Dad was doing well, and I was so very happy to see him achieve the lifetime goal of making it over to Germany to meet the rest of the family. When he was married to Nancy, they hosted a German person named Ludwig, who befriended Dad and acted as his German tour guide. Dad came back with the most interesting news; he told Ludwig that he is ready to drink the world's best beer and Ludwig took him to the Czech Republic.

My gift was a small bottle of Karlovarska, a Czechoslovakian liquor. He showed the father's love for his son when he was stopped by a security guard at Frankfort Airport, who inquired about the bottle in his shirt pocket. Dad told him in German, "I am so happy to come here to see my German roots, but my son is also Czechoslovakian, and I wanted to give something for his roots."

The guard put his finger over his lips, pointed to the bottle with the other and went, "Shhhh," then chuckled.

He also made it up to see his best friend and his God daughter in Maine. The highlight of the trip there was seeing George Bush Sr. traveling across the water in his boat, who was presented in a photograph as an infinitesimal spot in a small boat swallowed up by the bay. Dad seemed much happier and centered his activities on the groups that he supported. There was the politics as usual, anti-crime groups and Prison Fellowship; but now he joined the Gideon's and helped go to churches seeking donations, as well placing the bibles in hospital and hotel rooms.

Yet, in reference to me, there was still that non-understanding breath of tension. With each set of tickets to the symphony, Rita and I would leave from the house for it later and later; despite all of my attempts to keep things on track. The last minute hysterias with Rita made me want to break the mirror; the minefield of personal comments towards my appearance, even though I had her dress me and the now added, "You're going bald as well!" No wonder.

Then the ultimate sin happened. We got into the doors of the Meyerhoff Symphony Hall just in time to hear the final bell ring. That meant, we would be withheld from entering the concert hall until the ushers allowed us in. Needles to say, all eyes were on us and the others, but Dad's were looking straight ahead with pursed lips, as we seated ourselves.

At the end of the show, he simply walked out, but every time we got together, he brought it up. "If you want to get tickets from me, you get that fucking wife of yours in check and come early."

"Look Dad, my main goal right now is to work and get the bills paid-"

"That's because she's a do nothing wife that doesn't love you!"

Ignoring that one, "My other goals are to support the family and do the very best that I can." I started to cry, "Look Dad, just do me a favor. Don't invite me to anything anymore. I just can't deal with things anymore and I'm tired of fighting with everyone." I left.

Dad had also discovered the internet and Email. His friends goaded him to get online, especially Ludwig from Germany. While I encouraged him to get a computer, he opted to come to my house, so I set up his Email account, would open the letters up and get him routed. Then he became that mad man on the typewriter and pecked himself a letter. When he said he was done, I would send it off for him.

He would pop in once or twice a week, say a quick, "Hi," to Rita and go upstairs. Rita was put off by his rudeness of not chit chatting, but I told her it was for the best. At some point, she said that she will fix things. The next time he came over, he glared at her and went upstairs, but upon coming down he walked up to Rita and said, "I just have something to say to you."

Well he let her have it before he stormed out and after the shock, then the tears wore off; it was hells half acres with insinuations, accusations and threats ... Not to mention the cut downs on me. I now had to be a placating God and figure out when Rita might not be there to sneak him in the house.



I did find there is one place no man should be. A Naughty, But Nice Party anyone? This was my sisters doing and I tried to opt out, but my sister Cindy who was hosting it promised that her husband, Wayne and his friends said that they are coming so I shouldn't have a problem.

Once there, my sister graciously handed me my customary Manhattan, and when I asked, she laughed and said, "Well Wayne and his friends decided to go out instead." A peek in the other room revealed the racks of erotic lingerie and boxes of play toys. After the light-hearted and quaint social, we were sitting around in a circle. I felt more like Mr. Mom or Kindergarten Cop ... Way out of my element and comfort.

The seller was a high-spirited, heavyset lesbian and posed the question, "OK, Ladies! Do you want this to go naughty or nice?"

Funny I hadn't spoken yet, "Naughty it is ladies." I did feel for my balls which were now the size of peanuts, but at least they still were there.

She immediately passed around this tongue which was on a battery containing handle. "I have to show you all the world's best play toy first!" Though I was ready to immediately pass it on, I heard, "Mike, I want you to be the one to turn it on."

Unfortunately, I did and that bugger of a tongue started flapping harder than a flag in a hurricane. "Whoa! Cindy, I'll have another Manhattan! Fast please!" I passed that flapping hot potato on as fast I could and when the Manhattan came, I just about guzzled it, then the third; which put a buzz in my head stronger than any of those play toys could produce.

Then a beer ... Ok, I sat on my hands and silently enjoyed the women's reaction to things, goofed around with the S&M gear until Rita told me I was embarrassing her. Her? I drew the line with the last of the show by refusing to model the Village People-like costumes. But then I made a fatal mistake, while I was having problems with sweating, and having troubles breathing; I shouldn't have had the finishing Nuts & Berries drink, feeling it didn't have that much alcohol in it. That drinks richness, curdled in my stomach was acting like a washing machine with a loose belt.

The second I got home, I was throwing up all night and shaking like a leaf. I was now in more trouble with Rita, who looked and sounded like she was in an echo chamber in a converted Rotor ride; the one that spins around and sticks you to the wall when they drop out the floor. But I had to laugh, as I still felt better than being stuck in a Naughty and Nice party with a bunch of women obsessed with play toys.



Another time, were invited to Cindy and Wayne's house and with Wayne being a motor cross person who loved outdoor play toys, had us all ride a small course that he created for ATVs. I was happy, but as usual had problems shifting gears. I decided not to worry about this and did a few turns around the course in first gear alone; keeping a good eye on the RPM gauge so I didn't red line it.

