Scott Nydam

Recently the world has seen and recognized Steve Jobs, a phenomenal person and contributor to society. We’ve all lived amongst, valued, and have benefited from the results of his creativity and contribution long before we (society) felt comfortable enough to publish biographies, having his face be the one that’s plastered on posters at news stands and retail book stores.  I was walking past Barnes and Noble one day, a couple months ago, looking up at Steve Jobs, “why is it that we wait ’til [then]?”

The “comment” below was made by a friend of mine from my teen-age years, and obviously a friend to this day. Mark tracked me down, coincidently, at a time my dad’s been fighting the Leukemia fight where, gladly, there are no biographies being writ; he’s still kicking and screaming, and Mark took the time write . . . I thought I’d share.

*note: Dale can be used and understood synonymously with Ron, or, in mine and my older bros’ case, dad

∞

Ron, Sugar, Trevor, Jane, Aaron, Leah, Scott, and Jennifer, (and kids!)

I apologize for the word count, but this has been a long time coming. Scotty – please make sure your folks get this. I feel horrible not writing this as a letter, but hey, it’s 2012.

Oh the years. So many years. And yet, I return so often in my memory to those years in the early and middle 1990s when I got to experience a little bit of what it’s like to be a Nydam. It’s only now that I realize how lucky I was to have been an extended part of your family.

My general dislike of the Internet and social media has bit me on my prodigious rear. Here we are, more than a month after the reoccurrence of Ron’s leukemia. And I just found out. It’s 1:30 in the morning in Denver, on January 7, and I’m crying. What’s worse – it’s my day to wake up early with the kids tomorrow, and 6:30 a.m. will come in a hurry. But I can’t go to sleep.

I’m thinking about the first time that I met Ron.

It’s 1990 or so. Scott and I had gone to grade school together for seven years, but had never really hung out and become friends. For the life of me, I can’t remember why, but sometime in the 7th grade Scott and I had gone fishing for crawdads together. The Nydam boys had always had turtles, and Scott and I decided to catch them some food.

We had caught a beast, and were downstairs in Scott’s and Aaron’s bedroom ready to drop the poor crustacean into the turtle’s aquarium. Even at age 12 or 13, I think that I knew of Ron Nydam. Growing up in the Denver Christian Schools at this time you couldn’t NOT know of Ron. Let’s just say that the (soon-to-be) Dr. Nydam’s utterances at the sight of the crawdad did not match the image that I had absorbed of him.

I quickly got to know Ron (or Dale, as we called him), Sugar, and the boys – I learned that this family was REAL. Their love for each other was REAL. Their love for me was REAL. A large part of the man I am today is a result of the love, care and fun that this family showed me.

Over the next several years Scott and I became very close friends, and I was lucky enough to be a part of many Nydam traditions in the 90s. We took the boat to Chatfield on Ron’s days off on Mondays. It was the first time that Ron taught me something – I learned to water ski. But it wasn’t the last skill that I learned from him.

Sugar showed an incredible ability to host and take care of people. I knew that I was always welcome at the Nydam’s home. I stayed for dinner after afternoons of basketball and Nintendo Tecmo Bowl. And that welcome extended to the newly acquired cabin in Fraser, CO.

(I owe it to my parents to note that wasn’t some sort of disadvantaged kid. I have wonderful parents who loved and cared from me. They’re just from New York – they didn’t know do any of these things that the Nydams taught me.)

I spent countless weekends at the cabin with the Nydams in those years. Somehow, I had grown up in Colorado without having learned how to ski, and Ron graciously volunteered as my tutor. He took me up personally the first several days, even though he didn’t have to do it. I eventually got the hang of it, and these days, I’m a pretty respectable skier even in unmaintained backcountry terrain. I owe it all to Dale. I think about him every time I start downhill.

I was with the Nydam family in Fraser when Ron burned his PhD thesis in the bonfire outside the cabin. I don’t think I knew why at the time, but I knew it was a big deal. Sugar took care of me one new year’s eve as I lay underneath one of her formidable quilts with the flu. Ron and Scott taught me how to handle a fly rod in the creeks behind the cabin. Trevor and Aaron were always gracious and understanding about their little brother’s stocky, awkward friend.

I even learned about the role that adoption plays in our society. Dale – I want you to know that I listened, and that I learned from you.

My wife, Jenn, and I became foster parents in 2008. We fostered five children before Miles was placed in our home. Miles – a two-and-a-half year-old-boy – fit in so well that Jenn and I knew that we couldn’t live without him in our family. We were finally able to adopt him in April of 2010. Dale – I want you to know that I wouldn’t have had this inspiration for our lives without you.

Jenn gave birth to our daughter, Cora, in October, 2009. Jenn’s pregnant again (I don’t quite understand how that keeps happening) and we’ll have our third child in April, 2012. Jenn is studying to be a midwife, much like Scotty’s Jenn.

We’re currently researching adopting a girl in India, where female infanticide has run rampant. Once Jenn is finished with school we hope to complete an adoption of a girl from one of the affected regions of India.

Sometimes I feel that I’ve been unfairly blessed. Many of the boys in my generation grew up without male role models. It’s become a cliche. But not for me – I had my triumvirate – my father, my Dale, and my Fast Eddie Hommes.

I’ve lost some other parental role models to cancer in the last ten years. And I’ve made critical mistakes. Out of some sense of decorum, or due to my busy-ness and self-importance, I haven’t reached out to tell certain people what they mean to me.

I won’t make that mistake again.

Ron and Sugar – you have made a difference in my life. I don’t know where this diagnosis will take you. All I can do is lend my feeble prayers. But I want you to know that I am consciously building my family according to the model I learned in your house:

I want my children to know JOY! Joy at being outside, joy at being together…joy of quilting!
I want the friends of my children to know that they are always welcome at the table of the Lord.
I want my children to understand and care for their Colorado birthright.
I want my children to know that “Mary Jane” means bump runs.
I want my children to know that life is a gift, and the best thing you can do with it is to give it to someone else, and share it with them.

I don’t know how things are going to work out with your leukemia, Dale. Sugar – I wish I could come to GR and give you a big hug. I doubt it would help much. But I want you all to know how much your family has meant to me. Even though life has spread us all throughout the country, I want you to know that you have changed at least one life in Denver. My prayers, and the prayers of my family, are with you.

Until I get to see you again,

Mark Amann