Array Seka - Inside Seka

Their plight made me think of the choices I had made. Whether I had picked the easy or hard road in life as an adult actress, at least I had choices. Since many of them were illegal and barely spoke the language, their options were limited, to say the least.

I enjoyed seeing people from all walks of life coming in. It was the full spectrum of society from very high end folk getting out of limos for a hot dog, to normal people going about their lives. You never knew from customer to customer how the conversation would go or what would happen. Nine times out of ten customers who recognized me were totally respectful and friendly, but whenever there was a problem it was usually the women who were jealous and spiteful.

I got really good at it. I could hold four hot dog buns in one hand and make four hot dogs at once. It may have been an odd thing to be proud of, but that’s me.

The job was physically hard, though. I was in my forties and on my feet and in the heat for six or seven hours straight. I’d get home and couldn’t move. The girls had warned me that the owner’s girlfriend was a real bitch. They were right, too, because she tried to make my life miserable because her boyfriend liked me. She spoke to me in an insulting way and tried to make me do demeaning things she wouldn’t dare ask anybody else to do.

I was never a person to lie down and be humiliated. As far as I’m concerned, you judge a person on who they are and if they keep their word. I wouldn’t put up with rudeness. And slinging hot dogs wasn’t a career. I told him one day, “Look, I can’t work for your girlfriend and I know you’re not going to give her up over me. I quit.”

I knew at some point these jobs weren’t going to work out. It was just a means to pay some bills. I was now in my mid-forties and had to once again figure out what to do with my life.

One of my favorite people in the world is my cousin Sarah Jane. Although she’s about nine years younger than I am, she’s always been like a sister to me. And considering I don’t speak to my own sister at all, she’s someone I need so very much in my life. Pretty, smart, and kind, you could not find a better surrogate sister in the world. With her thick Radford, Virginia, accent, I’m sometimes the only person in the room who can make sense out of what she’s saying. I would do anything for her. We’ve been to hell and back together.

Sarah had two children, Meredith and Matthew. Both were beautiful inside and out, with olive complexions, dark hair, and dark eyes. Matthew was the sweetest little child, while Meredith was the feisty one. He had a silent strength about him, while Meredith would tell you whatever was on her mind. And in her twenties, she still does today.

Since Meredith was able to walk and talk, everyone in the family joked that she was my child because she’s so willful. She’s strong, outspoken, and stands up for herself. Wearing her heart on her sleeve, behind the bravado, she’s a very tender person. And the capper is she’s very, very bright.

I was always Aunt Dot to these children, as well as to all of my cousins’ kids.

When he was around the age of fourteen, Matthew started to get headaches. He was an amateur wrestler at his local high school. He’d come home and tell his mom he couldn’t get rid of his headaches. Sarah figured it was from the intense body contact and exertion. However, it persisted for weeks.

When the doctor looked in his eyes he told her simply, “Something isn’t right.”

And it wasn’t. They found three brain tumors. He had brain cancer.

Sarah was divorced from the father of her kids but he was still in their lives. When they got the news, the whole family, and even the community, rallied in support of them. Aunts, uncles, cousins, neighbors, friends, classmates, and everyone in between helped them with whatever they needed. We cleaned the house, did the lawn, took care of the laundry, went shopping, and took a load off poor Sarah. We saw the sadness in Sarah, but she stayed strong and did whatever she could to help Matthew in his fight. I don’t think I ever saw her break down once through the whole ordeal.

She drove a couple hundred miles each way for radiation treatments and chemo. Matthew didn’t want to stay in the hospital, and she promised him he’d never be alone. For a couple of months, Matthew would be able to basically go about his life. I’d fly in from Chicago and take him to his favorite restaurant. It wasn’t so much going out to eat, but us all being there together.

On top of everything, it was a financial drain on them. When I asked if there was anything she needed, she answered honestly, “Well, we can always use money.” So I sent what I could. Considering I worked at a Home Depot slinging hot dogs eight hours a day, I didn’t have an abundance of that.

When I told the owner of the hot dog stand what was going on he said, “Okay, we’ll set up outside and sell hot dogs for a dollar each. We’ll do a fundraiser for him. And if people want to give more, they can.”

We raised two thousand and change in one afternoon. That’s a lot of hotdogs.

For the most part, everyone was very nice about buying a hotdog or throwing some money in the jar. But there’re always rotten apples in the bunch. One guy said. “Why in the hell would I want to give a porn star money for her nephew? That’s just ridiculous. Go beg from someone else.”

I got very angry, but a split second later I realized how sad it was that this man had no compassion whatsoever.

Later in the day, a woman just stood there staring at me and said, “You spread your legs all these years. Why don’t you spread your legs again?”

She gave me the strangest look as if she was expecting me to say something hostile, but I figured why waste my breath on someone like this? I simply said to her, “Why don’t you just walk away?”

When the smoke cleared, though, I felt really, really good. Not only had it been a financial success, it was heartwarming that people who didn’t know my Matthew were willing to dig into their pockets to help someone literally a thousand miles away. It gave me back some faith in humanity.

We did another fundraiser at The Big House restaurant in Chicago, where I had known the owner for years. It was a Sunday afternoon and she called all our musician friends — Nan Mason, Bob Salone, Frank Deron. Buddy Charles, Carla Valenti and many other well-known Chicago performers. Other community leaders and business people donated items for a silent auction like TVs, a spa day, and dinners at different restaurants. Joey Mondelli’s chef, Armando, from La Scarola’s restaurant, donated a home-cooked dinner to the highest bidder. The support was overwhelming. These were all friends who came through for me when I most needed them. Each and every one of them passed out fliers around the neighborhood, told everyone they knew, and asked for five-dollar donations. There were also tip jars around that were filling up with cash, but even more amazing was the fact that person after person kept walking over to me with envelopes with cash in them. Even the musicians who donated their time and service and weren’t making a dime came over and handed me money. I broke down and cried several times.

In spite of the sad circumstances, it was an amazing show and they purposely picked out uplifting, funny, and poignant songs about people loving and caring for each other. “Time in a Bottle” was one song I remember being performed. And tunes about love took on a whole new meaning, since this time it was a love between an aunt and her dying nephew.

Unbelievably, I walked out of there with almost thirteen thousand dollars.

For several weeks, bar and restaurant owners let me put a jar out with a picture of Matthew on it where their patrons could put in money. I’d come by a few days later to pick them up and it was overwhelming to me that these jars were full. I’d send large checks in Matthew’s name, and Sarah was also just blown away by the whole thing. It helped them out a lot. The thankfulness that came from Matthew alone meant a lot to me.