I went camping with my buddies from high school in May. Here was the itinerary…

1) Gather at my buddy, Hal’s place.

2) Then drive up into a remote part of a state park to a secluded spot and set up camp.

And that’s it. We didn’t go anywhere and we didn’t do anything. We set up our gear and stayed there for 24 hours.

And it makes no sense.

And it’s about the best thing in the world.

I drove home with a glow, feeling lucky and content. I thought about all the great stuff planned over the next few months. And I officially declared it: The Summer of Joy^TM.

So as we reach the final weekend of the summer, I now share with you, fair reader, scenes from this remarkable moment in time.

Pittsburgh

Shani and I met up with our friends from Cleveland, Avi and Lora Cover. We got an AirBNB and spent a few days having an absolute blast.

Mary Gautier in Concert

Baseball Road Trip

Jack and I hit the road to see my Dad, visit Cooperstown, see my friend Chief, and see Blue Jays vs Yankees.

Biking with Skinny

The Chicks in Concert

Canoeing with the Kids

I took Alex and two of his friends, plus Jack and two of his friends on a multi-day camping and canoe trip in the Adirondacks. It was fantastic. I also brought my man, Dave Beattie, as wingman extraordinaire. Big shout out to Man Mountain (Mike Flesher), who used to take us on this trip when we were kids.

The Big Trip

We took a 2 week trip to the Northwest. It included Seattle, Portland, 3 National Parks, kayaking, long days of driving, flat tires, bike rides, donuts, and a whole lot of really good time together.

Odds and Ends

A few assorted and random photos. No back story provided.

Wrapping it Up

We didn’t have plans for Labor Day weekend. Jack was back at Fordham. We were ready to shift to the new school year and say good bye to the summer quietly. But then at the last minute some friends invited us to their house in Maryland. And it ended up being a pretty terrific final fun activity for a summer that was indeed filled with Joy.

Just came back from a road trip with Jack. We went to Vestal to see my Dad, visited the Baseball Hall of Fame, Buffalo to see my friend the Chief, then two days in Toronto for Yankees vs Blue Jays. Spectacular.

That also meant 20+ hours in the car together. And Shani’s first question is always, “What did you talk about?” And the answer is a little complex given where Jack is with his life and his priorities. Let me explain…

Jack is deeply interested in…	Partying with his friends
Are we going to talk about that?	No.

Jack is deeply interested in…	Girls
Are we going to talk about that?	No.

Jack is deeply interested in…	Classic Rock
Are we going to talk about that?	Yes. He revels in music; he wants to talk about it constantly. Every song he slyly pops the volume up 2 notches even in the middle of a conversation.
Does Shani want to hear about those conversations?	Hell no.

Jack is deeply interested in…	Baseball.
Are we going to talk about that?	GOD yes. We rave about the Yanks, discuss trade possibilities, reminisce about other parks we’ve visited. This is non-stop.
Does Shani want to hear about those conversations?	Obviously not.

But all of this leaves me with not much to report back about the conversations we had. We didn’t have any deep talks about life, about who he is and how he feels about things. It’s just not what we talk about in this moment of our relationship.

However, the trip certainly was not without meaningful conversation.

In Vestal…

I had a long conversation with my Dad about his life and his outlook as he enters his 80s. We talked about how lucky he was to have found Mary. We talked about his wishes as he ages. We also spent a solid 25 minutes talking about what game shows he likes to watch and what the rules of each game were. And we played a lot of cribbage.

In Buffalo…

We stayed with my best friend of 40+ years, The Chief. After we went out to dinner, he gave me a tour of his house and we ended up standing in his front yard for almost an hour catching up. He finally went and grabbed a couple lawn chairs and we spent another couple hours out there reminiscing about the summer camp we went to in junior high, division of labor between our wives, and God knows what else.

And for both those conversations, Jack was there either as part of the conversation or hanging out on the fringe and observing. 

And wherever Jack and I are in our lives and our current list of conversational topics, we still spent 4 amazing days in each other’s presence. And we had an absolute blast. We got to stand beneath Jackie Robinson’s Hall of Fame plaque and sit in Nolan Ryan’s locker. We split a dozen wings and a beef on weck at Bar Bill in Buffalo. We went to two ballgames in Roger’s Center and saw an absolutely amazing comeback win that had the crowd absolutely bonkers with roaring for their team. 

