Good ol’ Ebeneezer Scrooge. We took pity on him as he was haunted by three spirits on Christmas eve. He was the scourge of mankind, hated adults, children, Christmas, and life. His love was for money and making misery for the world that he despised. So the spirits of Christmas teamed up to teach this wretched soul a lesson in hopes that he would change and lead a better life.

A Christmas Carol is one of the best pieces of fictional literature in our world. Author Charles Dickens shows us the blessings that we have and miracles in life, but he also shows us that each of us has something much in common with Ebeneezer Scrooge. We all have ghosts that have haunted us to help change us and lead a better life. If you haven’t been haunted yet, you soon will.

While I’m not talking about actual ghosts, I’m talking about events in our lives that have shaped us and changed us for who we are — it depends on the path you have taken whether you changed for the better or the worse. Did you remain the old Ebeneezer Scrooge or did you become the changed one who gave his assistant Bob Cratchit a raise, his family a wonderful Christmas dinner, and paid medical bills to save Bob Cratchit’s son Tiny Tim’s life?

The hauntings are frightening because they can occur at anytime — Christmastime or not.

My worst haunting that changed my course in life was April 16th, 1998: The day dad died. I’ve told a few people the story, but I’ll relay it here.

Chuck Varcie was born Oct. 8th, 1937. He was the only son born to Romanian immigrants John and Mary Varcie, and he had three sisters: Margie, Cathy, and Josie. They lived on Riopelle Street in Detroit. Dad was a smart guy, graduating as class president and class valedictorian from Pershing High School. He earned a full-ride Evans scholarship to Michigan State University.

Dad met mom a few years after graduation, they got married and had my brother, John, and I. Dad coached every baseball team of mine, went to every ice hockey game I played working on the bench to open doors for the players. He taught John and I how to throw a ball, shoot a hockey stick, run, kick a ball.

He was the most popular and most intelligent man I knew. He wasn’t just the life of the party, yet he was the party. Dad and mom would host theme parties for friends and neighbors. He lived life to the fullest and lived like he was dying.

In 1993, at the age of 55, we found out that he actually was dying. Years of smoking unfiltered Lucky Strike cigarettes had caught up with him. He was diagnosed with mouth cancer. He survived through treatments of radiation and surgeries and a newfound treatment in its infancy called immunotherapy.

Dad succumbed to his illness at 11:17 pm on April 16th, 1998. He had been in a coma for 2 weeks on a hospital bed that we set up in the living room at mom’s 2-story house in Garden City, MI. We had a hospice nurse at the house helping every day for a few hours. She talked to me, mom, and John, and said that as he laid there in a coma, he was hanging on to life and didn’t want to die. She suggested one of us talk to dad — and tell him to let go.

At around noon April 16th I sat next to dad and held his hand. I told him it was ok to let go. John and I would make sure mom was safe and we would take care of her. I talked to my unresponsive dad for 30 minutes and it was the most difficult conversation I ever had with him.

What was going through my confused, weary mind? I sobbed as I thought of what I thought I was going to say. I played catch with him a thousand times. We played hundreds of games of Scrabble and Risk. We fished on hot aluminum fishing boats on Whitmore Lake and Houghton Lake eating Pringles and summer sausage with our hands filled with dried worm guts. He taught me how to shave, dance, tell jokes, and make people laugh, and live life to the fullest…and I was asking him to let go.

I prayed to God, found the strength, and asked dad to let go.

At 11:17 pm, I sat with dad, mom, and my grandma Emma Budop in the living room. After not moving for 2 weeks, dad suddenly sat up straight and opened his eyes wide. Mom said, “Chuck, what’s wrong? Do you know me?” His body collapsed backwards into the bed and my mom, grandma, and I watched as a mist slowly rose from my dad’s unmoving chest to the ceiling and disappeared. I said, “See you later dad.” He was gone.

I sat there with dad for a while holding his hand until the paramedics and funeral home arrived. When I finally moved to get up, rigor mortis had set in and I pried dad’s hand away from mine for the last time. The paramedics moved dad to a gurney in the living room. I faintly heard grandma say, “Tommy, you don’t want to watch this.”

But I had to watch.

The paramedics put dad in a body bag, zipped it up, and wheeled him out of the house.

That’s my haunting — three ghosts in one visit; a hundred ghosts; a thousand ghosts in one visit! This was the grand slam of hauntings. You have yours, I’m sure. It’s a life-changing moment.

It changed me forever. But my goal from that point was to live like dad. How can you not live like the greatest man to ever inhabit the third rock from the Sun.

No, I wasn’t going to pick up smoking a pack a day of Lucky Strike cigarettes. I was going to take all the positive traits of dad and make them me.

These are the blessings of Christmas that you get when you turn the worst experience imaginable into something positive.

Dad gave me the roadmap to be a great dad, coach, role model and superhero to your kids: Love them, teach them, pay attention to them, and make them feel important. You have to be their mentor, listen to them, and empathize. Teach them to grill, throw a ball, kick a ball, push down a bully and stand up for yourself, live your best life, and love life.

He had other lessons that are the blessings of life.

Be good to your wife.

Love your wife.

Be good to your kids and love them.

Don’t hold grudges.

Humor your friends and the world.

Give to others, but don’t expect anything in return.

Love God.

Love Life.

Love the world.

This is my Christmas blessing.

To live the life of dad.

And remember.

Pick the right side of your Scrooge.

And live a happy life.

Merry Christmas to you.