I got off to give the ATV to someone else and Dad was standing on the top of the hill, absolutely glaring at me, "What the hell's wrong with you Mike! What in the hell is wrong with you! Did you hear that engine, did you hear it. You're going to destroy it. Why in the fuck can't you learn to shift gears?"

"I kept an eye on the gauge." Wayne tried to tell him that I was right and I was not hurting the motor and Cindy tried to calm him down, but to no avail.

"Why can't you just learn to shift gears, any man could. I'm ashamed at you."

"Why can't I learn to shift gears? Because you a fucking impatient asshole that won't let me do what I need to do to learn them." Everyone was trying to wave me off, but I continued, "I'm a fuck up Dad. Yep, a fuck up! I can never, ever do thing right or to your liking."

"I know you're ashamed of me because that is the way you always treated me. You never supported me in anything I tried to do, why should shifting gears be any different! You know what; I'm ashamed that I am your son, so fuck off as well you asshole!"

The mood was solemn and it wasn't long before we all left, Dad basically remained away from me and it was obvious that I really hurt him, but perhaps it was God's will that I dump on him to make him think as well. For this summer, we wouldn't be invited by Dad to anything. We did apologize to each other and straightened things out, but the relationship was for ever more, changed. I wasn't happy to be viewing my father more as a child, then the man as he should be.



We really didn't get any invites over that summer by Dad, and in a sense it saved me from a lot of stress. While our relationship mended, I was still psychologically put off by the ATV incident; which was simply fused with Dad's other harsher statements and lack of patience. To me there also seemed a slight decline in his energy, but he was still a lot more active than many of the people his age.

He wanted us all join him at Padonia Park Pool for Labor Day before it closed and to enjoy eating crabs and drinking beer. I had seen the pool go through many changes and watched their adult area expand from a fenced in corral to an enlarged area that also included a tiki bar. They also added a variety of activities for children, families and adults.

This time, steamed crabs were being offered and though the caterer charged $70.00 a dozen, it was a treat for Dad to splurge on. With the tiki bar, Rita had her margaritas, and Dad still brought his own beer, though it had to be respectable as they banned liquor because of their bar. Katie and Jimmy while they liked the crabs, still had their preferred pickings from the snack bar.

One thing in particular that broke my heart was they long ago took down the high diving board due to insurance liabilities from an accident that caused severe injuries; a stupid accident. It was just another sign that appeared in both schools and scouts to eliminate activities and make society a duller, blander place to experience.

We were just off of the adult area that Dad usually enjoyed when none of his guests were children. For a Labor Day weekend and final day of swimming, it was not very crowded due to the coolness that chilled the water. Luckily Katie, Jimmy, nor I cared and would swim until we were blue.

While the high dive was gone, I still loved to use the other diving boards and was constantly using them. With only a few bodies in the pool, they only had one life guard standing watch and I noted it was from the other end of the pool.

Just off the high dive, I did notice a group of adults getting all of the partying in that they could. It was quite raucous, and into the diving area emerged a hairy man dressed in a seventies bikini, including the top part. He walked up to me and pushed me away from the diving board, "Sorry, I lost a bet and just want to get this over!" 

He walked up to the edge of the board did a pixie bounce and a girlie jump and went in, but he just floated in the water. I thought, Fucking Dick. Then he stuck his head up and gasped, and kind of did a stroke. This isn't good.

He went under and came back up, tried to take a breath and a stroke and went back under. I immediately looked for the crook, but it wasn't there so I walked over and knowing he may pull me in, reached to his hand and pulled him up, "Do you need help!"

"Yea."

"Ok, but were going to do things my way. You don't want me in with you!" I pulled him to the side, spun him around and lifted him to the edge of the pool. As soon as he was on the deck, he immediately rolled into the fetal position.

"Did you swallow any water?"

"No"

"You can't swim?"

"No"

"So you got drunk, lost a bet and jumped off a diving board in the deepest part of the pool, when you can't swim? Not smart man. Are you alright otherwise?"

"Yes."

That was all I needed to hear, then the life guard came walking up and yelled, "What's going on here!"

"Nothing now! He's a drunk non-swimmer who decided to use the diving board!" She huffed, and walked back to her chair.

While his friends were getting him back on his feet, Rita came over and told me that she ran over to the life guard to get her to rescue him and the lifeguard replied, "Why, he's just being an asshole."

Rita said, "If he was just being an asshole, my husband wouldn't be over there pulling him out of the pool. You better go over there to check it out!"

Personally as soon as I realized the situation, I was tempted to let him take in a good mouthful of water to teach him a lesson, but with the luck my life has to offer, that would have probably sent him into a panic and I would not only have to go in after him, fight him, I would be doing mouth to mouth resuscitation. What canceled that thought was imagining the headline, "Former adult Boy Scout leader gives mouth to mouth to transvestite."

With this trip to the pool, there wasn't the usual tension present and in fact, I saw both Rita and Dad talking; a rare moment I observed. When we were getting ready to leave, Dad walked up to me and told me, "Well, I had a nice conversation with your wife and she did pay attention, but I hope she heard what I had to say. 



Around it time I started to think about Dad and his life; as that man paid his dues. I wondered why he wouldn't support any of my endeavors, especially since he wanted to be a boxer and was stopped by the company he worked for at that time, Baltimore Gas and Electric.

They found out he got his nose broken during a bout so they brought him to the office the next day and asked him what he wanted to do; work for them or box and get fired. They forbade him from boxing with the promise, with the next match he will lose his job there.

He only remained working for them a little while longer, which put him in several job changes and financial trouble. While I observed it as a kid, I didn't realize it until much later. Unfortunately for BGE, my father became an advocate for the rate payer even though he held shares. This drove board of directors nuts and prompted one to threaten my father's life, mistaking me for him.

