Somehow, This E-Mail Helps Keep Hope Alive

Maybe I’m going this way today because what follows might be the only positive e-mail I have ever received about Page 2. No, to be honest, that’s not quite right. There have been at least two or three nice e-mails over the last 15 months. OK, so maybe I exaggerate.

I could say I’m giving you this positive e-mail today because USC won a football game and I’ve run out of ways to trash the Trojans, but that’s not true.

Maybe I’m getting soft because it might explain why I do what I do in this space--the attempt to generate laughter to start off the day always being more important than the opinion here. But of course those who have already figured it out won’t be surprised. Those who haven’t obviously graduated from USC--you see, I haven’t run out.

To be honest, I know why I’m letting my guard down today, and sharing this e-mail from reader Michael Quinn. It struck home.

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MY FATHER was stricken with a brain tumor many years ago, and as Quinn explains, his father has also been knocked off his independent stride by a series of medical setbacks. I remember my father being told he could no longer drive his car, no longer go to work, no longer care for himself.

Michael Quinn’s father is struggling now with these same limitations, and as a result, the son wrote, he has been down.

“He was so brilliant, a brilliant man,” Michael Quinn said with pride in a follow-up telephone call, “and while he’s still a stubborn Irishman, his mind is no longer what it used to be.”

But Michael Quinn’s father continues to hang in there. He recently shared one more day with his son--and how many other people would like that same opportunity, one more day?

My father chose to take his own life before losing control of it, and although I make no judgment here, over the years I’ve become more sensitive to the power of hope--which is something more than hoping Chan Ho Park doesn’t give up another home run.

The hope here is that I can make people laugh--and avoid being assigned the hockey beat--whereas in the case of e-mailers like Troy Steece on Monday morning, it’s something else: “You’re pathetic and what’s worse, you’re not funny. How does it feel to be hated by the people of L.A.? You’re a complete waste of life.”

The rest of this column is going to rankle and irritate people like Troy Steece like you can’t believe. But frankly, my dear e-mailers, I don’t give a damn.

So even though Michael Quinn has committed the cardinal sin of passing on a compliment to Page 2--and never again will I allow this kind of pat-on-the-back, self-serving mush--there are not enough negative e-mails to ever make me forget this one nice one:

“My father just turned 73. This year he has suffered two major strokes and a heart attack.

“A month ago, my father decided to head to Carpinteria Beach, where our family used to go every summer since 1960. In his words, it was his ‘Last Hurrah.’ All he wanted was to spend time with his six children and 13 grandchildren. He’s been suffering from depression the last year, and mostly because of his lack of eyesight more than anything else. There is numbness completely down the left side of his body. The man was so independent. Now he can’t drive or read.

“The whole family came to Carpinteria and my father was in heaven. Drinking beers like his Irish heritage dictated and laughing with everyone.

“However, everyone left Sunday night except me. I spent the evening with him, and he cried the whole night. (This from a man who I had never seen cry in my 35 years).

“We woke up Monday morning and it was a bit overcast. He didn’t wake up until 10:30 that morning because he didn’t have the will. I brewed some coffee and encouraged him to sit out on the beach with me and talk about life and the weekend.

“He managed to crawl out of bed, throw on his bathrobe and sit on the lawn chairs I had set out on the beach. I had the L.A. Times sports page with me--not sure if it was the Sunday or Monday page--and was going over some of the scores with him.

“He then turned to me and a light illuminated from his face. His dark cloud seemed to have lifted for a brief moment, and he asked, ‘Have you ever read T.J. Simers?’

“I laughed, because I guess he and I have the same twisted perspective on life and we both enjoy the column. We laughed, and talked about some of the columns we recalled.

“I thought about it for a moment, and said, ‘Dad, I’m going to read today’s column to you.’ It was the column about the analogy between Anna Kournikova and the Dodgers.

“I read slowly and tried to enunciate each sentence. I would look over at him and he had this wide-eyed grin the whole time--only to be interrupted by a loud cackle and a slap on his knee.

“About halfway through the column I looked over and tears were pouring down his face, tears of laughter mixed with tears of emotion. My tears soon followed.

“We laughed and laughed, and for three hours all we talked about was your column and sports and it was wonderful.

“Anyway, I know you get a lot of negative e-mail, but I wanted you to know that your column--for at least one day--bridged my father and myself

Michael Quinn

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P.S. “My dad mentioned the grocery store bagger the other day, and wanted to know how he was doing. You know what? The whole day, he was in a good mood after that.”

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TODAY’S LAST word comes from me: If only he hadn’t mentioned the grocery store bagger!

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com.