A Ball and a Cue

I was 17 when we moved to Houston. Dad and I would go to a sports bar in the Montrose area of Houston called Griff's. The place is quite a bit bigger nowadays than it was when we went there.

We would go there after school and play pool. The place reminded me of the bar in the TV sitcom Cheers. The bar part was upfront and the pool table was in the back room. Most of the time when we first got there, it was just Dad and I and we would play games of 8-ball. When the place started to fill up, people would challenge whoever was at the table by placing 50 cents on the table. The winner would stay and the new person would pay for the next game.

Dad helped me to think of pool as a mathematical game. Basically, it was a geometry problem. Because of that, they were days that I would play 12 or 15 games in the row and win. I tend to rush things, I get impatient. I do that when I play chess, or read through an instruction manual and in pool also. I know what to do, I just don't want to take the time to think about it. Dad would always remind me: "Slow Down. Look at your shot." That reminder allowed me to win many games.

I started playing pool with Dad in Monaco at the game room at the Larvotto. Pool in Monaco at the time was a little different. Yes, you could find places to play 8-ball, but the one that Dad and I played was 3-ball billiard.

The aim of the 3-ball billiard game is to obtain as many points as possible, by means of cannons: touching the other two balls with the cue ball.

It is a good games to learn the effects of the spins and the strength with which to hit the ball. 3-ball billiard does not have any pocket, so you pay for the table by the hour. I spent many hours playing with Dad.

I enjoyed playing 3-ball billiard. I haven't played in almost 30 years. I don't know if it would be the same fun now, but the memories sure are good.

Wine Expert

I learned many things from my dad. One of them is how to test taste wine at the restaurant.

Dad wasn't an expert wine taster, but he would recognize the taste of a good wine, and he also knew how to act when wine is served at a restaurant.

We were at the restaurant on the second floor of La Tour Eiffel and Dad had ordered some wine. With all the pomp and circumstances dedicated to a high class restaurant, the somelier brought the wine to my dad.

The proper procedure, which I learned from Dad, is to let the wine steward open the bottle and hand you the cork which upon receiving you are to smell.

With great flare, Dad sniffed at the cork and turned to the steward and acknowledge that the cork passed the test. In the meantime, every one else at the table had to stifle laughter because even though my dad knows what to do, he doesn't take it as seriously as he was pretending.

The next step is a small amount of wine poured into a glass. At that point, Dad took the glass swirled it, looked at it, snitch it, looked at it again. The final step is to actually taste it. Dad took a small swig of the wine.

To truly get the full flavor, you have to swish the wine in your mouth so that the flavor goes across the taste buds which are located on the side and the tip of the tongue.

Once again, with the flare reserved only for grand occasions, Dad swirled and swirled the wine and made appropriate faces which sent all present into even more of a snuff out laughter.

Eventually, Dad drank the wine and knowledgeably nodded to the steward to pour the wine to every one present.

Being a Frenchman in the United States, I am expected to know about wines, even though I rarely drink, thanks to Dad passing on his knowledge, I too know exactly what to do when the wine steward brings the wine.

Merry Christmas, Mom!

We are having Christmas at my mom's today. It's the first Christmas at my mom's since my dad passed away. Mom, Soeurette and Steph will get to see this blog now.

Merry Christmas, Mom!

Yesterday, we went to a birthday party for Lanny, Stephanie's husband. When we arrived there, I went around saying "hi" to everyone that was there, and for the first time, without thinking about it, I was looking for my dad to say hello to him.

Yes, it's been two years and I miss him a whole lot. It came into focus yesterday.

As a family, we will continue to cherish the memories knowing that we can, we will and we must remember. Here is a poem that I think is very appropriate at this time.

He is Gone

You can shed tears that he is gone,
Or you can smile because he lived,
You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back,
Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left.

Your heart can be empty because you can't see him
Or you can be full of the love that you shared,
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember him and only that he is gone
Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on,
You can cry and close your mind be empty and turn your back,
Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

2/3 of my life in the US

Today is the 28th anniversary of our coming to America. I was 14. 28 Years later, 2/3 of my life spent in the US, I'm still grateful for what my parents went through to give me and my sister the privilege to call this great country ours.

Your political views may be different, you may feel that this country leaves a lot to be desired, and as sincerely as I can, and from the bottom of my heart, I will tell you that you are wrong, completely, absolutely wrong. And that's what makes this country great. The ability for us to differ in opinion and both of us being able to express as we wish.

Dad loved the US, what it represents, what it offers, the opportunities here. He was proud to be an American and proud to have lived here. I know this is a recurring theme throughout this blog, but it must be said again... Thanks, Dad... Thanks, Mom... for the sacrifices, for the courage, for the opportunity, for the love, for the selflessness that it took to come to America.

I love you Dad and Mom!

Drawings and more

Among everything else my dad was, he also was a great artist. My sister inherited that talent. They both can draw marvelously.

Dad could draw anything. I've watch him put together some incredible drawings to add to reports that I had to do for school. His ability helped him tremendously also in his chosen profession. In the printing business, it comes in handy to be able to sketch or draw something.

One ad campaign that he worked on while we were in Monaco was for a top 20 radio show called "Taxi". My dad drew an old fashioned model T type car in vibrant colors and wrote "Taxi" across it. I especially remember the words because I was doodling one day and I wrote my name in cloud-like letters and Dad said "Let me see that! That's good." He actually used my doodling idea on the letters of "Taxi". I thought and still think that's pretty neat that Dad, the artist, would use something that I designed on his work.


Dad also had an artist eye with the camera. I inherited his Nikon F that he used throughout his travel. This is one of the most revere 35 mm ever made.





Once, while leaving in an apartment in Metairie, LA, we took a picture of the moon. We left the aperture open for 15 minutes. The resulting picture was a moon that travelled across the sky. Dad taught me a lot about taking pictures.

This blog may seem like Dad was too good to be true, but to me and to a lot of people that knew him, Dad was that good.

The Passion of the Christ

Growing up, I went to catholic schools all the way through high school.

I went to St.-Charles Elementary in Monaco


Le College de l'Annonciade in Monaco


Rummel High School in New Orleans.


And St-Thomas High School in Houston.


All that to say, that I grew up going to church, but didn't have a real relationship with Jesus Christ as my Lord and Savior until I was twenty-six years old. My personal relationship with Jesus Christ is important to me. And my father knew that.

He didn't share the enthusiasm in my faith, but shared my passion because he was my dad and he loved me. What was important to me became important to him.

A short time before he passed away, I asked him to come see the Passion of the Christ with me. I believed that the movie depicted the cruelty that Jesus had to go through for us and I wanted to share my faith with Dad.

I wasn't sure that Dad would be willing to go. He was tired and the cancer was taking its toll on his body, but, true to who he has always been my whole life, Dad said "yes".

Dad commented that the movie was good as far as that movie can be called good because of the harshness of it depicts. He was emotionally touched.