He went into Juvenile Services in the seventies and actually wanted to make the system more equitable for both the troubled youth offenders and the victims of crime. Most would say he had a common sense approach, but few people would want to change things, stand up on his behalf or listen to him.

But at personal sacrifice with his career, he fought for those changes. I learned a lot about politics through Dad's trying and realized the sad reality. I watched Dad place his faith and hopes in politicians and watched either the politician continue to do the same, or something to further denude the system.

It also struck me that my dad was a man who did everything right, and not only he didn't get a break, it seemed life rolled over him. For the longest part of our childhood we thought we were poor and didn't realize when his father passed away, he took all moneys and invested them, slowly turning them into a fortune that was meant to be Mom and Dad's nest egg. 

When the tragedy struck with Mom going into cardiac arrest and suffering severe brain damage, he ultimately gave up the nest egg to the spousal impoverishment law; granted a lot went into the house, but the work was needed years before. He not only didn't get any credit for taking care of Mom when she was home, family and friends tended to do things that interfered with that care.

It wasn't his lack of support for me that flustered me, it was his putting impediments up making anything I did, that much harder. Yet I understood and respected how and what he wanted me to be. Personally, I felt that I made it there, but took on so much more as it wasn't enough for me. In Dad's mind though, I doubt I could ever live up to his approval or exceptions.



At work, when the supervisor asked him who the hell he thought was his boss, he replied, "The Maryland tax payer." While that was who he thought he was responsible for, when it came to him trying to truthfully explain things to the public, he was dismissed as a crank or extremist, or any suggestion deemed unfeasible.



Dad retired before Ehrlich was elected and in doing the work that he loved, which was with direct contact with juvenile offenders, a claim was trumped up in my opinion by the prosecutor's office, which got him banned from the Mitchell Courthouse. No due process for Dad, but then he probably shouldn't have called the Administrative Judge of the Juvenile Court, "Bonehead Mitchell," instead of judge.

They made the mistake of transferring him to intake, and he became a one man army in putting violent youth offenders behind bars.  That not being what Juvenile Justice wanted, his intake position only lasted a couple of days. He would finish out his career at the Headquarters in the city, not even in a cubicle, but in a desk in the hall where people could walk by and harass him.

This was before his Marriage to Nancy and I saw the most amazing tone to Dad, as he would come home and start angrily ranting to me after he came home from work, "I can't believe what the niggers at work do ... You wouldn't believe what the niggers are saying to me ... I can't stand this nigger ... I think the niggers are trying to drive me crazy ... The God damned niggers are destroying the city ... or the reason people are getting killed."

I was not only shocked, but absolutely astounded at the change in Dad's tone. Every time he ranted like that, it brought back the memory when we were driving home from the city's central YMCA during his boxing days and he asked, "How did it go at the Y today?"

"Me and the niggers had a good ole time!" To which he slammed the breaks to his Chevy II and put my face into the windshield, and the ten minute lecture in mid traffic about how the black people have been put down long enough, how he risked his life and the threats he got from participating in the Civil rights movement. Not to mention how we all have to turn the page and work on a better society. The traffic behind him must have sensed his mood toward me, as they worked their way around him without the usual horn blowing and finger.

The last question he asked was, "Why would you call them that anyway?"

I kept my mouth shut as I didn't believe he would accept the explanation of, "Well, that's what they want me to call them." The next week I asked the black man in charge of us for what was right.

That middle-aged black man was now on the roof top of the Y struggling to explain things to me, which translated to, "Well, you father's right as black people shouldn't be referred to as niggers, but you were also right, because to the black boy's, you're one of them. But perhaps that isn't a good idea because other people may see you call them that and misunderstand."

To my father, unless it was him cursing at the evening news, profanity was out of the question. As an adult, I was permitted to say a couple of "shits" or "fucks," before he would lecture me on my lack of discipline and good judgment, but any stereotype or pejorative against any race wasn't permitted and severely dealt with.

After a couple of weeks, of Dad's rants which always brought back that feeling of my head going into the windshield; curiosity got the best of me, so I asked Dad, "Since when did black people become niggers?"

He grabbed me by the shirt and lifted my face to his and with gritted teeth, hissed out, "God damn it boy, that is what their own people are calling them; there's truth to it!"

The next morning, he opened my bedroom door and stuck his head in, "Mike, you're right. If I keep thinking of them as niggers, I am eventually going to say it and they will get me that way."

After that, Dad didn't use the N-word, but described to me what he was experiencing to show me how he was being treated on the job since he has worked at the Fallsway Headquarters. He was told by more than one person that him being at the headquarters was a great way to punish him for the embarrassment he periodically caused the agency. Also, he was told they are hoping to make him quit before he can make his retirement.

Sometimes, he would just quote to me, what was said to him: "You see Lou, I don't know why you want to change things. You don't understand that you whites have the economy ... That's your power. We (black people), have the govament. That's where our entitlement and power lies.

To that one, Dad became angry and yelled to me, "God damn it Mike! I risked my life in the Civil Rights Movement so they can find their just due and deserved place in society. Not so they can feel empowered to take, 'govament,' over and push people around in some perverted notion of power."

After his stay there, he likened state government and city government as a third world country as these side dealings of some employees popped up, and those serving the city seemed to forget the citizens or cared for that matter.  Yet he cautioned me that most government workers are not like that. It's just those in charge who will never let them advance to improve things.

He also got rebuked for yelling at a girl who fell into the welfare reforms when she couldn't perform the simplest or tasks and showed him a lot of attitude. He basically made her cry and was chastised for what he said. To Dad, the welfare reforms weren't a joke and didn't see how a person could improve or gear themselves to a job which would sustain them, if at times someone didn't try to change their attitudes or habits.

