It was early one Sunday morning. I was in Italy sitting at a quaint outdoor cafe drinking coffee and reading the newspaper.

The cafe was situated in a quaint cobblestone courtyard. Each table had a yellow umbrella and a vase of fresh flowers. The cafe had just opened for the day and I was the first person there.

I glanced up from the paper and noticed an artist setting up his easel a short way from where I sat. He placed the back of the easel toward me and began mixing paint. He smiled. I nodded and went back to the newspaper.

A few minutes later, I paid the bill, folded the newspaper and got up to leave.

“Excuse me,” he said in broken English. “Is hokay I paint?”

“You talking to me?” I said, pressing my thumb into my chest and looking around. There was no one else in sight.

“You,” he said pointing the end of the brush at me. “Yes. You sit. I paint.”

“I’d be flattered,” I said smiling. I sat down and re-read the parts of the paper I had skipped.

“Where are you from? He asked after he’d been painting for a while.

“South Africa,” I replied. “And you?’

He didn’t reply. He continued painting. I think he was French. He had a white moustache that was curled up at the ends and he wore a maroon beret.

I sat for two hours as he painted. I did the crossword, had two more cups of coffee and did a quiz to determine if I was a good husband. It turned out that I was a great husband, probably because I wasn’t married.

Eventually after almost falling asleep from sheer boredom, I saw the artist put his down brush and wipe his hands with a dirty, paint stained cloth. He tilted his head to the side and looked at his work.

“I like,” he said to himself as he rubbed his hands together. “You like?”

I got up and walked over to the easel. The painting was magnificent. The man was an amazing artist. He had captured the early morning light on the yellow umbrellas and the colors of the café. The painting was almost true to life. There was one thing missing from the picture though. Me.

I was a little angry that he made me sit for so long without putting me in the picture.

“Why didn’t you put me in the picture?” I asked.

He looked at me like I was crazy.

“Look at the cafe,” he said, pointing over the easel at the scene he had just painted

I looked over the top of the easel at the cafe.

“Are you in the picture?” he said.

“No,” I said, “I’m obviously not in the picture because I’m standing here with you.”

“Well then,” he said, smiling. “If you are not in the picture how can I put you in the picture?”

What a great surprise! Just to think that some of the materials I’ve been coveting in the latest Jerry’s Artarama catalogue were actually hidden under my very nose in my studio.

Then I found a note tucked-in with the supplies and my blood went cold.

The note was to my father. The art materials I found were actually a gift for my dad who could not get good art supplies in South Africa.

My father was a wonderful artist and never asked for much, but I knew he wanted this package so badly. My mom told me that he would often say, “I wonder if Trev’s package is going to come in the mail today.” He mentioned a number of times, on the phone to me, how forward he was looking to getting the paints because he had a specific project in mind that he wanted to create.

For some reason I never got round to mailing the the supplies to him. They sat hidden in my studio closet for years.

Then my father died.

He never got the package he waited so patiently for.

Dad, I am so sorry.

“Now is the time to give me roses, not to keep them for my grave to
come. Give them to me while my heart beats, give them today while my
heart yearns for jubilee. Now is the time…”

Mzwakhe Mbuli

The strength, faith, hope and love flowing from the families of these children is unbelievable. I honestly don’t know if I could ever handle what these families are going through myself. Their steadfast hope and resolve is unbelievable.

I was with these families to take photographs for a book and a television piece we (the Candlelighters Childhood Cancer Foundation) were doing to gather national and international support for children in treatment, survivors and the families of those who have passed away from cancer.

During the weekend I spent most of my time on the floor of the National Children’s Hospital doing my job as the Doctor of Mischief. My task was to make the kids feel at ease so we could capture their personalities on film. I wrestled on the floor with little kids with cue ball heads. I joked and shared incredible stories with an amazing teenager from Bulgaria. I made an idiot of myself trying to distract kids from the camera and that awful cancer shadow that stalks them twenty-four hours a day.

My friend Jed Share (a world class photographer) Ruth Hoffman (Executive Director of the Candlelighters) and myself (world class buffoon) cried and laughed the whole weekend. I cannot tell you how full my heart feels after celebrating life with these kids and capturing their courage and hope on film.

Jed Share is a much sought after photographer and has shot pictures in 80 different countries. Some of his work has appeared in the National Geographic.

I drove Jed nuts every five minutes asking him for photographs of me with the children. I wanted pictures because I never want to forget my time with these great little people.

We spent three days taking hundreds and hundreds of pictures and then on Saturday night we all joined together in the old Post Office in Washington D.C. to light the incredible Candlelighters Christmas Tree. The tree was adorned with thousands of gold ribbons to support kids in treatment, honor those who are no longer with us and celebrate the precious lives of those who have survived childhood cancer.

After the tree lighting I had a real hard time saying goodbye to my new friends, especially to a little four year-old chap named Alex. We really bonded and I had a huge lump in my throat when I saw Alex’s bald little head hang in sadness when he said goodbye to me.

“Can you be my friend for always?” he said when I hugged him goodbye.

“Yes, Alex,” I whispered in his ear. “For always.”