Brookfield Wannabe

Twas the week before Christmas,
And all through the house,
Decorations were scattered
By me and my spouse.

"Where are the stockings?"
I asked, searching in vain.
"I don't know, " muttered my husband.
"But decorating's a pain!"

To the spare room, he went
To search the holiday trim,
With our youngest daughter following
Right smack behind him.

My husband had forgotten
That in the room he did place
All the presents from "Santa,"
That being the only spare space.

With my daughter next to him,
He opened the door,
And there was "Dora's Princess Castle"
In plain view on the floor.

My daughter shrieked with delight.
Then howled with despair,
As my husband tried to block her
From seeing what was there.

It was too late; she had seen it.
Much to our chagrin.
My mind raced to create
A story to spin.

"Sometimes the gifts
Are too much for one night.
So, Santa gives some to parents
Early, to keep out of sight."

I added, "The presents pile up,
And the sleigh is so full
That sometimes it's hard
For the reindeeer to pull."

My daughter slowly nodded.
The story, she had bought.
So all of our planning
Was not all for naught.

With a resigned sigh,
We gave her the gift.
Her smile of pleasure
Gave our spirits a lift.

But then she stopped and stared.
No more smiles. No more fuss.
"Mom," she asked loudly,
"is this from Toys 'R Us?"

"The jig is up!"
We thought to ourselves
Goodbye Santa. Goodbye Rudolph.
Goodbye toy making elves.

A Toys 'R Us Symbol
Was what did us in.
And my mind searched again
For another tale to spin.

"Sometimes," I explained,
"Santa gets toys from the store."
I stopped there.
I could think of no more.

She accepted that blindly,
The way children do,
Playing happily with her castle
And all its accessories too.`

She'll only believe
For a few short years.
So I'll keep Santa going
Till truth-telling time nears.

She knows there's more to Christmas
Than the bearded man of great girth.
We teach her respect for others' traditions
We celebrate Christ's birth.

I hope you've enjoyed
My holiday ode
To the time Santa came early
Due to "sleigh overload."

-- MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

I found out a couple of days ago that a classmate of mine from law school died. He was only 38. His name was Greg Rahoi, and he was from Brookfield.

Greg and I became friends while serving as interns with the Milwaukee County D.A.’s office in our final year of law school. Oddly enough, he never really wanted to be a prosecutor. All he ever talked about was joining the FBI.

After we graduated, he was not able to obtain a position with the FBI. He became a police officer in Madison, but he never stopped reaching for his goal. We lost touch a few years after graduation. The last time I saw him in person was almost ten years ago at a party at my apartment on the east side of Milwaukee. He was one of the last to leave, and I remember him telling me that he thought the guy I was interested in, my now husband, was a nice guy.

Last week, a local television news station reported that Greg had been shot and fatally wounded during a training exercise in Virginia. I searched online and found that at the time of his death he was a Special Agent serving with the FBI Hostage Rescue Team.

His death is tragic, but what I take from his life is a tremendous admiration for his intense, unswerving, single-minded pursuit of his dream. To me, that makes him a hero, although I am sure that in his line of work he accomplished feats that were heroic in the truest sense of the word.

Nearing 40, I look back and realize that I have let some of my dreams go. Sometimes, it was in exchange for another dream. Some just fell by the wayside either out of necessity or neglect, but there are others that are still achievable, with a little hard work, determination, and tenacity. I owe it to myself to go for those dreams, and in some indefinable part, I owe it to my friend Greg whose dream came to an abrupt and sad end. Rest in peace, friend.

Live your dream (or at least try to). Life is short.