He was now reduced to simply enduring and marking off the days to retirement. He felt that someone had access to his employment file as it got back to him that because of him, they will only hire someone with a degree in social work and not a business degree. For that matter, the state refused to make good on the promise to expunge his record on the courthouse fiasco.

This fostered his belief that his agency needed to be abolished; with the duties to be split between a new agency to handle the social aspect of a child headed the wrong way and in need of assistance and the department of corrections, for those kids too far gone.



His work situation also made a for hair raising experience for me. White Marsh Mall is a huge mall with two levels and over 1,200,000 square feet. I always thought it was funny that the mall security force were made to look like State Troopers. It always seemed to me to be as crowded as Christmas time there.

Dad and I were there when suddenly Dad pointed to a black man his age and yelled, "Dan!" Much like my father did to me; Dan didn't hear him and kept walking. Dad yelled at the top of his lungs, "I work with that son-of-a-bitch and I'm going to get him!"

With steely eyes of determination and his lower lip bit, he took off running after him. Fearing the worst for Dan, I took off after my father! As I was in pursuit, I saw four Smokey's on the level above, leaning over the rail and looking in our direction with radios in hand. I thought to myself, Shit! Security's not going to get there in time and I am going to have to tackle my own dad.

I was five feet away from my father when Dad slapped his hand on Dan's shoulder and spun him around. Dan was totally startled and said, "L, L, L, Lou!"

"Sorry to have to grab you like that, but I want my son to shake the hand of the greatest person that I know."

I shook Dan's hand, but the only thought that came to my mind was, The greatest man that Dad knows? Dan then introduced himself to me, "I'm the black Lou Kohlman."

I could only reply, "Oh, God!"

Dan laughed and said, "Well, it seemed to me your dad was having too much fun with things and I liked his cause, so I joined in. To me, he's the greatest man that I know so you should be proud of him. He stands for what is right and really takes a good beating at work. Besides it fun driving [them] crazy at work." I think he brandished the N-word along with [them] as well. It proved to me that the problems my father faced wasn't from paranoia, but a horrible reality.

Yet even the Fallsway Headquarters didn't dish out his worst day.  I was there to witness it as we went into elevators at Sinai's, Traumatic Brain Injury Unit and heard, "Hey, Mr. Kohlman!"  We looked around and then at each other as no one was in the elevator with us.

"No, Mr. Kohlman, down here!"

There was a black man who appeared to be a yound adult that was in a wheelchair.  Dad remembered him right off and asked him what happened. "Well Mr. Kohlman, I hated when you told me, if I continue on my path, I would either be killed or in a wheel chair, well you were right."  He was shot in the back after a drug deal and Dad expressed his sympathies.

The man continued on, "Mr. Kohlman, I think you were the only honest person in my life and I should have listened to you.  I'm not doing crime now."  They wished each other well.

When Dad got out of the elevator, he said with a hiss, "I don't want you to think for a minute that I wished that on anybody.  I only hoped he had seen the truth and changed before it had to happen."

After he returned home to my birth place after his failed marriage with Nancy, he really set about using his retirement time wrapped up with his loves and beliefs. He was more active and generous with pro-family organizations, Prison Fellowship, anti-crime groups and politics. The maximum contribution got him a face to face with soon to be elected, Republican Governor Ehrlich and dad was happy he listened to his suggestions.

It broke my father's heart that instead of dissolving the agency Governor Ehrlich put in charge of Juvenile justice, one of the most liberal people that he could find. With Governor Ehrlich, that agency was in the news constantly for its failings. The press coverage is only reserved to Republican Governors. With Bob, a former scoutmaster that still worked there, I got constant news to supply Dad with. There is no juvenile justice, because there was no bed space being created to handle the severe problems and the courts are worse than ever.

Dad couldn't figure out for the life of him, why Republicans always wanted to defer social agencies to liberal people when it always blows up in their faces. For my father, running and improving an agency was only a matter of honesty, common sense, guts and the drive to do what is best for the largest amount of people you can.

In fact, under Ehrlich the agency not only got that much worse, what was going on inside made the news. With the next Democratic Governor the news coverage just about stopped, but for the most egregious of failings, or staff murders and rapes.



What I admired the most about Dad was, he never asked for a break or lost faith in the Almighty. Wayne's Mom was the type who always told you what was on her mind, even if you're were a total stranger at the mall and didn't dress to her liking. Coming in from another state treating all of us to dinner, she said, "Lou, you are the most self-righteous person I have ever met."

Dad laughed and said, "Well, I don't know how you cannot stand for anything or have a belief without considering yourself righteous."



Another family member of interest was Uncle Victor. To me he was the most easy to get along with person and the best natured you could find. Still he had his quirks as he sometimes couldn't find the Christmas presents or would occasionally miss an event.

It seemed a family tradition that Dad and him would talk about state government, which turned into a debate. Uncle Vic worked in another facet of state government, the better running Department of Transportation. Vic would listen, acknowledge the problems and tell him to stop worrying about things, which would send Dad up a wall.

One time, when my mother was still well, Dad discussed religion with him. Uncle Victor listened, but in the end he simply stated that he didn't share those beliefs. Dad asked him what beliefs he had and Uncle Victor replied, "I'm an Agnostic."

Dad screamed to the tops of the hills, "Jesus Christ Vic, even atheists have more belief then you!"

Later at home Dad called Uncle Vic a drunkard and a homosexual with no beliefs and maybe Dad can help put in on the proper path. Mom questioned that, and Dad said a neighbor one time saw him fall down in the street and had to help him to the porch. My mom listened, with the look of disagreement and ended the argument with, "Look Lou, that's not your family duty, so leave him alone and let Vic be Vic."

