Not so Wasted Days and Wasted Nights

I am the oldest by six years. This meant that my summers were spent terrorizing my younger siblings in to playing school, where I was the evil head master and they were disgusting and vile students. I was such a shit to them, they had no choice but to play outside and entertain me because until July rolled around, I was stuck in a backyard filled with chickens, goats, and some cactus...this is downtown San Jose, California by the way.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jk7uXaNuWNEBut then the end of June/beginning of July would roll around. You see, from the age of 8 up until my quinceanera, I had the good fortune of being shipped to Texas. I realize how ass backwards this may sound...."good fortune" and "Texas" do not typically jive in the same sentence. But to me, this was all I could think or talk about.

My godparents moved to Texas when I was seven years old. They had a ranch about an hour south of Austin. But it might have been hours and hours away because most of my time was spent on that ranch in a town that was notorious for its great pecan...I wish I was joking. But it didn't bother me because I was care free, kid free, and my days were spent watching Mexican smut television and eating my godmother's home made tortillas. As to why I wasn't a tumbler is beyond me. My tummy days came way later. We would take a drive in to town, blasting Selena y los dinos, or some other tex-mex station. One year, at the age of thirteen, I earned my right of passage and was allowed to drive the truck from town to the ranch...I didn't kill anyone...but I did scare the shit out of everyone in the car. It should also be noted that my driving skills come from learning to drive in a monster truck on the solitary highway of Texas....so yeah...

Once in a while when my aunt Linda was in town we would take a trip down to Corpus Christi, where we would try to swim in an ocean but couldn't because of the warm salt water scratching the sight out of my eyes. Also, my aunt and godmother don't swim...so I would have been fucked. Other times we would drive to Mexico, spend the day in Piedras Negras buying candy and eating tacos from the street vendors.

I have spent a lot of summers in other places in the world. But I have to admit, Texas is place I loved to be.

My dad and his friend

I waited days before calling my aunt to check on the status of a godfather. The week prior her email updates were almost daily, with hopeful and optimistic news. But after the fourth day of no update, I decided it was time to call.

"The cancer has spread, the chemo will shrink it, but it won't be cured."

It was all I heard. I thought of the last phone conversation before the news of the cancer, when I told him I would be in Austin and stopping for a visit during my trip. His response "we will have to make some food, its going to be a big day". And then I thought of the very last conversation with him, the day before his surgery, when he told my dad "I hope you make it down here."

It was a sad and confusing moment after finishing the call with my aunt. I went to my parents and broke the news to my dad. Borrowing my sensitivity from him, I knew he would have tears streaming before I finished my sentence.

"I can't see him like this, its not how I want to remember him."

I thought of my childhood and my first impression of my father and godfather. Two strong Mexican men, beers and smiles in hand. Nights of music, dancing, maybe even a serenade projected by the one to the other. I thought of the wedding in Mexico, when my father, in a state of inebriation, bought my godfather roses and mariachi serenade in the plaza as we headed back to the hotel. I can still feel the soreness on my sides from the laughter at the site of their macho Mexican bromance.

They were great friends, they were young, they were men.

Is this the the happy ending we are all hoping for? No, because someone I care about is going to die sooner than I would like. But what will hurt the most, is the anguish and sadness that will come from my dad. I wont be able to fix it, I can't take it away.