I love my dad for making sure that if it was important to me, then it was important to him.

Thanks, Dad!

Business Advice & Business Cards

About year before Dad passed away, I started my own business... kind of... and I went to Dad for advise. He once owned his own business back in Monaco and I wanted to know what he thought.

Dad gave me advise about how to handle things and he also made me my business card. The company name is RiSK-Free Technology, the Ri stands for my wife, Rita, the S is for my oldest two daughters Samantha and Serina, and the K is for my twin girls, Katarina and Katrina. Of course, no one wants to take a risk, so the company is RiSK-Free. Technology because I do chemical research and computer consulting.

When I was thinking about a name I thought about my dad's company name in Monaco. It was Alma Edition. The Alma was in honor of my mom and Edition was because he was in the printing business. that thought whirled around my head when I came up with a name for my company. I wanted to follow Dad's footstep, the man that always showed respect and ultimate love for my mother, his wife. A man that showed me what it was like to be a great husband.

That's why the Ri part of the company name.

When Dad designed the business, he didn't slap anything together. He used his years of experience as a printing man to design it just right. He went through many versions to make sure that it was well balanced and that it was properly set. I appreciated that.

This blog makes me think of a saying that I've enjoyed over the years and hopefully you will appreciate it too. I am 42 now

When I was:

Four years old:

My daddy can do anything.

Five years old:

My daddy knows a whole lot.

Six years old:

My dad is smarter than your dad.

Eight years old:

My dad doesn't know exactly everything.

Ten years old:

In the olden days, when my dad grew up, things were sure different.

Twelve years old:

Oh, well, naturally, Dad doesn't know anything about that. He is too old to remember his childhood.

Fourteen years old:

Don't pay any attention to my dad. He is so old-fashioned.

Twenty-one years old:

Him? My Lord, he's hopelessly out of date.

Twenty-five years old:

Dad knows about it, but then he should, because he has been around so long.

Thirty years old:

Maybe we should ask Dad what he thinks. After all, he's had a lot of experience.

Thirty-five years old:

I'm not doing a single thing until I talk to Dad.

Forty years old:

I wonder how Dad would have handled it. He was so wise.

Sixty years old:

My Dad knew literally everything!

Sixty-five years:

I wish I could talk it over with Dad once more.

A cowboy hat and boots

We moved to Houston, Texas in 1981 during the height of the Luv Ya Blue era of the Houston Oilers. American Football, as we called it, was new to us, and it was interesting learning about it.

The 1981 Oilers had Bum Phillips, Earl Campbell and a list of other now legends of football. I've worn cowboy boots for as long as I can remember. I wore them when we still lived in France. So, I fit very well in Texas with the boots, but I didn't have a cowboy hat.

Dad went out and spent quite a bit of money on a crushable wool felt Columbia blue cowboy hat. It looked something like this. The color is the same, but my hat had a feather bandana around it. I loved it

I'm not sure what happened to it. I went to college. I think it made it there and back, but I haven't seen it in quite a while. Maybe Mom knows where it is.

Dad always did things grandiose. I guess I've inherited that trait. I like to surprise people with gifts and things, and I like to go all out for them, especially my wife and girls.

Motorcycle Ride

Dad used to drive a motorcycle when he first met my mom... years and years ago. He sold it when my mom was pregnant with my sister.

My parents were never gun ho about me having a motorcycle. As a boy, I, of course, wanted a motorcycle. My junior year in college, my parents gave me a motorcycle. It was a 1981 Suzuki GS 850 L. It was black. It was fast. It was awesome. It even had cruise control.

Here is what it looked like, except it was black. The accessories were the same.

One little clitch... I had never driven a motorcycle, and though I would learn quickly, I wasn't sure that I would want to drive through Houston traffic, through I-45 traffic and the 120 miles to College Station on my first ride.

Dad came to the rescue. He hadn't driven a motorcycle in 30 years, but he braved the traffic, the distance, the uncertainty of driving a motorcycle after so long, so that I could have it at A&M. When we drove up, I remember the thousands upon thousands of love bugs that constantly smashed into the helmet. My dad had to stop every so often and clean the face shiled of the helmet so he could see.

Dad taught me that you can never do too much for your children. Yes, I was and still am spoiled, but I really do appreciate and recognize it.

Thanks Dad!

Paper Airplane and Cocotte

Have you ever made a paper airplane? or have you ever done any origami?

I remember my dad showing me how to make the best paper airplane ever. I've shown my children, and, when I was teaching, I showed the students also.

I remember the day that he showed me. We were at one of my parents' friends house. I remember them being from Switzerland. I can almost remember their names, but it escapes me... I just remembered it was Vermeille. They had a house in the country and there was plenty of room to fly a paper airplane.

Here is a little pictorial of how to make it. It is not quite a step by step, but it is pretty close. The nosepiece steps are not very detailed.



Start with an 8 1/2" x 11" piece of paper. Fold as shown above to make a square piece and a small strip of paper. See below.



The square piece is the nosepiece, the small strip is the tail.



Fold the square so that it resembles the above picture... I know you actually need more details to make it work. I might post them later.



The finished nosepiece of the plane looks like this.



The finished plane with the tail looks like this.

You can adjust the tail to fly in loops, to straighten out the flight pattern, and to adjust the landing smoothness. This is a fine flying machine.

Another piece of origami that my dad showed my sister and I was a cocotte. My sister and I would spend loads of time trying to make the smallest possible one. Here is an example of what it looks like.





I actually wrote an English paper in college about the tradition of the cocotte.

Learning Chess

Dad taught me how to play chess. I haven't played in years. This would probably be a good thing for me to teach my girls. I think I was eleven or twelve years old. My younger girls are about that age.

We spent hours playing. He showed me the intricacies of the game. The way you have to think several moves ahead and strategize. That taught me a great lesson.

I tend to hurry through things most of the time, but when I know it is important, I strategize... I think about it for days... I rehearse in my mind what to do depending on what happens... all that stems from Dad teaching me to play chess.

I don't remember ever beating him, but that wasn't the goal, even though I'm sure I tried very hard. The goal was to learn to think for myself, to learn patience, to learn that life is not always handed to you on a silver platter. There are times you have to work hard at what you are trying to achieve. It was, and still is, a lesson that I need.

When I think back on it, it's quite amazing the life lessons that Dad taught me by simply being a great dad.

Thanks Dad!

Don't Push My Buttons

Most of the time, Dad wanted me to drive when we went out together. I don't know if he was just tired of driving or he wanted to make me feel good. Knowing Dad, it was the latter.

The first thing that I was taught when you get in a car is you check the mirrors, adjust the seat and make sure that everything is ready for you to drive. So, I would do that when I got in the car with Dad... and he would gripe, and of course I would always exaggerate the adjustments.