I asked Mom if Uncle Victor was gay and Mom laughed and said, "I don't know, that's not our business ... But I really don't think so because I knew he fell in love with a woman and she really hurt him, so he decided not to try anymore." I knew that feeling.

I did ask Uncle Vic about his drinking and he laughed and said, "No one's noticed but I have stopped drinking because I found out I am diabetic. I like to leave the past in the past and let people think what they want about me. I bet it keeps your father occupied."

Dad's birthplace was a small house on Decker Avenue in the Highlandtown area of Baltimore city. But when he was rather young, he moved to Ramona Avenue which was next to the street that Uncle Victor lived on at Aunt Millie's house on Dudley Avenue. In fact, Dad's house was behind another sister, Aunt Marie's and she watched my father put his hand through the glass in the door and came to his aid.

Ultimately, Dad moved once again to Woodlea Avenue which was a single house just a little further away. Since Victor, Jim (Aunt Marie's son) and Dad were around the same age, that was how he came to know of my mother who lived in the same house I now own as my grandmother was the third sister.

Unfortunately, in 2002 we learned that Uncle Victor had pancreatic cancer and in one sense, Dad admired him for having the courage for doing everything possible to continue to live.  However given the nature of pancreatic cancer, Dad felt that it was a fruitless pursuit which may allow you live a little bit longer, but contribute only a declining quality of life.

In the Fall of that year, Uncle Victor came to my house to give us the Christmas presents that he had forgot. He talked with Rita and I and we found out that his cancer was discovered when he went in for a gall bladder operation. He next had major surgery involving the Whipple Procedure which removes the gall bladder and head of the pancreas and sort of reroutes things, in addition to chemo therapy.

While I was amazed how well Uncle Vic looked, he was ghastly white and weak, but he appeared very upbeat about his chances for survival. We actually believed he came to our house to say his goodbyes. Likewise, I told him how much I appreciated him and made him laugh talking about Dad. Around Christmas time, he took a turn for the worse and was cared for by his sister, Cousin Emily who lived in Severna Park. He passed away on, January 11, 2003.




For a while, I had some concerns for my father. He was hip deep in with the Gideon's and one of the people involved was Dr. Kellar, sort of the family's preferred oral surgeon who was also a seller of Shaklee products, which are nutritional supplements and products. Dad also lived off Schwan's frozen foods which are delivered to the door.

While he was overweight, I didn't see that as a problem.  There were times I worried as he would become a dieting fanatic. Dad always stopped by with Schwan's products for our family and while they were all quality products, I had concerns that Dad's nutrition wasn't the best. At the same time, he seemed to develop a love for tawny port wine and I was worried about his drinking and kept tabs. While he always remained fully functional, I feared a day would come where I had to step in.

Another concern was over his financial affairs. He had his state pension and had just started his Social Security, and he had an IRA which because of the stock market was severely undervalued. Dad was putting his excess expenses on his credit cards and paying the interest which he planned to easily pay off in a year or two when the fund increased to its prior value. I sure hoped that would be the case.



In February, Baltimore was hit by a blizzard known as the, "President's Day Blizzard." That lasted the 15th to the 18th and dropped over 28 inches of snow on us.  It even shut down work. On the 18th, I spent most of the day shoveling the snow from our property and with a little time left before work, decided to go to the Parkville shopping center to pick up groceries for our house. To me, it was a simple matter of strapping on my little used snowshoes and hiking the half mile to the store.

On my way back, I decided to check on Dad and let him know that I will shovel him out the next day and was amazed that not only his walkway, but his driveway and patio was shoveled as well. I knocked on the door and when Dad answered it, he was in his pajama bottoms and started yelling at me.

"God damn it, Mike! Why in the hell are you walking out in this mess with all of those grocery bags, when your bitch wife should be driving you to the store. You work hard enough for those fuckers and I bet they didn't even help you shovel even one scoop of snow!"

"Dad, it was my decision to go to the store and pick up things. It's not really drivable yet."

"Bullshit Mike! Why isn't she at you side with groceries in her hand!"

"Because I don't want her to! Look God damn it, I came over to check up on you, and let you know that I would shovel you out tomorrow.  Not to be yelled at by you."

"Well, I know how hard you work so I busted my own ass so you wouldn't have to help me ... Like that fucking wife of yours should do for you!" At that time he doubled over and grabbed his stomach and ran upstairs, where he basically fell backwards on his bed. I now noticed that he had a cup sized protrusion just below his sternum.

"Oh God Dad.  You had to push it and give yourself a hernia shoveling the snow!"

"Just give me a minute and go downstairs."

I sat downstairs, and waited a short while until Dad came down, now wearing a pajama top. "Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you. You're a nice guy and don't deserve it. I know you have to head to work soon, so go home and relax for a few minutes until you have to go."

I gave him a hug and headed home. Somewhere with the ten or fifteen minutes it took me to get home, Dad planted another surprise on me. I no sooner opened the door and said, "Hi, honey!"

Rita yelled back, "Do you know your fucking father called me and screamed his head off and called me a no-good wife!" That was just the beginning of Rita's yelling, and insinuations; not to mention threats. I jumped out the back door into my snowshoes and headed to work, wishing that I had a second dueling pistol so they both could duel and hopefully shoot each other at the same time.



There wasn't time to rest as a few days later, Dad called me to inform me he thinks he had an ulcer and was referred to a gastroenterologist who scheduled him for an endoscopic procedure. Personally I felt that he didn't have an ulcer, but his discomfort came because of the hernia he had just given himself.

After a few days, he called and told he wanted a family meeting wanted my sister and I there so he could share the results with us. I agreed to come over the next day when Cindy would also be there.

"Well, I had the endoscopy procedure with the gastroenterologist and he didn't find any evidence of an ulcer, so since they kept me there because of the anesthesia.  They immediately scheduled me for an MRI."  I was expecting my father to say my diagnosis was correct, but he continued.