And of course, we drove our asses off. We’ve become staggeringly good travel partners. We both pack ludicrously light. We can sleep just about anywhere. And our combined capacity of driving is mindboggling. In a single day we can start with breakfast at my Dad’s house, drive to Cooperstown (1.5 hours), revel in the Baseball Hall of Fame, have lunch on Otsego Lake with my dad and Mary, drive to Buffalo (4 hours), dinner out with Chief and his family, then spend the evening at Chief’s place out on the lawn. And the whole thing somehow feels leisurely – no rush at all. I find time to read and write in my journal. Jack watches a movie on his computer. We get plenty of sleep. It’s almost other-worldly, like we step into some kind of time tube when we travel. Road Wizards.

I also need to call out the true MVP of the trip: Grandma Mary. On top of her general wonderfulness feeding us, hosting us, and being lots of fun to spend time with. On top of marrying my dad (which is a remarkable blessing). As we were about to leave Buffalo and head for Toronto, I realized I’d left my work bag and passports in Vestal. Mary hopped in the car and met us at a Burger Kind halfway, which was the difference between making and missing our first ballgame. So generous and wonderful.

For the record, this put us at 18 out of 30 ballparks. We’ll be at 20 by end of year. 

Check it out.

This past week I flew to Chicago to meet with some new clients in person. It had been 2 years, and it was amazing. Plus I got to meet my team in person for the first time. We had dinners out, drinks, conversations in taxi cabs.

Then later in the week, my boss from Brazil was finally able to come to the US. So me and the rest of my creative director team met him for a day of working and a happy hour.

It was all pretty exciting, but there was an unexpected part to all of it. It was a series of “get to know you” conversations, which meant I ended up telling the dumb Alex tumor story a bunch of times.

I’ve got the narrative down pretty well at this point and the tone is just right. I keep it quick. I can switch out certain parts if I want more sympathy or if I want to keep things light. But the tough part is when I have to stick the landing. That’s tricky. The conversation is over; we’ve exhausted the subject. But you have to conclude and move on. And really, the options are:

• “He’s on a lower dose of chemo and seems to be managing it much better, so things are looking up.”
• “He’s such a resilient kid, it’s amazing to watch. Kids are remarkable.”
• “There’s definitely good news, though. His tumor shrunk 49% and hopefully in 6 months he’s done with the meds.”

But the reality is different. It doesn’t have a neat wrap up. Not yet, I guess.

• “So right now I’m in a state of bitterness with a hint of despair. I’ve been finding myself wondering if God really exists and then considering that if he does exist, should I be mad at him?”
• “It’s like a giant soap bubble is distorting our whole house, but we kinda go on about our day with a bit of an emotional limp.”
• I’ve moved beyond the ‘it could be worse’ thing and now I’m just kinda low-simmer pissed off all the time.”

But those don’t make good conversation enders — especially for clients. They leave people unsettled and wondering if you’re up for doing your job (which I totally am). You’re a source of distraction and discomfort, not this interesting, smart creative director that is leading the team with a remarkable depth of emotion you’re sure he’ll bring to the work.

—

Alex is doing pretty well. Genuinely. He’s exercising and putting on weight. His grades are insane. He has great fun with his friends. He’s probably running for student council soon.

The whole baseline for life has shifted down quite a bit, but…well…no. I’ve got no wrap up.

Part 1: The Grand Tetons (this story has 35 photos)

This past August, like most years, we hit the road for an epic family trip. We hiked Arches National Park in Utah, drove the Million Dollar Highway in Colorado, stayed in a bizarro AirBnb in Iowa, saw friends and family – just amazing. A major part of the trip was for Alex and me to spend 3 days packing the famed Teton Crest Trail in Grand Tetons National Park. Alex and I have a list of backpacking trips we plan to do over our lifetime, and this was at the absolute top.

It did not disappoint. But I want to talk about what he and I talked about.

So, there are camping trips and then there are backpacking trips. On camping trips, you pack in a few miles, but the real event is about the camping. You sit around the fire. You have coffee in the morning. They’re relaxed. And when Alex and I do camping trips, we get lots of time to chatter away about all kinds of things – friends, Marvel movies, life, school, you name it. 

