His Name Is Ron (10 page)

At Union Bank I explained to an official that we needed to close Ron's account. Checking the files, the banker noted that Ron had designated me as his beneficiary. Just hearing this simple business detail brought the weight of the emotional day crashing down upon me. Tears flowed down my cheeks. I thought: This isn't right. It should have been the other way around. Ron should have been my beneficiary.

As I struggled to complete the paperwork, Patti, Kim, and Lauren walked across the street to a restaurant known as the Cheesecake Factory—another place where Ron had worked. A men's clothing store called Z 90049 that billed itself as “Only 127 Steps West of the Cheesecake Factory” ran a full-page ad in the restaurant's menu. The clothing store manager, spotting Ron in the restaurant, had asked him if he would model for the ad in exchange for free clothing. Ron said, “Sure.” It was a one-time thing, but it explained why the press referred to him as a “sometime model.”

Kim asked the manager of the Cheesecake Factory if she could have one of the menus. The woman did not understand her request and asked why. Kim pointed to the picture of Ron, and sobbed, “That's my brother.”

The menu was a slick, quarter-inch-thick package of ring-bound, laminated pages. On page 9, across from the listing of exotic pastas, was the beige-tinted “Z 90049” ad. Ron was one of two men in the photo standing on either side of a woman. He wore a trendy, double-breasted suit with a tennis shirt underneath, buttoned up to the neck, with no tie. He looked very handsome. The woman in the middle, wearing a man's blazer, had long blond hair that was eerily reminiscent of Nicole's.

Patti, Kim, and Lauren cried as they examined the photo. The entire staff of the Cheesecake Factory gathered around. Soon everyone was weeping.

*   *   *

When two families merge, the transition inevitably produces some rough edges. Once, shortly after Patti and I were married, we all visited a family counselor. During the session both Ron and Kim broke down as they told the therapist how, years ago, Sharon had just walked out of their lives. Until that day, Michael had not realized how much both of them had been hurt by their mother's rejection.

This was the one issue, more than any other, that bound Ron and Kim together. During their childhood it was still fairly unusual for a father to have custody. They jokingly called me “Mr. Mom,” but in fact, each tried to fill that role for the other.

As far back as I can remember, when we lived in Chicago, and later in the suburb of Buffalo Grove, Ron was Kim's other caretaker. As youngsters, they walked to school together. Later, when they began riding a bus, Ron always made sure that he sat with Kim. After school, before I came home from work, they kept close tabs on one another.

When I close my eyes I can see Kim, the tomboy, tagging after Ron and his friends. I see them playing Wiffle ball in the cul-de-sac and I see her trying to be brave during all the inevitable times that she took a ball in the face. I picture them playing catch and frisbee, and laughing—always laughing.

When she grew a little older, Kim would follow Ron to the baseball diamond and watch him play. She stood with her nose to the fence, cheering him on. After the games, he and his friends would take her for ice cream. She was always shadowing him, and he never seemed to mind.

Often, during those early years, Ron and Kim had dinner ready for me when I came home from work. I have a sneaking suspicion that Kim did most of the actual cooking, but the meal was always presented as a joint effort.

Dinnertime frequently brought on giggle attacks. One evening they annoyed me so much that I separated them, sending Ron to the upstairs bathroom and confining Kim to the downstairs bathroom. Instead of settling down, they tapped out coded messages on the plumbing pipes.

It was impossible for Kim to stay mad at Ron. He would come after her with a silly grin on his face, jab her in the ribs with both of his index fingers, and chide her: “Oh, Kimmy, you know you can't be mad at me. You love me, you know you do!” And she did. She always will.

When Kim was old enough to show an interest in boys, Ron claimed the right to pass judgment. “Don't hang around with him,” he advised. Or “He's a good kid. He's okay.”

In fact, both Ron and Kim insisted on approving
my
dates. Whenever
I introduced them to someone new, the instant she turned her back, Ron and Kim would flash me a thumbs-up or thumbs-down.