"He immediately rescheduled me for an appointment in his office, and said that I have two, two centimeter tumors and one three centimeter tumor on my pancreas.  He wanted to immediately schedule me for the Whipple procedure, chemotherapy and radiation. I told him to forget it."

"Do you know that he had the guts to tell me that I would die without doing all of that? I told him what would all that buy me; a couple of extra months of remaining life with no quality in it?"

"He told me, 'But it is extra life,' and I told him his was right, but the quality of it is unacceptable to me. All he said is, 'Well you seem firm in your decision and since there is nothing else that I can do for you, I'm signing you over to hospice.' Well that's it, I really don't want to be bothered by you two, until you're needed, but I want to include you on my plans and hospice meetings."

Believe me, we both knew Dad's funeral plans and requests, but he immediately went over them again. "I have a $7,000 insurance policy to cover the expense of the funeral so if you go over that, that's your damned fault and you two deserve to pay for the rest."

"When I die, I want you to go to Lancaster and pick me up an Amish Coffin because that's what I want to be buried in. Hey, it's only $450.00 and completely utilitarian. Here is the card to make arrangements with."

Considering the hospice experience with Stella Maris and my grandmother, I considered sharpening my broadsword, but the meeting was at Dad's house shortly after and he chose The Gilchrist Hospice Center which was affiliated with GBMC. The social worker in charge went through the ropes and immediately informed us that every medication that my father will need for pancreatic cancer hospice is in a box in the refrigerator.

I was completely shocked as well alread had the morphine that was denied my grandmother for so long, and the complete line of anti-nausea medications. Also many as other things that will keep him comfortable and provide for his needs. Next came the paperwork for Dad to sign and when the nurse tried to explain the DNR paper, Dad yelled, "Give me that son-of-a-bitch!" and signed it like Patrick Henry.

Afterwards, Dad point blank told me, "I don't want to be bothered by your fucking family, so you keep Katie, Jimmy and Rita away. I don't even want them to call me!" He was so firm in his language that I knew not to even question him about his decision or lobby to have him change his mind.

I went home, with my psychological helmet on and prepared for the explosion from Rita that started with, "What the hell do you mean that he doesn't want to talk to us. What have you been telling him?"

"Nothing! In fact, I have been candy coating us for quite some time. Look, he has his mind made up and it is a request from a dying man. Can you at least respect that?" Personally, while I wasn't happy about Dad's wish, I sure as hell understood it. I also didn't want to be over there and have Rita trying to help out and rub him the wrong way.

I had my concerns about caring for Dad. Would he permit us to help him, and do what is necessary for his care? After Mom left the house, he insisted that he will never wear a diaper and if we try to put one on him, we may just find that he a his gun under his blanketd.

Believe me, I took that one seriously as one time I came home early from a camping trip at 1:00am in the morning, and carried my first load of gear in the basement and fumbled with the electronic lock, whose batteries had died.

I used my key and as soon as I turned from the dining room into the living room, I heard, "I'm armed! Identify yourself!"

I pretty much took it that, "I'm armed," actually meant that his gun was pointed at me. With, "Identify yourself," I heard that sweet double click of the hammer to his Smith and Wesson .38 special cock.

Not wanting to get shot, I calmly replied, "Michael W. Kohlman, you're son, social security number ..."

"You're not supposed to be here."

"I know, but they decided to come home early so we don't get iced in."

"Did it work?"

"No way, it was camp Rodney." He finally uncocked and lowered his gun. He laughed because we usually had a problem of being iced in at Rodney, having the scouts get out of the cars and push, which was a bit precarious.

In knowing it was going to be hospice for Dad, when I next walked in his house, I thought to myself, "No footsteps this time. Thank God for wall to wall carpeting!"

Still on one of my visits, I had Jimmy with me and apprised Jimmy that Dad may not want him to come in, and to my astonishment, Jimmy said that he understood.  I knocked on Dad's door and when he opened it, he spied Jimmy and I immediately said, "Dad, I had to bring Jimmy with me, but he will stay on the porch if you don't want him in." Dad invited both of us in.

He asked Jimmy if he knew what was going on, and had Jimmy explain what he knew to him. He then told Jimmy, "To me, you're the Grandson that I never had and I really appreciated you in my life ..." Dad also wished Jimmy the best and asked him not to come over anymore.

On our way home, I told Jimmy, "Damn, Dad must think the world of you because he doesn't even give me his blessings." Jim laughed a bit, and said that he will miss Dad after he's gone.

For the most part, through to the next month, we stopped by on our own every day, but Dad was fine. He did indicate that things are in the process of changing and we spent more time there. He was no longer keeping things down and even the strongest of anti-nausea medications were failing him, also his urine was the color of coffee and he was becoming severely jaundiced. 

Dad was on the cusp of no longer desiring food and drink, but still having hunger pangs. He'd try to eat or drink something, but would throw it up a short time later. Cindy was now taking personal time off from work and was constantly caring for Dad. Now I was glad that I didn't get angry at her about caring for Grandma; as basically our situations had swapped.

I did offer Dad one alternative to help him with his nausea, "Dad there may be another option to control your nausea that seems to help many cancer patients. If you want, I will go out and pick up marijuana for you to try."

His face crinkled up.  "God damn it Mike, I didn't smoke that shit before, and I have no desire to try it now so forget that idea."

I laughed and said, "With your temperament, maybe you should!"

Then it was my sister's turn for a surprise. "I'm living here now; I had to flee my house because of Wayne." I thought, Jesus Christ, not again! One thing for sure was, there was going to be an immediate settlement once Dad passed on. Not the bullshit that happened when Grandma died. But that problem was for another day...