The other thing that we battled about was his buttons. I'm a geek, I love to push buttons... when I get in my dad's car, I would start pushing buttons. At first, it was just because that's what I do, but it quickly became a game between Dad and I.

- What does that button do, Dad?
- Don't touch that button!
... I touch the button

- What did it do, Dad?
- I don't know, but don't touch my button.
... I touch another button

- What about this one, Dad?
- Son, don't touch my buttons!
- Ok, Dad.
... I touch another button

- Oh, that changed the radio station!
- Now, put it back on the station where it was.
- Ok, Dad, but I don't know how to do it; I'll have to push the buttons.

I miss pushing Dad's button.

Smell-mory

Ever you ever noticed how you can be transported to places from a single smell?

Printing shop and dark room smells do that for me. The chemicals contains acetic acid, sodium thiosulfate, hydroquinone and other smells that you can find in every day life. Acetic acid is vinegar. The other smells you will smell once in a while in passing.

These smells take me back to my dad's shops. I say shops because it is a smell that has been part of my life for as long as I can remember.

In Monaco, it was at Alma Edition, in his dark room. When I would be in his office, once in a while he would have pictures to develop. I remember walking in the small darkroom with him and having to be out of the way. The door would close, the black cloth in front of the door would be clipped to make sure no light trickled in, the red light would come on and the picture would appear on the photographic paper by magic. The smells were the sweet aroma of me being with Dad. I still have the Nikon F that he used to take a lot of these pictures.

In the US, it was at the different printing shops he worked. The last one was Hearn Lithographing in downtown Houston. I would stop by to surprise Dad ever now and then. No matter what he would stop what he was doing, made sure every one there knew I was his son. Dad was proud that I was his son, and it showed. He would introduce me to his colleagues or re-introduce me as the case may be, and you can tell from the response of the people that my father had nothing but uplifting word about who I was and what I was doing.

Next time you smell a familiar, pleasant smell, let it take you back to that memory and linger in it a little longer. They are worth cherishing.

A princess's wedding

I lived a very privilege life. The funny thing about a privilege life is that you don't know you live in one until you move away from the circumstances.

When we were in Monaco, I was part of Les Petits Chanteurs de Monaco and we regularly sang at the Cathedral of Monaco.



On June 29, 1978, my father drove me to Princess Caroline and Philippe Junot's wedding. Le Rocher was closed to all traffic, but as we approach the police blocking the entrance, my father opened the window and told him that we were expected at the wedding since I was part of the boys' choir that was to sing. The policeman waved at his colleagues that moved the barricade to let us drive up to the palace.

My father and I reminisced about that little adventure on occasions. This is privilege life. There were only about 70 people in attendance at the Gardens in the Palace for the wedding. People like Cary Grant and his wife, Gregory Peck and his wife, David Niven and his wife, Frank Sinatra and wife and Ava Gardner and many royals.

And I was there. WOW! 28 years later, I realize how awesome that was. Back then... I was just going to sing at a wedding.

It was December of that same year that we moved to the US and started another privilege life.

It's here... finally

It has been a while, but it is finally available to purchase. The book is at the printer right now and we are hoping that it will be available by Christmas.

Here is the synopsis of my dad's book.

I Came To America - Francois Alain Borny.

I Came to America recounts the incredible life story of François Alain Borny, written in a charming style that conveys his sense of adventure and wonder. It is a treasure for anyone that reads it; a riveting tale of places and events that few people will ever experience. From pre-World War II era Europe to today’s United States, I Came to America relates a physical, emotional and sometimes spiritual journey. The author’s childhood in occupied France was an ordeal: “starvation, curfew, arbitrary arrest, torture, execution of resistants, and deprivation of freedom.” His father worked in the secret underground despite continuous harassment from the German Gestapo and SS until the American Expeditionary Corps debarked in Provence on August 15, 1944, and liberty was restored. France struggled in the aftermath of the war, “torn apart by the multiplicity of political parties, some of which were more inclined on the Soviet ideology than on the western principals.” Join François Alain Borny as he leaves his homeland in search of the American dream, and experience a multitude of adventures—some too marvelous to believe. Readers will travel with the author from Europe to Africa to Haiti and to many other exotic places with a flare for the unusual and romantic. 2006, 5½x8½, paper, 392 pp. $34.00 B3592 ISBN: 0788435922

I can't wait to have the book in my hands. If you want a copy, just click on the title of this post.

A-hunting we will go

French people tend to eat just about anything... horse meat, tripes, kidneys, heart, and of course the traditional snails. Escargots are a delicatessen that I've always enjoy, ever since I was young.




I remember Dad would drive Mom, Susanne and me to the country side outside of Monaco during the time of the muguets. We would spend the day in the fields collecting flowers, playing, running up and down the hill, and also collecting snails.

En Suisse, c'est interdit pour les Français de chasser les escargots parce que c'est pas juste, eux, ils les attrapent. Les Suisses, eux aussi chassent les escargots. Ils se mettent à quatre et encerclent l'escargot. Et quand ils l'ont encerclé, ils sautent dessus... A moins que l'escargot s'échape en sautant sur un arbre.



When we get home, the snail would go through their purging phase. They would be put in a bucket with a lid. Water was added to the bottom of the bucket and the snails were left alone for a few days. Mom or Dad would change the water daily. Thus, they would be purged and ready to eat. Mom made some great escargots. It's hard to find them in the States, impossible to find them fresh.

Another experience I remember involving another mollusk was with limaces, slugs. In Monaco, we had a small patch of land and Dad grew green beans and tomatoes. One of the pest that plagues the French gardens are slugs. Dad would go at night with a flash light and a salt shaker and sprinkle all the slugs with salt. This nightly routine continued all growing season.

And when harvest time came, those were the best green beans and tomatoes I've ever tasted. Mom would prepare the green beans in a butter sauce, fresh off the plant. I used to not like green bean or vegetables for that matter, but these made a believer out of me. Fresh stuff is good.

Every time I eat fresh vegetables from a garden, I can't help to remember les haricots verts.

Christmas Morn

26 days till Christmas... Christmas has lots of memories for me... and my wife and girls.

When we moved to the US in December of 1978, I started a new tradition. I would get up at 4AM on Christmas day and wake my parents up. That is when we would have Christmas... at 4AM... in the morning... with the Santa's sleigh tracks still fresh on the roof.

That tradition continued over the years, even after I was married and had children. My wife, the children and I would go spend Christmas Eve at my parents' house. I would wake up at 4AM... my mom was usually ready by that time and we would wake up the children. Depending where my sister was, we would wait for her and her family too.

Then the fun began.

Dad would not move from his bed. He pretended to still be asleep with the grandchildren jumping up and down on the bed and all around him. We would then pull the covers back and start to drag him down the hallway to make it to the living room where the gifts were. He would make himself very heavy and the kids had a great time pulling and pushing on him. Eventually, he would grimace and jump quickly, scaring the kids by trying to get them. The kids would jump and scream in joy and then hug Pépé.