But a backpacking trip is more about the journey itself. And we usually spend most of our time talking about logistics: where to get water, bear canister management, organizing the campsite. This trip was particularly heavy on the logistics– lots of details to discuss and manage. So that was a lot of what we talked about. 

Then the rest of the conversation space got filled up by the landscape itself. I mean, every 10 minutes we’d come to a field or an overlook or a bluff and just be staggered by how gorgeous it was. Which meant we spent tons of time just talking about how unique and stunning the place was and pointing out things to each other.

Tetons Day 1

Tetons Day 2

Tetons Day 3

However, there was also what wasn’t spoken.

As you probably know, Alex has a tumor in his leg (here’s the full story if you want it). At first we thought it was cancer, but it turned out to be a non-cancerous tumor called a Desmoid tumor. They figured that out in April and told us to do nothing unless it was growing. No action needed until we do another scan in October.

But in June Alex pointed out that it was quite obviously growing. 

So back to the doctors, another scan. Yes, not only had it grown but there was a second tumor in his butt. Action was warranted. Alex underwent a procedure called cryoablation, where they put needles into the his leg and hit the tumor with super cold to freeze out whole chunks of it. In fact, here he is coming out of the anesthesia.

They got 50% of the butt tumor and 30% of the leg tumor. They felt great about the results. Next step was drugs (chemo) to knock it down further – but we could wait until after our trip for that.

And that is what wasn’t said on the packing trip through the Tetons. Alex felt it though. It was weighing on him. I had no idea at the time, but in his head he was contemplating the possibility that this was his last packing trip. I think it gave those views an extra layer of emotion – the boy was considering that he might never get to do something like this again. In some ways maybe he was saying goodbye to backpacking.

In fact, he told me later it was why he went swimming in Sunset Lake. It might have been his last chance to swim in a mountain lake like this, so he crept into that ice-cold water with that in mind.

Part 2: Chemo (this story has 1 photo)

We got home and the next week Alex started a drug called Nexavar. We were warned that most common side effect was a rash on the feet and hands. In fact, they recommended Alex lather up with Eucerin before bed each night (which he did and hated).

For the first few days everything seemed fine. But that Saturday, Shani and I were going to the store when she got a frantic phone call from Alex. His legs were itching wildly. We flipped a U-turn and rushed home. But by the time we got there, he was good. Jack had suggested a cold shower and that had done the trick.

The next day, nothing. Seemed fine. But just to be safe, I stayed home with Alex as Shani dropped Jack off at Fordham alone (which broke my heart a little).

But still no issues – all good.

Labor Day Weekend arrived, and we were going to drive to New York to spend the weekend at my Dad’s house – the first time since COVID. We headed out on Friday afternoon, and as we got in the car, Alex pointed out a small red hive on each of his elbows. No big deal. No itch. We called the doctor – they said keep an eye on it, monitor for fever, and it should be fine. So we kept going. Traffic was heavy so it took us an hour to get through Philly, which is when we noticed that both hives had grown. They’d started as quarter-sized, but now both of them had branched out.

Shani – blessed, brilliant, wonderful Shani – insisted we turn around. Just to be safe. I called my dad to share the bad news, spun the car around, and did the hour of traffic all over again.

We called the doctor again and were told to monitor for fever. 100.7 meant go to the ER. Which happened at about 11:00 that night. We were in the ER until 4:30 AM. No infection, labs were good, and the fever came down. We were in the clear.

But not really.

The rest of Labor Day Weekend was a slow creep. The hives spread. They showed up on his hands and feet. They crept up his wrists. The fever came and went, but stayed low. He felt crummy every evening and went to bed early. The bottoms of his feet started to hurt to the point where just walking down the stairs was painful. He and I played a ton of Lego Marvel Avengers on the Xbox and we kept in touch with the doctor. The instructions were always the same – fever of 100.7 meant ER.

Monday morning he woke up and the rash had spread. Chest, back, legs. And that evening he got a fever that crossed the threshold. We drove him to CHOP in Philly. They admitted him.

OK – ready for the photo?

–

–

–

That’s his back. Shit got real. Fast. That night the rash covered him entirely.

And then the itching came.

–

OK – deep breath. Here we go.

–

You’ve experienced itching, right? Poison Ivy, bug bite, athlete’s foot? Then you know how awful it is.