Different from the time that Cindy did this with Grandmother, she had secretly taken out her possessions and put them into storage. She also assured me that this time, the separation is for good and the positive sign was that she had an attorney. The problem was, the house was solely in her name and Wayne was still living there.



Dad was now primarily upstairs and moved between the bathroom, his bed and the chair beside it; but he would occasionally gather enough energy to come downstairs. For the most part, he ignored us and kept himself occupied with reading his bible. He didn't show any interest in the TV, saying he intends to go out in peace.

He was still talking to his friends on the phone and arranged for his Gideon friends to come around. They checked in upstairs to see him, but stayed mainly in the dining room and asked us questions.  Dr. Keller thought it was simple dehydration and insisted on using a Shaklee electrolyte solution and assured us it was the key to Dad regaining his health and recovering.

I thought, From pancreatic cancer? That would be a miracle! While I tried to dissuade them, they insisted so I went upstairs and said, "Dad? I really don't think that you will want to do this, but Dr. Keller insists that you try the orange electrolyte solution. I understand if you decide to refuse." Dad told them to come up.

With everyone upstairs and the orange solution made up, they insisted he down it and they all started exclaiming joy and told my father how good he looks and Dad insisted he was feeling much better. It took about five minutes for him to throw up to everyone's horror and downstairs, I had to explain again it was a good try, but his problem is the pancreatic cancer is shutting down his organs. I think that was the moment that reality not only hit Dad's friends, but Dad himself. After that he had no hunger pangs and drank just a little to keep himself comfortable, but not throw up.

Dad had few other visitors. While pastor Homer left Christus Victor Church just before Dad's divorce he did stop by. I was a bit miffed that he still had the same bias against me, and I saw the irony in my prayers for his family, though his daughter died from epilepsy and his continued condemnation of me. Christus Victor was aware of his situation and several choir members visited with Dad's Gideon friends. Their current pastor also stopped by.

Dad had left Christus Victor, frustrated they wouldn't lend their support to the Gideon's, the way he thought that they should. Personally, I thought it was for the best and he had transferred to Saint Andrew Lutheran Church, with both Dad and that pastor being two peas in the pod. He was the most frequent visitor.

Cindy and I were for the most part, downstairs in case Dad needed us.  His usual Modus Operandi was to ignore us.  We would check on him every few hours. Then there was a sound of his body hitting the floor and we both had the same thought, Dad! We immediately ran upstairs with our hearts pounding ... Only to find him sitting in the chair.

The later that day we raced upstairs again as we heard that sound to find him lying in bed. This would become a nerve racking event that would play out multiple times a day and be totally unexplainable to us. After several days, I never thought I would say it, but I wished it was footsteps again.

Cindy had her nursing friends over and we enjoyed the little party, then there was once again the sound of his body hitting the floor and all at once, as her nursing friends yelled, "Lou!" They all took off running up the steps. This time, my sister and I stayed behind and snickered about the nerve racking joke in our lives. From upstairs we heard, "I don't understand what made that sound, Lou's in bed."

While Wayne had no clue where Cindy was now residing, that didn't keep him from checking around and he showed up at Dad's. He wasn't happy when I answered the door and I immediately told him to leave. By now he knew what the situation was, so I told him to leave. I believe that the protection order went through and he was served, but it didn't stop him from getting his son to constantly call us and leave messages there. Most were petty and stupid trivial matters, which added to my resentment.

After the tenth time the phone rang at Dad's house, I picked up and said, "Eric, what the hell do you want?"

It was obvious that he really wanted the answering machine. I heard Wayne in the background coaching him, so I insisted that he talks to me. "When is Cindy coming back?"

"You don't get it, Wayne, it's over."

"What's she doing over there; I want to talk to your father."

"Wayne he doesn't want to talk to you." Wayne insisted in knowing what is going on, "Look Dad's dying of pancreatic cancer and I'm pretty much pissed off that you insist on bothering us against all of our wishes. If you think that I was pissed when Cindy was over Grandmother's, don't try me here. I want you and your family to leave us alone, it ain't going to be like it was before."

One time I stopped by, and Cindy was very upset and explained Dad came down and spent the better part of the morning on the phone making contributions to the organizations and political causes that he supported. That upset me as well, but I told her, "Regardless it is still his money and his choices to make."

It was strange as it didn't really seem to me that Gilchrist Hospice was even there. Their nurse made regular visits, as well the social worker stopped by as they kept track of the progress of Dad's pancreatic cancer, and let us know where they believed he was in the process of passing, but there seemed to be so little intrusion.

They also checked up on Cindy and myself and always let us know there is support group help available and while Dad insisted that he remain home, if we needed a break, they could transfer him to their facility in Towson. The package of drugs we had available made all the difference in the world and gave us the ability to match what was required to Dad's pain needs, though he tended to desire to tough it out with the least amount of pain medicine possible.

My biggest source of apprehension was Dad's request to be buried in an Amish coffin, while the Huckleberry Finn atmosphere of the funeral orgy (obsequy) and scene would be very fitting for Dad's wake; it wasn't the way I felt it should go. Cindy reluctantly asked me, "What are we going to do about Dad's Amish coffin? I don't want him to be buried in one."

After looking around, I quietly told Cindy that I am unhappy about that choice, but I don't want to bring it up for fear of him taking off to get it. "Let's let the sleeping dogs lie in the basement and hopefully he won't catch wind our or choice."

We had already put in place our funeral arrangements for him, including our acceptable choice of coffin. It was a fairly inexpensive wood coffin, yet more contemporarily acceptable to us.

I could just envision him taking off with his pissed attitude and speeding up to Lancaster to pick it up. It wasn't hard for me to imagine him being pulled over in his little, blue Ford Fiesta with a coffin on top by a Maryland State Trooper, "License and registration please. Do you know that I clocked you doing 75 miles an hour?"