After all the gifts were opened... with the mandatory new underwear or Christmas package bow on the head... we would have the traditional French breakfast... Café au lait and croissant.

By that time, it was finally 6:30AM and we had all of Christmas day ahead of us... Tired, but still...

This year we will spend Christmas Eve at my mom's with my sister and her family, my niece from Colorado and her husband and son, and my mom. No more 4AM... no more dragging Dad out of bed... but the memories are still there and they are fun.

Buying a new house

When we first moved to Houston from New Orleans in 1980, we lived in an apartment on Westheimer. It was nice and hip, Apartment C-214, but my parents wanted a house. My mom and I went every day after school hunting for houses while my dad worked long hours to make sure that we could afford it.

The way we found the house in Crosby was totally by mistake. As we were driving around, we got lost (yes... I'm sure you are surprise by that) and kept on going through a pretty bleak area of town, Old Highway 90. It was trucks and bins and pipes. Not an area that you would expect to find any living accommodations.

When we finally arrived at the entrance of Newport, my mom knew this is where she wanted to lived. The entrance and the trees is what sold it.



Here is a satellite view of my parents' house. The house is the one in the middle, across the way from the cross street.

http://maps.google.com/maps?t=h&ie=UTF8&z=19&ll=29.93365,-95.088231&spn=0.001427,0.001829&om=1

It was such a mistake that we found Newport that when we tried to find it again to show my dad, we couldn't get there. Eventually, we made it.

In 1981, my parents bought a house. My mom still lives there today. What amazed me at the time, and still now thinking about it, is that a mortgage company would give a 51 year old man a 30 year mortgage. That's America!

I included the satellite map for the fun of it but also to show you the lay out of the neighborhood. You can actually zoom out and see what the area looks like. If you zoom out and look to the right of the screen, you will see Golf Club Drive. It's the long north-south street. As I mentioned in an earlier entry, my dad didn't have the greatest sense of direction on land.

On more than one occasion, he would drive down Golf Club Drive all the way til it dead ends and had absolutely no clue where he was. He had missed the turn down our street. It wasn't very complicated a drive, but Dad's mind was on a thousand other things, I'm sure including coming home to my mom and I, and he would absent-mindedly miss the turn.

Mom and Dad joked that if they had a choice going right or left, they would inevitably pick the opposite way that they needed to go. Murphy at its best!

Thanksgiving

This past weekend was Thanksgiving. It's not a French holiday, but it is definitely an American tradition.

My father was proud to be an American... Are you hearing Lee Greenwood singing?

As my mom and I are. We became American citizens May 1st, 1985.

Back to Thanksgiving... We celebrate Thanksgiving every year. I believe we have a lot of things to be thankful about and one of them is being American citizens. With the way politics are nowadays, I see way too many people that are anti-American and that troubles me. It troubled my dad too. He was thankful for being in the U S of A. He was thankful for the opportunity this great land of ours offer him and his family.

We've been to many places over the years for Thanksgiving: our home, my sister's, my parent's friends, Bob and Nancy, my parents-in-law.

The last few years, we have been to my parents-in-law. My parents always had fun there and my mom continues to have fun. That's where we were this year again.

Yep, I miss Dad... especially during the Holiday season.

Vacations - Borny Style

My parents believed in the work hard-play hard philosophy. Over the years, we have been in some incredible vacations. If it's worth doing, it is worth doing well. When we went on vacation, my parents went all out. My mom always says, "When I am on vacation, I rather spend a week in luxury, then two weeks watching what I'm spending."

The view from our hotel room

One of the greatest vacation memories I have was going to the Baleares, a group of small islands in the Mediterranean Sea, off the coast of Spain. My mom's brother lived there at the time.

We stayed at the Hotel Valparaiso, a 5-star hotel with all the luxuries you can think of. During that week there, we traveled around the island. I remember the paëlla, the roasted piglet, the furry belt that my parents bought me and the many hats that I brought back.

I also remember trying to go swimming in the sea. I say "trying" because having been raised in Monaco, I would run to the edge to the water and take a leaping dive into water that is over your head only a couple of feet from the shore. In Majorca, that is not the case. I ran to the edge of the water, as I would in Monaco, and dove, only to find myself with a mouth full of sand. You see in Majorca, you have to walk two or three hundred feet from the shore before the water gets deep enough to dive in.

Another vacation spot was St-Tropez. Even though we lived in Monaco, itself on the Côte d'Azur, my parent and I went to a beach resort in St- Tropez. The name was Maxxim or something like that, I don't quite remember.

I do remember the swimming pool, the beach and cruising the street by the beach.

One other thing I remember...

Mom was sitting in the passenger seat, Dad was driving, I was in the back. The cool sea breeze kept the temperature comfortable. The car windows were open as we gently cruised the street in front of the beach. It was a glorious day. The sun was shinning bright. The people were leisurely walking around. No one was in a hurry. A lady crossing the street was in the median. As my father slowly approached her, he reached through the open window and pinched the lady on the derriere as if it was completely naturally. The lady turned around to look at my dad and slowly finished crossing the street.

Different mentality in the South of France than any other place in the world.

It reminds me of a story by a French comedian, René Cousinier:

A lady, standing in the bus in Marseille, turns to the gentleman next to her and says: "Sir, you have been pinching my hinny for the past 15 minutes." To which the man replied: "What's wrong? Don't you like it anymore?"

He also mentions that a pretty ladies hinny is sad in Marseille if it gets less that one pinch every 15 minutes.

Unexpected Surprise

I went to school at Texas A&M University which is about 120 miles from my parents' house. My first semester, I came home just about every weekend. It was a couple hours drive one way, but it was worth it just to get out of the doldrums. Remember, I am a spoiled child and it took a little adjusting to be on my own.

When you are a Freshman and you live off campus, it is no convenient to try to park your car. As a freshman, the parking lot is on the edge of civilization and it is quite a walk just to get to class. So, I rode my bicycle to school every day. It was a few miles from my apartment to the campus. Unfortunately, it was uphill quite a bit on the way there, but it was very convenient once I got there. Going home, of course, was the opposite... what was downhill to school was uphill. So, there was also some uphill going back to the apartment.

One Friday afternoon, as I was riding by bike home on what is now George Bush Boulevard, I was zooming down hill watching the cars. Suddenly, I recognize a car... my dad's car. He had driven to A&M to pick me up to go home that weekend. You can imagine my total surprise. I was not expecting it at all and to see my dad on the way to find me was incredible. I slammed on my brakes and quickly gave my dad a hug and loaded the bike in the trunk of the car. We drove to my apartment, dropped the bike off, loaded the car with the obligatory dirty laundry and drove to Crosby.

Dad never ceases to amaze me... from the first day that I remember him to today. He died almost 22 months ago and he still amazes me when I think of the lives he touched especially mine.

Random Thoughts about Dad

Some only my mom will understand.

