Honor Thy Father
By John Catapano
Copyright 2008 John Catapano
Smashwords Edition
As I exited the elevator and walked toward my Father's ICU room, I noticed a tall man in a long dark coat standing over his bed. I automatically reached under my jacket and felt the cool steel of my pistol in its holster. I took a deep breath and opened the door, both heads turned in my direction. "Good morning Dad! I didn't know you had company," I said. My Father replied in a raspy voice, “Michael! I'm glad you're here, this is my best friend and the man you’re named for, Michael Moran." I stepped forward and shook his hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said. He turned to my Father and smiled, "He looks like you at that age Vincent. I've got to be going; I know you two have a lot to talk about. Thank you again Vincent. I know my Father's last days were easier because of you, and I have had a long and fruitful life, my friend." He reached down and kissed my Father on both cheeks. Then he turned to me. "Young man, you have a great deal to live up to. If I can ever help you, call me." He handed me a card and left. I looked at the card: Michael Moran Productions: Broadway and Hollywood.
"That was THE Michael Moran! If he's your best friend, why haven't I seen him before now? Why did he wait until now to come and see you instead of when you were healthy? Not much of a friend in my book!" I said shaking my head. My Father smiled, "You have a lot to learn about friendship, Michael. Here sit down and I'll tell you a story." "I'm too old for that. . . . ." I started. "SIT!" my Father commanded. I moved the chair closer to the bed.
My Father started, "Michael your Grandfather grew up in tough times and that made him tough. As I was growing up he kept me away from the family business. His plan for me was to be the first Cioffari to go to college. He made sure all of my energies were directed at school. As a result, I was a good student in grammar school and a better student in high school. That's when I got involved in sports. Of course, as I got older, I discovered what kind of business my Father's was involved in. These big guys were always hanging around looking over their shoulders. I never confronted my Father about what he did; it was like a ghost sitting in the corner that no one saw but me. Growing up in a Sicilian household, well, we were different from other families. You were held to a higher standard and your Grandfather made sure I understood the meaning of honor and respect. Your Grandmother died when I was a junior in high school. I think my Father and I both felt lost for a while."
"My Father wanted me to get a business degree, so off to college I went. People in my classes either shied away or made snide remarks. I'm sure my professors knew who I was, but, they never said anything. In my second semester I met Michael. He was in my economics class and he was on the track team with me. We hit it off right away and we became inseparable. He invited me to his home for dinner. There, I met his Father, a jovial guy; and I met his little sister, Megan. At fifteen, she was star struck and wanted to be an actress. Michael's Mother had died six years earlier, something else we had in common. The more time I spent with them, the lighter I felt. Like some burden was lifted from my shoulders."
"Michael introduced me to drama and film and I taught him judo and how to shoot. I continued with my business degree and always took an extra class in makeup or stage design so Michael and I could be together in class. We studied together, drank together, dated together, and even had a few scuffles together. The four years flew by. I got my degree in business and he got his in entertainment management. I started my MBA and he went off to law school for entertainment and contract law. We talked as much as we could and saw each other around the holidays. My Father was in serious legal trouble at the time and told me to stay away so I wouldn't be involved. Mr. Moran welcomed me into his home and treated me like his son. I adopted the Morans and they adopted me. I spent a lot of time there."
"Megan had gone off to a small college in New York State that had a great drama department. Mr. Moran would read me her letters. They were always upbeat and very sweet. It was near Thanksgiving when I got a hysterical call from Michael. Megan was dead. She was found off campus in an abandoned house with a syringe of heroin in her arm. I drove immediately to their house. Michael and his father were terribly distraught. I was in pain as well. After all, Megan was my little sister too.”
"I pulled Michael aside. "Heroin? Megan wasn’t the type to do heroin?"
"I know! I found some grass in her room about a year ago and talked to her about it. She said it was a once in a while thing. I didn't tell Dad, he would’ve had a fit. Now this and I'm responsible!" He said on the verge of hysteria."