"I know I was speeding sir, but look God damn it! My fucking kids won't buy me the Amish coffin I wanted to be buried in. I am dying from pancreatic cancer and want to get it home before I do die." I had the fear of a bad feeling, Dad's would be the most interesting excuse ever posed to a State Trooper.

It wasn't long after that, one evening my father called both Cindy and myself in a panicked voice that sent us running up to him. "Cindy, Mike I need you! I know I will be dead by morning! I just know it!" If he didn't appear to be as happy as a lark!

Never seeing a person so happy in their life to die. "Dad, are we doing the Gideon thing?"

"Yes, but first I need a diaper!"

If that wasn't the shock of my life, "A diaper Dad?" I turned around and he already had his pajama bottoms down.

"Yea! I know when I die my bowels are going to release and I don't want you two to have a mess to clean up!" I kept my thoughts to myself, Bowels to release? You haven't gone to the bathroom in a week. A mess to clean up? We still have to take care of the diaper!

Cindy went and put a diaper on him and he gleefully jumped in bed and had us get the Gideon Bible. We did what they had in the Gideon Bible for the forgiveness of sins, as both Cindy and I participated in this impromptu ceremony. Both my sister and I were a little upset about this, but it allowed Dad to give us his final goodbyes and he even said that he feels sorry for us as he knows he is going to the better place.

By now, I had taken a week off from work, to stay with my sister over at Dad's.  Now my role was reversed from Grandma's passing, as I would stay there and check up on my family, spending only a couple hours a day with them. That evening it was hard to go to sleep as even though you didn't feel it was quite Dad's time, you wondered if he was given some sort of heads up.

Considering Cindy and I shared an inflatable mattress in Dad's living room, we finally caught a little shut eye. When we woke up, Cindy asked, "Well who's going to check on Dad?" I told her that I would.

I went upstairs and into his room and quite honestly couldn't tell whether he had expired, so I moved closer and touched him. He opened his eyes and suspiciously asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Dad, apparently things didn't go as planned and you are still alive." Boy, he wasn't happy either. From that point on, Dad was harder to take care of and a bit more emotional. He showed a bit of anger towards us, and at times he was a real pain in the ass. He was also apologizing, and we consoled him by telling him not to worry.

As part of our daily routine, we went running up the steps at the sound of his body dropping and for the first time, he actually fell like that. He made the same exact sound that had us running up the steps. We did have to check on him more and usually when we found him on the floor, he had quietly slipped onto it either from the bed or the chair.

He was also having seizures, which was not the gentle dancelike movements my grandmother's arms made, but shaking which made you want to call 911, even though you knew you weren't supposed to. He never knew he was having those seizures.

For the most part, he told me that he didn't want me to take care of him, as I had done so much with my mother and he preferred my sister. She was more than willing to, but I remained around if she needed me and I let him know that as well.

One time he had slipped on the floor and I helped him back into bed, and he started to lightly cry and said, "I'm sorry Michael ... I'm really sorry."

"Dad, will you explain to me what the hell you're sorry about?" 

"I should have died that night and don't know why I didn't. You shouldn't have to be taking care of me."

"Oh, Jesus Christ Dad! Is that why you became such a pain in the ass? Did it every dawn on you that God, is God and not a German? You didn't die that night, but you're not too far off the mark, I don't think you realize it, but you're having seizures these days. Just relax, death will be coming to you soon enough and I can't say I regret you hanging around a little longer than expected. Stop apologizing!"

I couldn't resist.  "I think you're holding out from dying because you know how absent minded I am, and are waiting to die on my birthday so I don't forget."

Well I thought it was funny, but it hurt Dad and he got a little upset and said, "Sorry."

"I tell you what though; I'm beginning to believe that God has a Yiddish sense of humor. Oi!" At least that made him smile.



It seemed that he only had time to talk to me once a day. "I want you to know, when I die, I'm going to be giving you an arsenal. If you get rid of all of those guns, you just might find yourself in a war with nothing to shoot back with."
-
The next day, "Mike, I give Ludwig twenty dollars a month and want you to continue to do so. In Germany, he needs it. I also want you to make regular financial contributions to all of the charities that I support." I only promised that I would do what I can.
-
"Mike, when I die, I want you to take up the causes of criminal justice and juvenile crime."

"Dad, look I have a family, financial problems and don't have the time as I have to work so hard to make ends meet."

To Dad, this was a poor excuse and he added, "Well then, I wish they come to you."

"Thanks Dad, I really enjoy being cursed by my own father."
-
"I made some last minute contributions to the charities that I support. I figure that you and Cindy will have enough money from me and I didn't want to spoil you. See the bible says, 'Spare the rod and spoil the child.'"

"Believe me, I have felt the rod." He didn't see my motion like a stick got put up my butt.
-
One time, he did express remorse, which was a shock. "Mike, you did so many neat things and I regret the way that I looked at them and wished I had supported you in your endeavors better.  I figured if I was tough on you, you could handle any problem put on you by another person."

"Dad, I'll be honest, I was just hoping that you didn't put impediments in my way. Look, I'm not angry at you as I feel that I have no right, so you can go out rest assured I don't think badly or I am angry with you. Your closer to God now, and maybe it was him who somehow decided my fate. I feel it's best to let him be the judge."
-
"Mike, you and your sister don't have the guts to put me in an Amish coffin like I want to be buried in, do you?"

"Dad, it's not a question about guts, but for Cindy and me, it's about respect. We did get you a wood coffin and it was inexpensive."

"Well if it isn't as cheap as an Amish coffin, you two are fools for wasting your money."

"Happy fools, Dad! Happy fools! Personally, I wanted to bury you in your Ford Fiesta, which would have only required four pallbearers."

(continued in next chapter due to site posting problems)