The worst itching you’ve ever experienced wouldn’t even touch this.

It would flare up and take hold of his entire body. His hands, feet, legs, chest. It looked like he was being electrocuted; he would flail around the hospital bed. He would grit his teeth and scream. He would get up and stomp and swirl around the room slapping at his skin.

Nothing they gave him provided any relief. Prescription-strength Benadryl, hydrocortisone – it did nothing. IVs, creams, lotions, ice packs. 

I remember as one flare-up came on, he started crying out: “Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!” A child begging for his daddy to help him. In fact, I can still kind of hear that in my head. And I stood by helpless to do anything.

In the thick of another bad flare up he stood up and screamed: “It’s not getting any better!” and then he collapsed onto his bed sobbing. I staggered over and buried my face into his back, bawling myself. And I’d like to say it was in support or solidarity, but it wasn’t. It was selfish; watching him was too much to take and I fell apart.

Hoo boy.

It went on like that for three days. He probably slept a total of 6 hours during that span.

Some things did help, though. 

First off, they had an IV opioid that gave him short periods of relief – but they were pretty sparing with that.

We found that bad TV could be a distraction. He and I threw ourselves into Bachelor in Paradise and got so into it we were yelling at the screen and telling the nurses all about the plot twists. The following night, Shani and Alex watched 7 consecutive episodes of Law and Order SVU.

But the biggest difference-maker was Alex himself.

When he was two years old, he couldn’t pronounce the word “cookie.” He would say “coo-tee.” Shani tells the story of listening to Alex in the back of the car trying over and over to say the word right. “Coo-tee! Coo-ka-tee! Coo-TEE! Cook! Cook! Cook-EE!”

I have memories of watching Alex literally will himself to learn how to read. His little eyes were burning into the book as he mouthed syllables. Forcing himself to figure it out.

Alex is driven and deliberate and smart as hell. I watched him deliberately set out to master the itching. He would feel it coming on and force himself to stay in control. It was amazing to watch. He still lost it sometimes, but sometimes he would fight through it.

The itching finally started to recede after three days. Alex slept for 12 hours straight. Then they sent him home the next day.

–

So…here we are a few weeks later. He’s back at school. In fact, he just blew up the grade curve on his calc test and got 100. The itching and rash are long past. He and I hiked Hawk Mountain last weekend (5.1 miles, 1096 feet). He started a different medicine about a week ago. A few side effects, but nothing bad – although we’re kind of on pins and needles. All three of us are still a bit shaken.

I’ll close by mentioning one last thing that’s helped Alex: he has wonderful friends who love him. Our last evening in the hospital was his 16^th birthday. We snuck in two of his best friends, who came in with Swedish fish and potato chips and gummi worms and a cake. Shani and I stepped out to let them hang out, but I already could see Alex sitting up taller and with more color in his skin. I heard them all laughing as we closed the door.

Here’s our list of packing trips.

Oh, and here’s a few photos from the rest of our big trip.

(See video at the end)

It was a Saturday afternoon. I was in the living room teaching myself Hallelujah by Leonard Cohen on the guitar. Alex came down.

“Dad. I have this lump.” Then he turned and showed me the back of his right thigh.

“Woah.”

A fist-sized blob of flesh was pushing out against his skin. I felt it; it was squishy and moved up and down if I pressed it.

“How long have you had that?”

“A while. At least a month.”

“Ok.”

He told me later that when he saw my reaction he got worried. He expected Shani to be nervous, but he expected me to blow it off. 

I called Shani down, did some googling, forbade Shani from googling, and then took him to PM Pediatrics. Not so much because I thought it was urgent, but because we were going to worry about it until we saw a doctor.

That doctor wasn’t much help. She said we needed to see our regular pediatrician and get a referral for an ultrasound. And she seemed alarmed. Doctors usually have good poker faces, but I felt her emotions rise when she laid eyes on that lump.

Things went pretty quick from there. Pediatrician Monday. Referred for ultrasound Tuesday. Referred for MRI Wednesday morning. And each step brought another level of fear into the whole thing. Our pediatrician told us she would call as soon as she got the radiologist report from the MRI. She told us to expect it Thursday.

But that Wednesday afternoon, I was on the back porch leading a conference call. Shani popped her head out.