I did a lot of dating in those days, looking for the right woman who would complete our family and fulfill the role that Sharon had abdicated. In 1978 I married for a second time. Joan had not been married before and had no children of her own. By that time, Ron, Kim, and I had formed such a tight circle that it was difficult for Joan to break into it. She felt like the proverbial fifth wheel, and I still had a lot to learn about sharing my love and attention. After only a few years, Joan and I decided, amicably, to go our separate ways, and I was once more on the dating scene.

Ron and Kim were teenagers when one day I brought home a cute, petite, blond woman named Patti Glass. She received an immediate double thumbs-up. Patti's eldest son, Brian, was six years younger than Ron and three years younger than Kim. Michael was her middle child and Lauren was the baby. I had always sworn that I would not get involved with a woman who had children, but Patti and her kids were irresistible and I quickly changed my mind. After our first date, we were inseparable.

At first the five children did not spend much time together. Then one day Patti's father suffered a heart attack during a flight to San Diego. The plane made an emergency landing in Michigan in order to get him to a hospital, and Patti and I traveled there to see him. Ron and Kim were old enough to take care of themselves, but Patti arranged for a babysitter for her children. Lauren thought that the sitter was mean to her, and she wanted to call her mom to complain. Instead, Patti's children called Ron and Kim, since we lived only twenty minutes away. Even though it was snowing, Ron and Kim went over to Patti's house and immediately assumed the roles of big brother and sister. They fired the babysitter on the spot and brought Brian, Michael, and Lauren home with them. After putting Lauren to bed, they invited a few friends over and included Michael and Brian in a huge snowball battle in the front yard. Afterward, they stayed up way past midnight, eating and talking and having fun. Looking back on the incident, we realized that it was the beginning of becoming a real family.

Ron was a skinny, gawky teenager, but always popular. The same traits that could sometimes drive us crazy were what drew people to him and made him so much fun to be with. Ron was born with a laid-back, “What, me worry?” attitude. Many of life's petty irritations simply did not bother him. He was more concerned with living life than worrying about it. He had a good mind, and was very quick, but that did not always translate into topflight grades.

In our family, when you graduate from high school, it is assumed that
you will go on to college, and that is what Ron did in 1986. Kim and Patti fashioned numerically coded labels for his clothes so that he could match the colors correctly. We all laughed because it reminded us of the ad for toddlers' clothes when they are first trying to dress themselves. The labels on the shirts and the pants featured animals that could be matched. Only this time it was Grranimals Go to College! We drove him to the campus of Illinois State University, and helped him settle in.

But Ron simply was not ready. Like many eighteen- or nineteen-year-olds, he had no idea what career he wanted to pursue and had no real focus on the future. College is tough enough when you are driven by a goal you want to achieve, but when the goal is missing, it is hard to attend to classwork. Add in Ron's zest for life and his engaging personality and you have a recipe for academic disaster.

During that semester at college, Ron majored in “fraternity.” Although he was never a heavy drinker, we guessed that he partied pretty hard. Predictably his grades suffered and, at the end of the semester, he was back home in Chicago. I was very disappointed, but Kim was thrilled to have her big brother back. For Kim, Ron's reappearance came just in time because we were ready to make major changes in our lives.

Patti and I were married on February 21, 1987. Three days later we were all on a plane to California, where I had a new job waiting.

Kim had desperately wanted to stay in Chicago. She was “in love” with Brian Swislow. Also, she had just completed her first semester of high school. Her school in Chicago was huge, and she loved it. In contrast, the high school in California had only three hundred students, most of whom had grown up together. Kim was the new kid on the block, and she was miserable. She elevated self-pity to an art form. Now, more than ever, she depended upon her best friend—her brother.

My new employer supplied me with a company car, so I passed my white Nissan 200SX on to Ron. The license plate was perfect for him—UFORIC—incredibly happy. Ron drove Kim to school every morning. He pretended that it was a burden to get up so early and chauffeur her, but with the top open, and the stereo blasting the music of one of his favorite groups—The B-52s, Violent Femmes, Fine Young Cannibals, or Tears for Fears—he actually enjoyed the attention he got from the high school girls who giggled and stared at the new guy in town. When those same girls found out that he was Kim's brother, and not her boyfriend, her popularity took a giant leap forward.