• Every time I down shift my car, I remember Dad saying: "don't ride the car in neutral, always keep it in gear in case you need it."

• Tiens, Tiens, mais qu'est-ce qui vient soudain me démanger mon petit trou de cul poilu d'ours?Et pendant qu'il se gratte, tu l'attrapes
  
• Tiger Woods has earned $9,941,563 so far this year on the tour.

• I miss the paëlla that Dad made

• Samantha won't eat bar-b-que shrimps any more because they can never be like Granpas

• Et ta soeur? ... Elle bat le beurre, pourqoi tu as quelque chose à teindre?

• Descent du char, bidasse ... ou ... Descent du bar, chidasse

• O rage! ô désespor! ô vieillesse ennemie !
  N’ai-je donc tant vécu que pour cette infamie!
  Et ne suis-je blanchi dans les travaux guerriers
  Que pour voir en un jour flétrir tant de lauriers !
  Mon bras qu'avec respect toute l’Espagne admire,
  Mon bras qui tant de fois a sauvé cet empire,
  Mon bras qui aujourd’hui fait 'fouchtra' !

• Quand j'étais avec mon ami Fredou...

• Beau comme nous, la mama n'en fait plou.

• Derriere chez moi, savez-vous quoi qu'il y a?

10 Francs and Bubble Gum

Dad was always generous.

Growing up, I would walk to school.

And I would complain about it because I had to go up thousands of stairs... Ok, about 100... but it felt like thousands.

And I had to walk miles... Ok, a little over 1/4 mile... but it felt like miles... up hill... both ways... Ok, maybe not... but it was uphill at least on the way there.

Of course, there were lots of occasions that Dad would actually drive me there... but that's another story.

So, as I left to go to school, I would ask Dad if he had a Franc. Just enough to buy a piece of gum. Somehow, I always ended up with 10 francs or more. That's about the equivalent of two dollars, and that was 30 years ago. Two dollars went a long way. I guess learning from my dad and I was generous myself with his gift. I would buy Malabar, a brand of bubble gum, and I usually would have enough for all my friend and some. So, when I arrived at school, I would freely distribute my new found wealth.





You would think that this routine would stop once I was older. Well, you would think wrong. I'll admit it, I am a spoiled child, one that recognizes it, one that is nice about, but a spoiled child anyway you look at it.

I was almost 15 when we moved to the US. The routine continued, but this time it was "Dad, do you have a dollar?". Somehow, once again, it always ended up being $10 or more.

As I continued to grow up, the routine changed slightly. I wouldn't necessary ask for a dollar, but my dad would say "Go look in my wallet, I think I have something in there for you." And there it was a $10 or $20 bill.

The last time Dad asked me to go look in his wallet was January 17th, 2005. Eight days before he passed away, I was 41 and he was 74.

I go out with Mom for lunch almost every week since my father died. You would think that the habit would be broken by now, but no... Habits are very difficult to break. When we go to lunch, Mom pays with a twenty dollar bill... yes, Mom pays... and I get the change... yes, I get the change.

Yes, I know, I'm spoiled... but I love it and I try to spoil my wife and children whenever I can.

Preparing for School

Do you remember when school started? Do you recall the preparation for that first day?

One of the found memories I have of my parents is going to store to get all the school supplies. Today, we go to Wal-Mart or other megastores to get our supplies. In some schools, you just pay a fee and the school provides the supplies needed. Not back when I went to elementary, not in Monaco.

My parents would take me to this specialty store by my dad's office. It was Office Depot type but not that big. I remember getting all the needed supplies from compass to protactor to pens and pencils to erasers and notebook and so on. They were quality-made, meant to last the whole school year, if not longer.

Today, most of the supplies I buy for my children are not meant to last very long. Of course, there is quite a bit of price difference too. I think that the pricier items were a good thing. We would need to ask my mom to verify my assumption, but I believe that the pricier equipment made me more responsible. I took care of my stuff. Nowadays, when you spend 99 cents for a protractor, it's no big deal if you break it or lose it.

And then there was the most important item in a boy's accesories... le cartable, the school bag. I can see this with my girls. The one item that can be personalized is the school bag... And my girls have their own opinion about what makes for a good bag. Every year, that one item is usually the most expensive and the hardest to procure... because it has to be just the right one.

The ones that I remember were leather and were similar to a brief case. What a thrill to fill the bag with all the supplies and go to that first day of school... too bad that feeling doesn't always last the whole year.

Apple Turnovers and Ham Sandwiches

I swam competitively from the time I was four until my junior year in college. The reason I started was because my big sister was doing it. So, obviously, if my big sister was doing it, I must do it also.

We practiced everyday except Sundays when I was in Monaco. From right after school until 7PM or so. I normally walked from school or took the bus to go to the swimming pool. Once in a while, Dad would come pick me up.

The thing that I remember about those times are the food that Dad would bring me. I was a young growing boy and I was always hungry, especially after swimming for a couple of hours.

When Dad picked me up, he usually had a chausson aux pommes, an apple turnover, waiting for me in the front seat of the car that he had picked up at a little boulangerie, a bakery, around the corner from his office. Most of the time it was still hot. I can still taste it as I am writing this blog.

The other food that I remember is the ham sandwich that my parents brought me after swim practice. They were ham and butter on a baguette (French bread) with cornichon (small tangy pickles). That was delicious. My father still made them for me once in a while when we moved to the States. Another taste that's making me salivate as I'm writing.

Apple turnovers and Ham Sandwiches... a memory for the mouth and for the mind.

Dancing with the Stars

For many years, my wife and I joined my parents for New Year's Eve at the country club in Newport. This was always fun... but the real fun didn't begin until the dancing started.

My dad was a character on the dance floor. His favorite music was big band era tunes like Pennsylvania 65000, Moonlight Serenade, Chattanooga Choo Choo and many other jazz tunes. He and my mom would go on the dance floor and entertained all that watched. All the way until their late 60s and early 70s, my parent would swing on that dance floor and run circle around people half their age. And it wasn't ridiculous, my parents were good.

Dad was born on December 31st, 1930, so we celebrate his birthday at the New Year's Eve party. One of us would go to the band leader and ask for them to announce that it was François's birthday. Of course, they always would and without fail, they would play the one French song they knew: La Vie en Rose.

Click here to see a very young Edith Piaf sing it

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DUcJWaC-2Co

or here for a little older Edith Piaf

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-sUzR71wpQ

My parents were the life of the party between their dancing, their buoyant personality and their exuberant joy for life. I miss these New Year's Eve celebrations.

Françoism

My father was witty and always had something to add to a conversation with what I call a Françoism. Some of them were quoting other people, some of them were his own. Here is a list of those that I rememberright now... There are a lot more and I'm sure there will be a part 2 and more coming later.

Some are in French and they don't always translate well, but I will write both the French and the English versions.

Etrange, étrange, étrange,

A l'ombre d'un palmier

Je mange une orange.

