Happy thirtieth birthday to Nikolaus Stephen Stromberg - my godson, stepson, and in every way that counts, my son. He is my namesake, and my main caregiver. He has put his own life on hold to take care of mine.
Nik's parents and I were friends from college, and I served as best man at their wedding. One beautiful spring day in late April of 1985, Nik's father called to tell me Shellie had gone into labor and they were headed to the hospital.
I kept myself busy and looked at the clock to see an hour had gone by and I hadn't heard anything yet. Another hour passed, then another, and still no word. By the time another hour passed, I had visions of the happy family celebrating without me.
Six hours had now gone by and I was starting to get pissed and defensive. How could they forget to call me?
"What am I, chopped liver?" I thought.
By now all the women are saying, "What an idiot."
Well, I did hear from Nik's father later that evening and he said Shellie was still in labor and having a rough go of it. Eventually pitocin was administered to induce labor by a jerk of a (male) doctor, and Nik was yanked from her womb with forceps gripping his temples.
Nikolaus was named for Saint Nicholas, the patron saint of children, and the most recognizable symbol of Christmas.
His early childhood was marred by an alcoholic father who worked the graveyard shift for the post office, and dragged Nik in his baby carrier to bars as soon as they opened for the day.
Shellie worked full-time, and generally his father work stagger home shortly before she was due home, place Nik in his crib, and pass out until he had to get up for work.
At this time I was a young turk, employed as the Operations Manager of a newspaper in the southwest suburbs of Chicago. I would drive out after the Saturday deadline to spend the evening, sleep over, and take a road trip on Sunday.
Nik and his Uncle Steve doted on each other. I took him for walks in his stroller, fed him, played with him, changed and bathed him, and tucked him into bed. His face would light up whenever he saw me.
There are so many things I remember. I would have sworn it wasn't possible, but Nik survived on nothing but apple juice until he was five years old. When he was three, I took Nik to Disney World with my family. It shows the level of trust between me and Nik's parents, that they would allow me to take their only child out of state for a week.
One day, my family had lunch in the Magic Kingdom, and I gave Nik a small piece of meat to chew on. We went about touring the theme park and stopped to rest for a bit late in the afternoon. My sister exclaimed, "Hey, what does Nik have in his mouth?"
I made him open up, to discover that he had the masticated piece of meat from lunch, tucked in his cheek like a plug of tobacco.
I remember one poignant and painful episode. Nik's pet name for me was Boo Boo. I'm not sure how this came about, but it was a name of endearment. One time, coincidentally during the Christmas season, we were walking through one of the mall's big department stores, and I was holding Nik's hand. He was about five and a half.
He looked up at me to say something and called me Boo Boo just as a group of older boys walked past us. One of the boys said to his buddies, "Hey, did you hear what that kid just called his dad?" and they all started to laugh. Nik looked into my eyes with profound sadness and never called me Boo Boo again.
I often think about the time when Nik was around six or seven, and he was terribly sick. He was skin and bones anyway, throwing up, running a high fever, and he hadn't eaten in days. One night when the crisis was at its worst, I got up every fifteen minutes to check on him, even though I thought he could easily slip away in-between. I was convinced we were going to lose him, and I was steeling myself for the inevitable. We both survived the endless night, and in the morning his fever broke.
Shellie divorced Nik's father in 1996, and Shellie and I were married soon after, but I raised Nik from a pup, and I'm essentially the only father he's ever known. I love the kid more than words can express. He has gone above and beyond the call of duty in seeing after my most basic and private daily needs.
He sometimes laments the fact his life seems to be going nowhere, and it breaks my heart. All I've ever wanted for him was to feel the satisfaction of contributing to society, and to experience the joy of loving and being loved by a special someone.
I tell him to be patient; that things happen in their own way and in their own good time.
Until then he knows how much I love him because I make a point of telling him so, and although I often fail, try to show him as well. But what he may not know is the place he holds in my heart, and that I take a father's pride in the wonderful, young man he has become.
Happy Birthday Nik. Love, Boo Boo
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