt to soak in with requisite caution and introspection.


So, in Tom's memory, and for our own sake, most of us have had a {begin whisper voice}colonoscopy{end whisper voice}. (Those of you who knew my mother or my aunt understand the whisper voice). I had mine this week.


Those of you who know me know that I can have a sophisticated conversation with you about the effects of chronic pain. However, I have {begin wood knocking sound} never {end wood knocking sound} had surgery. So, the concept of sedation for surgery is new to me. I understand why. Surgical sedation is powerful stuff. Upon arrival at the Endoscopy Center the staff told me that the worst was over. They were right. I was given a sedative named Versed that erased all memory of the process. I came to in the recovery room bright-eyed, chipper, and richer for the experience. As my mother would say {cue MJ's voice} "It's charming how our little experiences bind us through time."{end MJ's voice cue}


Tom is missed by many, White Fang and Black Tooth included.