De plus en plus étrange,

A l'ombre d'une orange

Je mange un palmier.

In French étrange, orange and mange rhyme.

Strange, strange, strange,

In the shadow of a palm tree

I eat an orange.

Even stranger now,

In the shadow of an orange

I eat a palm tree.

Oh verre plein comme je te vide!

Oh verre vide comme je te plaint!

In French, plein (full) and plaint (suffer) rhyme.

Oh full glass how I empty you!

Oh empty glass how I suffer for you!

Here is a story that my dad told me once. It stuck.

We were discussing Hemingway one day when Dad said:

"I was at the movie theater,

the old fashion type with a balcony and I saw Hemingway.

I asked my friend that was with me 'Is that Hemingway down there?'

My friend replied: 'Hemingway is dead!'

To which I screamed 'AAAHHHH!'

My friend panickly inquired: 'What's wrong?'

'He moved!!'

More later...

No... Not Here!

Dad and I use to wrestle when I was younger. As you would expect, Dad was much stronger and bigger than I was, so as we were wrestling he would grab me on my arm... or on my legs... on my shoulders... wherever it was necessary for him to keep me from getting him.

To this, I would make rules as we were going along. I would say that he could grab me anywhere... except for "here". "Here" was always the spot he had just grabbed. Of course, as we were going along, the places that he could use to hold me down would dwindled very quickly with my constant saying of "Not here".

I too wrestle with my girls. I have four of them and I am still at a point where I am strong enough to hold them back. We usually wrestle on my bed with all four girls gaining up on me and me pushing them off, carefully keeping them from falling off the bed. They haven't learned to say "Not here" yet. When they read this post, they will learn... maybe I shouldn't post this. They are getting big and it is getting more and more difficult to fight them off.

That's okay... I have a secret weapon... "Not here!"

Four Granddaughters

Katrina Katarina Serina Samantha- May 2005

My father passed away on January 25th, 2005.

It was a Monday... 2:15PM. My mom called me when he died. I was about twenty minutes away... teaching school... we knew that he was nearing the end... I made the trip in less than 15 minutes... my sister was there...

As I was driving, I couldn't help but think about eight days prior...

It was Sunday afternoon and my wife and four daughters were going by my parents' house after church to see them. My father was sitting on the couch watching TV when we walked in.

One at the time, we went to kiss him 'hello'. After the last of us had said 'hello', my father asked for his four granddaughters to stand in front of him... the TV was off by now... the girls stood all beautiful in their Sunday outfit in front of Pépé and smiled while looking at him... he took in their precious sight one at the time and commented how beautiful they were... calling each one to him to give her what would be their final hug and kiss and then send them on their way.

After they were all done and out of the room, Dad turned to Mom and said: "this is the last time I will get to see them... I want them to remember how I am now and I want to remember them how they are now."...

Eight days later, he died. He knew the end was near and he wanted to leave the best possible memory in his precious grandchildren's mind...

Another gift from an amazing man, François Borny.

To Be Published Soon

We received the proof of my dad's book cover yesterday. We had received confirmation that Heritage Books would publish "I Came to America" two days before Dad died... That was January 23rd, 2005.

After 655 days, 21.83 months, 1.79 years, there is a light at the end of the tunnel, and it is not an oncoming train.

Dad's book will be published very shortly and Mom, Susanne (my sister) and I are besides ourselves. I'm hoping that it will be done before Christmas... that would be a great Christmas present.

Dad has always enjoyed writing. Back when we were in Monaco, he started writing an historical fiction novel that took place around the French revolution time. He spent hours researching all the historical data that he could find, to make sure that his book would be as accurate as possible. Two things that Dad was tough to beat in Trivial Pursuit: History and Geography. Dad was a history buff and and avid traveler and learner of cultures.

Dad wrote that book in French and spent the last few years of his life translating it in English. Maybe after "I Came to America" is published, we can submit "a Reek of Blood" to be published next.

Dad's legacy is in his book. His grandchildren will remember him through it, his great-grandchildren will know their ancestor thanks to it.

Friends, New and Old

My dad has to be the friendliest person I've ever met.

Once, in Monaco, he saw a man walking in a torrential rain on the side of the road. My father stopped and picked up the man who happened to be a priest. My father invited him to come stay with us. I don't remember the situation why the priest was walking in the rain, but I do remember my father's generosity, unselfishness and friendliness. The gentleman stayed with us a few days. He ate with us at home and when we went to the restaurant. He just became part of our family for those few days.

The epitome of my father's outgoing, loving and lovable personality happened the day after he passed away.

My parents had gone to Cozumel on vacation several years before and met a couple from Minnesota. They hit it off right away and actually stayed in touch via e-mail, planning their next vacation together. When Mike and Heidi found out that my father had passed from this earth, they immediately asked when the funeral was because they had no doubts that they would attend. This wonderful couple had met my parents for one week on vacation several years before and yet my dad made such an impression on them that they did not hesitate to travel to Houston from Minnesota at a moments notice to be with Mom.

My mother did not want to have a service for my father when he passed away, other than the immediate family, my sister and her husband, my wife and me. But the phone calls kept coming... "When is François funeral?". Reluctantly my mother agreed. And for the next few days, phone calls after phone calls assured her that she was doing the right thing.

We didn't have a funeral, but rather a memorial service. I had the privilege to be the one that spoke at Dad's memorial service. They were somewhere around 60 people that squeezed into the mausoleum I recounted the story about Mike and Heidi that I just mentioned above. Dad was a character, and that was good. He was a friend, and that showed. He was a husband and a father, and that was what he did best.

Golfing with Dad

Later in his life, my father picked up the game of Golf. When he retired, he was actually getting pretty good, even had a hole in one once. My mom still displays the plaque proudly in her office.

I enjoyed hitting the little white ball around with my dad. I've never picked up the game very seriously, but I would play at least once a year with my dad around Father's Day. Those were good experiences. If you don't play a game well, you should be able to go with your father and have him uplift you. Dads are supposed to be encouragers, and my dad was. I cannot count how many mulligans, how many do overs, how many strokes he gave me over the years. Somehow, my score was never that bad, especially for someone that played Golf once or twice a year.

Dad would also give me his old clubs, sometimes even his new ones. Unfortunately, they are now sitting in the barn... I guess waiting for the right occasion, the right situation, the right moment to be picked up and swung. I'm looking forward to getting closer to that retirement age. I know I still have quite a few years to go, but the thought that I can be in my mid-60s, Dad would have passed away for more that 25 years and I will have a fresh opportunity to remember him, every time I pick up a club. Maybe, my daughters would enjoy walking around with their dad when they get older. Life is so full of choices, of moments, of potential memories... I'm looking forward to all of them.

At his golf club, once again, my dad would make friends with everyone. He was friends with the Marshall, the lady behind the counter, the Mexican gentleman that kept the grounds, the other members, young or old, man or woman, it didn't matter. Dad knew how to be a friend.

