Uncle Pete

I didn't get to choose my first family. But I did get to choose my second.

And Pete Caubisens, who passed away a few days ago, was a huge part of it.

Many years ago my pal Richard introduced me to a friend of his named Rémi Aubuchon. I knew fairly quickly this Rémi character was going to fast become a new best friend. What I didn't know was how important Remi's family would become in my life. In some ways, with absolutely no disrespect to my own beautiful parents who had their hands more than full with me, Rémi's would often be my family of choice.

Living first in Brentwood then in Santa Monica when we met, I'd always look forward to driving (willing) my orange Super Beetle over the hill to the valley, then up the hill to Remi's house in Woodland Hills. It was always a welcoming, safe place, giving me many things I couldn't get in my own home.

Family, in the bigger sense of the word, was one of them.

Rémi's father Jacques was an accomplished actor. I was a theater arts major. Jacques didn't like flying. At the time I had a huge fear of flying. We'd sit for hours, talking about acting and how flight was still just a theory.

While we're here, one more thing about my major.

My parents were older when they had me, and like many parents of their era they had some old school thinking on what was a real job and what wasn't. Let's just say there wasn't a lot of love in my house for being a theater arts major (they were Jewish - doctor and lawyer were genetically programmed to be at the top of their list).

Where was I? Okay. Rémi's mom Denise, who looks like Ellen Burstyn, was an artistic, warm and welcoming presence. In my eyes she was always accepting and non-judgemental. It was like a breath of fresh air (perhaps I've revealed too much).

I was also close to his sister Danielle (the birthday girl in the picture above), and while his brother Philippe always marched to his own drummer, I constantly enjoyed his company and humor, and always loved hearing his take on things.

It was just good being around them. It felt like what a home should feel like.

Because of how I felt about Rémi's family, and the way I felt about my own at the time, for many years I spent Thanksgiving and Christmas at his house.

On one of those holidays early on, Denise's brother Pete was out from New York. Pete was an attorney for the airlines, so naturally with my fears I had all sorts of questions for him. I'd never met someone who knew so much about wind shear and bird ingestion (not the Thanksgiving kind, the jet engine kind).

Pete and I hit it off right from the get-go. He had a gentle brilliance and a sharp wit about him. He was funny as hell. He was worldly and sophisticated. He had a smile that lit up a room. And a laugh that let you know how much he was enjoying life.

He was New York cool.

I know what you're thinking: that he was also somewhat of a father figure to me. Is it that obvious?

The conversation turned to New York. Pete said I was welcome to stay at his place on the upper east side anytime I wanted. So I took him up on it. I was there about a week, using his place as my base camp.

I remember meeting him for lunch one day. He took me to my first real French restaurant. Escargot, rude waiters, the whole neuf yards. It was awesome.

Afterwards, as we were walking down 5th Avenue, it started to snow. It was the first time in my life I'd ever seen falling snow. It was magical. It's a feeling I'll always associate with Pete.

Time marches on and everyone's life gets busier. And while I talked to Pete less and less over the years, ironically I thought about him more and more.

When Rémi (here with the coolest uncle ever) let me know Pete was gone, he said one of the reasons he wanted me to know was because he knew how much I enjoyed him and his company.

But I don't think he really did. In fact, I don't think I did until I heard he'd died.

I don't know many things for sure, but I do know that Rémi's family, New York and my life are all better for Pete having been a part of them.

The other thing I know is, as of last week, heaven is a much more welcoming place.