Patti's parents were already in California when we arrived. Her mother lived in Rancho Mirage, and her father and his second wife resided in La
Jolla. Her sister, Joyce, lived in Menlo Park with her two boys. As a result there were lots of family gatherings on holidays and other special occasions. These celebrations were second nature to Brian, Michael, and Lauren, but Ron and Kim had never been surrounded by a large, extended family. During these events Ron and Kim often shied away, clinging emotionally to each other. Sometimes they took a walk together; other times they sat off to one side and talked. Once again, it was Ron and Kim against the world.

Kim was the bookworm, the good student, the serious, responsible person. Ron was the free spirit. He would tease Kim, “You're Daddy's little angel. Little angels never do anything wrong, do they?” At times Kim worried that he really thought that and was resentful of her. Kim could not abide the thought of Ron being mad at her, so she would try to list for him every little mistake she had ever made. In fact Ron was incredibly proud of his sister, and said so, frequently.

In typical sibling chats that always had a goofy overtone, they used to plan their future based upon their differing personality traits. Ron would see to the religious upbringing of the kids in their respective families. Kim would graduate from college and make lots of money. In the distant future when it came time to place me in a nursing home, Kim would pay for it and Ron would visit me.

Ron's personality and affinity for children enabled him to step into the role of Brian, Michael, and Lauren's big brother with energy and ease. They shared a very special bond, different yet deep. He was funny and very affectionate. He listened to them and made everything they said seem important. They sought his attention at every opportunity. At first Kim was resentful, wanting her brother all to herself. However, after a time she realized that there was enough of Ron to go around; his affection for the others took nothing away from her.

Michael likes to tell a story that happened when he was eight or nine years old: “Ron took me to the beach one day. I remember how dorky I looked, with my pants pulled up about ten feet above my belly button. I was all legs and arms. First he tugged my pants down to where they should be and then he said, ‘Okay, Michael, I want you to go up to that girl over there and tell her you have this really cute older brother who really wants to talk to her. Do you think you can do that?' Of course I did what he asked, and this awesome girl just smiled at me and told me how cute I was. The next thing I knew she and Ron were deep in conversation. On the way home Ron said, ‘You know what, Michael? You're not so bad. Good work!' I think I was smiling for a week.”

In a large family someone usually assumes the role of mediator and in
our case, that was Patti. I tend to be high-strung, sometimes critical and strict with children, but Patti has a more relaxed approach.

Patti's goal was to be, first and foremost, a good friend to Ron and Kim; she never accentuated the stepmother role. And she succeeded. In some ways, Patti's relationship with Ron was even better than mine. Ron and I were both headstrong, sometimes stubborn. We could easily let an argument simmer for days without resolving it. Patti was able to view any difficulties that Ron and I had through a more detached eye. When Ron and I clashed over something, Patti would be in the middle, listening to both sides and striving for compromise. Ron and Patti spent countless hours just talking things over. Ron thought that he had disappointed me by dropping out of school; but she wanted him to understand that I was tough on him because I loved him so much. Patti cautioned me to back off, relax, and give Ron some time and space.

Had it not been for Patti, Ron and I would have had far more difficulty getting past some of the natural father-son squabbling. For that I will forever be deeply appreciative, and thankful to her.

Ron went through a lot of external changes during those years. Our new house in Agoura was only about twenty minutes from the ocean, and Ron fell in love with the scene. He gloried in the sunshine and the lure of the beautiful girls. His diet changed dramatically. He no longer ate much red meat. He started to work out in a gym and discovered the tanning booth. He wore his hair a little longer, a little spiked, causing me to grumble, “Is that really what you want to do to your hair?”

He was already a bit taller than I was, but now he seemed to grow even taller, and his body filled out. The difference in appearance was dramatic, but inside he was the same happy-go-lucky, caring, and protective person we had known. He made friends easily. I had often said, “When Ron came to California, it was as if he had died and gone to heaven.” Now I regret those words.