“Come on,” she said, phone to her ear and waving me inside.

“I have to go,” I announced abruptly and closed the laptop.

It was the pediatrician. We sat at the kitchen table; Shani put it on speaker.

I knew from her tone.

I honestly don’t remember what she said, although my heart is racing now just writing about it. I wrote some words down on a piece of paper. Here, check it out.

But whatever words she spoke, what they meant was clear. Alex had cancer.

We hung up the phone just as Alex walked into the kitchen. We told him. I went upstairs and told Jack. And soon we were all upstairs in our beds. Jack was under the covers, stunned. Alex was in his room texting friends. Shani and I sat on our bed and stared at each other. We rotated some. I’d go sit with Jack. Shani would lay with Alex for a while. The only levity was that occasionally the puppy would bound in and demand attention, joyfully oblivious to the situation.

I went downstairs and called my brother. The call went like this…

CHRIS

Hello?

MIKE

[Insert 60 seconds of gasping and trying to speak before he finally gets the words out.]

Alex has cancer.

[Insert two full minutes of uncontrolled sobbing.]

Chris said all the right things; he was wonderful as my brother always is. He asked me a bunch of questions, none of which I knew answers to. When we hung up, I decided I wasn’t up for making any more phone calls. He promptly overnighted Alex a care package of bacon and candy.

That evening, Shani’s friend, who is a pediatrician, came over and read through the radiologist report for us and answered our questions.

And I’m fairly sure that night was the worst night of my life.

The next day Alex and Shani went to CHOP (Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia). Our pediatrician had gotten us in to see Dr. Kristy Webber, one of the world’s leading experts on sarcomas. They conferenced me in as well as our friend, Heather. We recorded the conversation and Heather took notes.

Dr. Webber was pretty amazing. She was competent and direct. She spoke in plain language. She listened. She addressed Alex directly.

She told us that the MRI was not conclusive. It could be cancer; it could be something else. She wanted a biopsy and then we would move forward quickly. In the meantime, Alex should exercise and go about his normal life.

So we kinda did that. I told my family after that (through email). We told our jobs. Then a few days later, Shani took Alex in for a biopsy. They laid him on his belly, numbed the area, and then pulled out chunks of the tumor using a giant syringe.

Then more waiting. (I think cancer is mostly about waiting.) Shani and I barely left the house. If we did, we made detailed plans for conferencing each other in if Dr. Webber called with results. We went about our days in a tense fog.

The call was quick. Shani was in the car when it came and it was too fast to conference me in. She called me right after; I was in the car with Alex.

“Dr. Webber said that she wants to run one more test, but from what she sees so far, she is ‘cautiously optimistic‘.”

I felt muscles in my neck and back letting go. I had no idea they were even clenched, but suddenly I was deflating deliciously like a punctured parade float.

“Alex, if you don’t have cancer….Fuuuuuuuucccccck.”

Dr. Webber said she’d get back to us the following Monday or even Tuesday. And I can promise you that during that time, no words have ever been analyzed more exhaustively than we analyzed the phrase ‘cautiously optimistic.’

It was actually Thursday when she finally called.

It was not cancer.

Alex has what is called a “Desmoid Tumor.” It is not cancer; it does not spread. And unless it is painful or growing, they don’t do anything. They just leave it. Alex had to have another scan in 3-6 months, but otherwise that was it.

—

—

So, funny thing. Alex and I have a list of hikes and backpacking trips in National Parks all over the country. Our plan is to work our way through the list over the years. (You better stay in shape, Dad!) And on our list is to go canoe-camping in Congaree National Park in South Carolina.

We’d planned to go last spring, but we had to cancel due to the pandemic. We’d rescheduled for this April and even put a deposit down on a canoe rental. But the lump screwed all that up. We figured there was no way we could still go. Even if it wasn’t cancer, Alex would still have to have surgery to remove the lump. We’d written off Congaree once again.

But about 5 minutes after we got off the phone hearing the news about the Desmoid Tumor, it hit me. I rushed up the stairs and into Alex’s room.

“Alex! We can still do Congaree!”

And a happy dance followed.

