In college I was a member of the varsity heavyweight crew. Also on the team was a guy named Mike Lacasse. Mike was two years older than me and he graduated the same year I met him, 1998. I didn’t have much time to get to know Mike, plus the context of our friendship (college athletics) didn’t really offer many opportunities to do so.

But somehow, during long bus rides to out of state regattas and the short times before and after practices, I got to connect with Mike. See Mike was one of the most genuine, most welcoming people I have ever met.

Most people (myself included) do not open up around people we don’t know, at least at first. We’re naturally a little guarded, a little reserved around others – not just strangers, but the people we share our life with. Those who are familiar, who are included, but not yet known. Teammates, classmates, work mates, neighbors, that family sitting in the same pew as us… Not strangers, but not friends.

But Mike, with Mike it was like we were friends the moment I first got near him. But we weren’t, we never became friends. I don’t know where he grew up. I don’t know what he was studying. I don’t even know what he did when he wasn’t rowing.

So how is it that without any of the background information, similarities, or shared experiences that relationships are built on I could feel close to Mike?

I don’t know.

I’m sorry, I wish I had some profound insight for you but I don’t. Mike was just a great guy.

Mike was rare. For whatever reason, consciously or subconsciously, Mike wasn’t guarded. I think he was pretty special because of that. It for sure made me feel special; made me feel like I mattered. For Mike, to Mike, I did, I mattered. I don’t know how he did it. But it was special. I wish I could be like that.

…

Mike died in 2000. He developed lymphoma in 1998 and died two years later.

I don’t know if Mike had been diagnosed yet when I met him. I don’t think so. But when he died, when we were told by our coach, I remember it hitting me really hard. Part of it was that I had recently finished treatment for my own cancer. But most of it was because Mike was a great guy and I was sad that he was dead.

I was reminded of Mike after ten years of not thinking about him because I saw a picture of a boat with his name on it. Some of Mike’s classmates and teammates pitched in a dedicated a rowing scull to the school in Mike’s honor. This year, one of my alma mater’s crews won the National Championship in that boat. That’s a great honor for a great guy.

And it’s a great reminder for me that the people in my life, who despite how short or inconsequential my time with them might be, are amazing. If I’m not willing to be vulnerable, intentional, and honest I’m never going to get to experience their awesomeness.

So I want to be like Mike… I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to do that.

Tell me, who are the amazing people in your life that you don’t really know?

Since then I’ve had various pokes (ouch), prods (errr), and scans (breath in…. hold it…. hold it…. exhale), but nothing really since 2005 (the five year mark).

So today at my regular diabetes check up (Yes, I am a diabetic and cancer survivor. No I don’t recommend it.) I asked my doctor if there was anything I needed to do. He didn’t seem to think so but said he’d consult with their oncologist. So, assuming they don’t say anything (which I don’t think they will), since it is March 2010…

I declare myself to be cancer-free for 10 years! Woo woo!

Those in the cancer circles will tell you that 10 years is kind of a big deal.

Stupid body.

So I’d just like to take this opportunity to say to myself:

“Great job body. Ten years without letting cancer grow inside of you. I’m proud of you… Still kind of miffed about the whole ‘destroying your own pancreas‘-thing… but great job nonetheless. Have a cookie cake! What? You shouldn’t eat cookie cake? Because your pancreas doesn’t produce insulin? D’oh!”

The Story:

In April/May of 2007, my dad (Michael John Ring) was diagnosed with lung cancer. The news was particularly devastating because: a) he isn’t that old (59 at the time) b) my dad has never smoked in his life; c) he is the father of two young children (five and three years old at the time of his diagnosis); and d) numerous members of his family have also had various kinds of cancer (including his first wife Peggy who passed away in 1997 and his second son Kevin (a.k.a. me) who was diagnosed and treated for Seminoma in 1999).

Fast forward to fall 2009, my dad gets the news that his cancer is not responding to the latest round of chemotherapy. His options are to try a more aggressive dosage of chemo (doctors aren’t sure that this treatment will completely eradicate his cancer; rather, they expect it will prolong his life for an unspecified duration (think months, years maybe) while decreasing the quality of said life due to the poisonous side-effects of chemotherapy) or he can let the cancer do it’s thing.

Given the options of #1 further treatment with uncertain (and low)  probability of success or #2 suspend treatment and enjoy what remains of your life; my dad opts for #2.

As difficult as it is, I support that decision for a number of reasons.

1. He’s lived a full life, had the fortune of meeting, falling in love with, and marrying to great women; he has raised five children; he’s had a fruitful career (he’s been on-again, off-again… on-again retired for about 10 years now), and is not harboring any deep pain/regrets/unsatisfied dreams that leave him unfulfilled.

2. I, having been treated for cancer, know a sliver of what chemotherapy is like. I’ve had radiation treatment and it was by far the WORST physical experience I think I’ve ever endured. Multiply that by a BAZILLION for chemotherapy. No thank you. If there is a probability of success, then yes it is worth enduring. A friend of mine who is an oncology nurse said to me that he completely supports this thinking. He’s seen people at the end of their lives who are suffering through chemotherapy treatment. He said that it is a horrible, horrible thing that no person should ever experience. I agree. As difficult as it is to face the thought of my dad passing away – I still struggle today with the death of my mother – I cannot selfishly wish such suffering upon him.

3. My dad is a stand up guy, has endured many hardships in his life while maintaining his integrity and selfless service to the people he loves. As far as I’m concerned, he has (for lack of a better term) earned the right to do whatever he wants.

The Idea:

In this time period I get the idea to record a series of interviews with my dad, asking him questions about life, our family, and what it’s like to no longer be able to delude yourself that you are, in fact, invincible.

I nervously ask my dad’s permission to delve into his 61 years on this earth, fully expecting him to think it isn’t a good idea…

… and (surprisingly, at least to me) he’s all for it.

As you’ll see in the video, he’s sorry that he missed the opportunity to ask his parents questions about their lives and their families. He sees this as an opportunity to make sure that the future generations of the Ring family have a record of where they came from.

Fast forward a month or so (it’s taken me this long to get my act together), today my father and I recorded the first two of what will be a number of video conversations. The first (posted here) is a brief introduction to the project . The second (which I’ll post soon) starts by looking at my dad’s childhood.

I hope that through this we get to speak about a number of things that otherwise I wouldn’t have the opportunity (or the guts) to talk to my dad about. I guarantee at some point during this I will cry. My dad’s probably going to share some embarrassing stories about me. Basically, I’m putting myself out there… and that aspect scares me (hence why it’s taken me so long to get my act together).

But in the end, I hope you get to know the Mike Ring that I know, love, and respect. There really are a lot of stand-up men in this world but you seldom hear about them. It’s an honor to get to introduce this one to you. I hope you enjoy!

Click here to go up to the video.

Click here to check out all the interviews in the Conversations With My Dad series.

p.s. If you have any questions you want me to ask, please leave them in the comments. I’ll be happy to do so (assuming they are appropriate, serious, and g-rated).

p.p.s. An update on my dad’s health. Around mid-January 2010 my dad visited a research hospital to see if they had any recommendations regarding treatment options that otherwise aren’t available. They’ve recommended a new regimen of chemotherapy that he started last Monday, January 25th. So, for now, treatment continues.