There is a saying in life: "If you want a friend, be one first". My dad never lacked friends. I don't think that ever was so clear to me as right after he passed away... but I'll keep that thought for tomorrow.

Trips to Italy

Monaco is only about a 15-minute drive from the border of Italy and if you know the French custom, you have two hours for lunch. Yes, it sounds excessive, but it actually works well. In France, the lunch meal is the major meal of the day. Basically, people go to school or work at 8AM, are off between 12PM and 2 PM, and work till 6PM.

All that to say, that on many occasions, we would go to lunch in Italy, in a little town called Ventimiglia... at the restaurant "La Caravella". The food was excellent, the view even better, overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.

My father always impressed me as a man that could get along with anyone and speak any language. It might be a little exaggeration of a little boy, but even as an adult, I was impressed with my dad's abilities.

Back to "la Caravella"...

He knew the waiters by name, able to converse with them in fluent Italian. My father was fluent in French, Spanish, Italian, Portugese, English and could get along well in German. Of Course, he also claimed to speak Chinese and when someone asked him to say something in Chinese he would say "Atascocita" fast while modulating is voice in a high pitch song. By the way, Atascocita is a neighborhood North of Houston, close to Lake Houston.

My father also played the piano, the harmonica, the guitar, the accordion and many other instruments I'm sure, by ear. I think all that is related... picking up languages easily and being able to play instruments by just listening to a piece of music. My wife enjoyed it when she sat next to him on the piano bench and he harmonized with whatever she was playing.

Back to Italy...

The other thing I enjoyed about Italy was when my dad would go on trips there, he would always bring me back a F1 model car. Growing up in Monaco and witnessing many Grand Prix, the cars were extremely cool and I had a great collection, as a matter of fact, that collection was passed on to my great nephew, Ethan, and I know that he is enjoying them now.

It's easy to remember these times... All I have to do is sit in front of a plate of spaghetti.

A Trip to Paris

How many of you have ever been on a business trip with your father?

That's not something that is usual, especially when you are 12 years old.

My father had his own business when we were in Monaco and was going to Paris to visit with clients. The trip was about 8 hours by car on the way up. He decided to take me with him. WOW! Can you imagine the feeling of grown up I had. My father, the business man, was going to trust his son to accompany him on a business trip in Paris.

We went to dinner at L'Orée du Bois, a dinner theater type of place, where we were entertained by show girls dancing, a magician and other entertainers.

One of the magician's trick is still fresh in my memory. He asked one of the audience members to pick a card, any card and to show it to the audience and place it back in the deck. The magician then proceeded to shuffle the deck and try to find the card. He placed the deck on his forehead, thinking about which card it was. When he brought the deck down, the card, the ace of diamond, was stuck on his forehead. He took the deck and was going through it with the audience member, trying to find his card. All the while, the card was stuck on his forehead. People were laughing and the magician kept going: "What? What's the matter?"

It's funny the details that I remember. I don't remember what we ate, barely remember the topless dancers, but I can still vividly remember that ace of diamond stuck on the magician's forehead.

We spend the night in Paris, had a couple more meetings with my dad's clients and drove back the next day.

The drive back was an adventure in itself. Instead of taking the highway that goes straight from Paris to Monaco, my father decided to go the long way home. We went down the Loire valley, the scenic route, enjoyed the sites and the company. Because it takes a lot longer to drive that way, we had to spend the night somewhere. My father happened upon a castle turned hotel and we stopped there.

What a place! Imagine if you will a medieval castle that you might see in a movie or on TV... luxurious rooms, grand wooden doors, full suit of armors, thick clothes hanging from the high ceiling, stone walls... that's exactly where we stayed. The castle also had a restaurant and we had one of the greatest steaks I ever ate. My father and I still talked about that steak more than thirty years later... we also reminisce about that trip.

You know the MasterCard commercial...

Gas for the trip: $200.00
Dinner at L'Orée du Bois: $500.00
Dinner and night at a castle: $300.00
Time with your son: Priceless...

I just made up the prices, because I have no ideas how much my father spent, but I know that it was worth it for me and it was worth it for him. He even missed the chance to go see a World Championship Boxing Match in Monaco. My mother worked at Monaco's radio station and was able to get tickets to the boxing match, but because my dad chose to spend the time with me, he missed out of one of his favorite things to watch.

Life is too short to forget and too long not to remember.

Thanks Dad!

My Oldest Girl's Volleyball Team

My wife and I are driving 178 miles one way today to go see my oldest daughter and her volleyball team play in Area game. If they win, or more positively, when they win, they will go to the next step toward State and go to Regional next Saturday.

That brings back lots of memories.

Growing up, I competed in swimming, and my parents made it to everyone of my meets. Some of them were far, especially by French standards. Hyere, Draguigan, Toulon are just some of the cities we visited for competitions. Visited is a generous word. Normally, we drove there, found the swimming pool, found the hotel if we were going to stay in a hotel, had a quick bite to eat, went back to the pool for warm ups and preliminaries, to the hotel late, up early the next morning for the final competition, and back home late that evening. So, we didn't visit any of the sites other that the swimming complex.

One year, I beat the regional record for the 100 meter breaststroke and my dad had promised me that we could eat anywhere I wanted if I beat a record. True to his word, we went to the Meridian in Nice, a hotel with a restaurant on top that overlooked the Mediterranean Sea. I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember the feeling, that feeling that says that my parents are proud to have me as a child. This particular occasion was because of something I did, but that was not necessarily needed. The feeling was and always is with me, that my parents are proud of who I was, who I am , who I turned out to be.

This is a feeling that I want to pass to my children, a fact that I want my wife to know. My wife is the most beautiful wife in the world... not just because I say the word, but because I truly believe these words. My children are the brightest and most awesome daughters a man can have... not because of the words, but because those words are truth.

Be careful of the thoughts you have, the words you speak, they will become your legacy.

A-fishing we will go - part two

The tradition to go fishing continued all through my high school and college years.

For a while we drove to St.-Louis Pass in the Galveston area. Those were long days. Any good fisherman knows that you have to get up before the crack of dawn to go fishing. So, that's what we did. My dad, mom and I got up very early... like three thirty in the morning, so we could get ready and drive the hour and half to St.-Louis Pass and be there by sunrise.

We had lots of good time there and lots of good fishing... flounders, trouts, croakers, and such. And they were always good eating when we got home.

After one of these trips, we had some bait left over and so we thought we might throw a line by our house in Lake Houston. We spend a couple of hours catching absolutely nothing. Resignedly, we pack up our gear and went home, disappointed that there were no fish in the lake. As we drove home, my father had a light bulb go off... We were fishing with shrimp in a lake that had fish that had never seen shrimp.