So last Friday we mounted up and drove south. The drive was nine hours. We alternated album choices (Purple Rain, Adele 21, Faith, lots more) and we chattered away about if Jack would get a girlfriend in college, theories about Falcon and Winter Soldier, what it was like living in New York City. We gorged ourselves on luscious blackberries that we had brought. And every time we stopped for gas or to pee on the side of the road, the bright smell of spring got more and more intense.

Our hotel was by a huge mall, so early the next morning I let Alex try driving the car around the massive empty parking lots. At 10:00 we went to get our canoe only to find that the park was flooded (!) which meant canoeing wasn’t possible.

Alex didn’t miss a beat.

“Smoky Mountains National Park is 4 hours away!”

So we shot west as Alex found us a hotel in Tennessee. By 2:30 we were on the trail and did an epic, stunning 13-mile hike that took us well past sundown. He and I are so good at hiking together; it was just terrific.

Sunday morning we gassed up and pointed back north. Alex put on the soundtrack to Hamilton. We cranked it up loud, and we sang out loud to every song as we flew across gorgeous country filled with hills and farms. We even started to cast our family version of Hamilton (I’m George Washington, Alex is Hamilton).

But it was during the song “Dear Theodosia” that I started to feel them. Tendrils of emotion began burrowing across my chest. The song is a duet between Aaron Burr and Hamilton. They’ve both just become fathers and they’re singing their hopes for their newborn children. The lyrics caught me again and again. (“I’ll keep the world safe and sound for you.”) And the reality of the past month started to really sink in. I held it together until “It’s Quiet Uptown.” Hamilton’s son is killed in a duel, and the song is two parents grieving for a dead child. I became acutely conscious of Alex’s physical presence just two feet to my right. The reality of my son. He was right there; I could touch him.

• On the night after we got the initial diagnosis, three times Shani woke me up wracked with uncontrollable sobbing. We wrapped around each other in the dark and she murmured “he’s my baby” over and over.
• On the evening we got the initial diagnosis, Jack Nuckols got in the car and drove. He put it on the New Jersey Turnpike and blasted 100 miles north. I can picture him blaring music and screaming along with it, drowning with emotion. Contemplating the threat to our nuclear family that is the core of his whole world.
• On the day after we learned it wasn’t cancer, my Uncle Bob called me and through gravelly sobs told me it had been “the longest two weeks of his life.”

Because in the darkest moments of this ordeal, when we let it slip in, what we were facing was the possibility of living in a world that didn’t have Alex in it. We were facing the possibility that this boy would grow sicker and thinner and weaker. That he would face debilitating pain and nausea and eventually…let go. This glowing star of a boy, who shines so dazzlingly bright, would begin to dim, and then flicker, and then go out. My son.

But there he was, real, right next to me, signing every word of “Your Obedient Servant.”

I looked out the window to the left and tears just sort of dribbled out.

—

So, here’s what I’ll say. Two things.

1) No sympathy, please. Accepting sympathy would feel almost dishonest to me. Narcissistic. Ungrateful. Everyone reading this knows someone who didn’t find out it wasn’t cancer 20 days into the process. Send your support there. I actually believe my brother’s response was the appropriate one.

2) Friends. For each of us — Alex, Jack, Shani, and myself — for each of us in different ways, it was friends who carried us. I felt that support every single second of the ordeal. And I come away reminded of what I already knew: That when it comes to love, I am the richest man in the world. Deep and heartfelt thanks to everyone who lent their love and friendship.

Oh. And we’re doing Congaree in November, dammit! Also…I made a little tribute/gratitude video. See below.

I wrote Jack a letter for Christmas (I do that every year). And I shared the following advice for when he heads to college:

1) Don’t put off your work.

Jack does.

2) Don’t get fat.

I did.

3) Don’t get into debt

I didn’t.

4) Don’t smoke

I’ve got a deal with both boys (credit to Devin Moberg) where on the day they graduate college, if they haven’t ever smoked a cigarette, I will hand them a check for $1000.

OK…but because it was a big list of “don’t” — I ended with:

But more important is what you SHOULD do. And the answer is…everything. Go explore. Go try things. Go make mistakes. Say yes to the world. Say yes to weird offers. Say yes to pretty girls. In fact, those things I don’t want you to do are really there because they’ll limit your ability to do the million other things that are out there. Go have adventures. LOTS of them. Life is short – go live the crap out of it!

So that’s what I had. Gimme your college advice for the boy.