How Pizza Man made me a parent

From the title of this blog, you might think I became a parent after an evening of consuming way too much wine at Pizza Man. Sorry to report, that is not the case.

As you probably already know, this morning, Pizza Man -- along with Cush, Black & White and Grecian Delight -- was destroyed by a fire.

The iconic pizza eatery with the phallic sign is no longer.

This fire creates a trifecta of East Side blazes: the 1988 Century Hall fire, the 1993 Beans & Barley fire and now this.

Before I explain exactly how Pizza Man made me a parent, I must express that I really cannot believe the bar and restaurant is gone.

I grew up on the East Side and Pizza Man was one of my favorite eateries. I particularly loved going during the holidays, but really, any season was perfect for the artichoke à la mode and a glass of wine.

But back to the connection between Pizza Man and my 7-year-old son.

My husband and I were in Guatemala in 2003, finalizing the adoption of our son. It had been a slow, frustrating process and we were warned that things could still go wrong during the very last step at the American embassy.

We waited in a long line with our 9-month-old baby to get into the embassy to finalize our adoption. We were nervous. Already, we had jumped through so many hoops and crossed through so much red tape, that the thought of a glitch during the final step was too much to think about. So I bit my nails and overfed the baby instead.

Finally, it was our turn to stand at the window and talk to the man behind glass. He seemed very serious at first, his brow furrowed while he read our paperwork.

"You're from Milwaukee?" he finally asked.

"Yes," I said.

"You ever eat at Pizza Man?" he asked in a very serious tone.

"It's one of our favorite restaurants!" I said.

Finally, he smiled, stamped a bunch of our papers and said, "Congratulations."

When we returned home from Guatemala, you know where we celebrated.