How true that is, I don't know. As you can probably tell already, I'm by no means an expert fisherman. I'm not even an apprentice fisherman. Ok, let's say it straight out. I'm not a fisherman. But what I do know is that we had a deep belly laugh out of that one, imagining the fish in the water going up to the shrimp saying:

- Hey, Fred, what is that?
- I don't know, Bert, I've never seen anything like this before.
- What are we suppose to do with it?
- I don't know, but I'm not putting my mouth on that thing.

I'm still smiling today as I recall this story. I love my parents. It is sad to think that my girls never experienced fishing with Pépé (Grandpa, in French). I need to take them. And I will, real soon, I promise.

A-fishing we will go - part one

One great memory I have of my dad is when we went fishing together.

My earliest fishing memory is going fishing with him when we were still in Monaco and we would go on the jetty of the port. I was probably 8 years old.

The fishing was never great in Monaco, but the time with my dad was priceless. I remember walking to the port with all our gears. We would make our own bait with old bread, stinky cheese and few other ingredients that I don't remember. I do remember that that stuff stunk to high heaven. By the time we were finished and had our few small fish after hours of throwing the line down, I usually would jump in the water and go swimming for a while.

When we came to the US, the tradition continued. From Metairie, a suburb of New Orleans, we would drive to deep south Louisiana in the jungle of bayous and swamps and rent a boat for the day. It was just a little flat bottom boat. As we went out, we would find our way through cattails in a spaghetti bowl of bayous. More than once, I thought we would never find our way back.

My father didn't have the greatest sense of direction while driving. As a matter of fact, he was lost on several occasions... in our neighborhood... a block away from the house... after living there for 20 years. But that's another story.

However easily my dad would get lost on the roads, he always found our way back to the docks without the least bit of trouble. I guess he was in his element on the water. I know he loved sailing and anything to do with water.

In the US, the fishing was much better. Once we caught a very large alligator gar and we weren't quite sure what to do with a fish that was almost as big as the boat we were in. So, we did what any "good" fisherman would do. We cut the line and let him go.

During another exploration, we were peacefully fishing when all the sudden the water started to recede. It was as if someone had pull the bottom plug of the bayou and let all the water out. I'm guessing it was the tide. All I know is that it wasn't very easy to get back to the boat rental place. We were continually hitting bottom, having to go around sand dunes, getting out of the boat and having to lift the boat off the bottom... remember, the alligator gar... well, we did. We were very cautious as we disembarked.

... a-fishing we will go - part two tomorrow...

We Came to America

We are coming up on the 28th anniversary of our arrival in the US. My mom was 44 years old and my father was 48 when we started over. I say 'we' because I was 14 years and 10 months old. I was part of that move.

My father wrote a book that is being published by Heritage Books soon. The title is "I Came to America". In this book, he recalls his life journey including when we moved to the US. He never mentions what I believe the real reason for our move. It was for me... and a few years later for my sister.

Yes, America is the land of dreams come true. And this journey has been a dream come true for my family, but ultimately, my father could have found a job in France. He was skilled, he had a trade, he was a stripper... OK, before your mind goes off the nasty deep end, it is a person in the printing business that lays out the proofs of what will eventually become a poster, a calendar, a magazine, whatever the print job is.

He was skilled and even had some job offers in Paris. But France did not have many opportunities for a young man. But America... that was a totally different story.

So, this is where you take two people, my mom and dad, that are at the age when most people think about what they are going to do during their retirement and you have them start anew, from scratch, with all their belonging fitting in a box that was 1 cubic yard. And you have them move to New Orleans first, and then to Houston. You have them buy a house at the age of 51 years old (my dad) and take out a 30 year loan. You work two, sometimes three jobs to make ends meet so that their son can go to private school and then go to college. And what you have is the American Dream in its essence, in its foundational basics.

It works!!! I am proof of it. I am happily married and have four beautiful daughters. I own a house on 13 acres, I have a couple of vehicles, an education that allowed me to get a job that pays well, four daughters in private school... just to mention a very few things.

And we can take a look at my sister, who joined us in the US five years after we moved and didn't have much herself and you can see the success that she has now. She and her husband, Larry, actually own a hotel and pizzeria in Melbourne Beach, Fl. Talk about the American Dream...

... and all that because one man, François Borny, decided that it would be best for his family to move to the land of opportunity and made it happen.

Thanks, Dad!

21 months today

It's been 21 months today that my father past away of lung cancer. I don't usually make a big deal of anniversaries, especially when counting months, but as I was speaking to my Mom this morning, as I do every weekday morning, I was reminded that not only was François Borny my father, but he was my mom's husband for a lot longer.

I have an older sister... 8 years and 3 months older... that leaves in Florida. I know that she misses Dad also, but she also misses Mom because Mom is in Houston and she is Melbourne Beach. What would have been my parents 52nd anniversary is coming up at the end of this month and my sister invited Mom to come to Florida, so she wouldn't be alone on that day.

As I ponder this day... as I am reminded that this world lost a great man when my father passed away... as I wish you would have known him... I am comforted to know that he may be gone, but he is not forgotten. He resides in my memories, my sister's memories and even more in Mom's memories. As I take the time to write my thoughts down, it helps to keep him fresh, alive if you will.

Yes, I miss him. I miss our conversations about nothing and about everything. I miss being able to call him or see him and talk golf with him, or ask him to translate something in French for me, but this is therapeutic for me and hopefully for my Mom and sister once I let them know about it.

I can and will tell you about François Borny, a husband, a father, a brother, an uncle, a friend, and many more things to many more people.

I miss him

Susanne, Me, Dad, Mom

My Dad passed away 21 months ago tomorrow. And I do miss him. Nothing much, nothing overwhelming. Just the little nagging things of life.

My oldest daughter turned 15 last week and I'm going to teach her to drive. I wanted to share that with Dad. I wanted to reminisce when he first let me drive.

I was 15... a long time ago... we lived in New Orleans at the time... he threw me the keys to his Nova and said: "Go to the store at the end of the street and go get some more beer for the party". Yes, I was only 15 but looked old enough to get alcohol at the store. My parents were having a party at our apartment, and ran out of drinks. I didn't have a license, no insurance, and had never been behind the wheel of a car... but he trusted me, at least he acted like he trusted me and that meant a lot.

My parents always.. and I mean always... uplifted me, told me how great I was and I am... what a gift! I may not be the brightest, the best, the most handsome, but according to my parents, there is nothing I couldn't do... and they believed it.

I hope I can instill that feeling in my children... What a great gift! Knowing that no matter what the world thinks, no matter what other people say about you, no matter what your girlfriends, boyfriends, enemies, teachers, no matter what anyone says, you are the greatest gift to your parents. I want my four daughters to know that.

I make sure that I always tell my children how much I love... I call them Beautiful Girls... Precious Ones... My Girls... because they are... they are precious in my sight and in their mother's sight because they are a gift from God. They were wonderfully and fearfully made.

My Dad passed away 21 months ago tomorrow. And I do miss him.