Tijuana Gringo |
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Grew up in San Diego. Watched this place boom in the late 80s. My stepsister city of my teenage years. All the new growth on both sides of the line freeways and factories. Fortunately I kept away from the drug explosion and so I am still alive and may even see thirty, or forty here, God willing. For now I have adopted Tijuana and hope that it will adopt me.
Why? The other? Am I looking for something to fill the hole in my soul where my father was shot down over Hanoi so I never knew him? Am I still chasing that heat-seeking missile from an alien society to make peace with his ghost? Maybe, maybe not. Mexico is very close, and like English, was shaped by the Roman Empire and Babylon. Vietnam is far away, and was shaped by China, with whom the U.S. will go to war in 2024.
I mentioned to Agustin a few months ago that if Maria and I get married we will both be able to become citizens of each other's countries. He blew up and called me a stupid damn gringo for wanting to become a Mexican. But I had already learned to take his eruptions in stride. Later he calmed down and confessed he bears his own cross of identity conflict -- his father was French, only his mother's family was Mexican from Sonora. That's why he growls when he hears Chicanos from the other side say they are cien por ciento Mexicano. Dude's got a serious chip on his shoulder. No, he's got a whole lumberyard. Entire forests. Planets of trees.... Amazing man, my landlord, but what a temper.
Ah, something else... my Mother and Maria finally met today.
We arranged to go to church together in the morning, us up on trolley from the border to downtown San Diego, and my mom driving in from Grossmont. Afterwards out onto Point Loma to the national cemetery to visit my Dad's grave. Mom doesn't like going to the official services, they make her cry and the media jackals pounced on her one year and smeared her streaked makeup all over their television screens. Made lots of money off the sexy widow weeping. Even got some kind of human interest award. Powerful video (I am still jealous, yes) but even so a wretched invasion of privacy.... Yet just what am I doing here with these pages, eh? The same? Is it any different for being semi-fiction?
My Dad's grave is empty. His body was never recovered. Only a flag and a uniform he left home were buried in the empty casket, with some clippings of his hair Mom had. Wonder what the archeologists of the future will think when they come back from the stars to rob our graves.
Probably be reading this and shaking their heads, "Tsk tsk tsk, what an angry young man."
"Besides," Mom said, "it isn't real Memorial Day -- that was really always the 30th. Now it's just the Monday of the last weekend that begins summer vacation time. But for me it will always be the 30th. The day I heard."
Yeah. He was shot down on the 29th. They told her here in California on the 30th.
Mom turned away, kneeling down over the green grass, hiding her tears from Maria and me. I explained to my love how she heard.
Maria nodded. Looked out at the view of San Diego Bay and the North Island air base. "Your stepfather didn't come today?"
"No. He doesn't like to see my mom crying over my dad's grave. For years now, she and I have come here alone."
"Mmm. Bien." She let go my hand, then went over to kneel beside my mother. I felt a gentle touch on the back of my neck (the cloudy breeze?) urging me to join them. After only a moment's hesitation, I went. We knelt for a long moment together, three silent humans, a man and his two women. The little American flag fluttered softly in the breeze, its colors muted by the grey overcast sky. I read my father's headstone. Charles D. Thomas, California. Captain, U.S. Navy. June 10, 1943 -- May 29, 1972. Vietnam.
"It was to be his last tour of duty in Indochina," Mom said, quietly, signalling the end of our silence.
"Oh, Senora, that is very sad. I am sorry."
"Thank you. I didn't want him to go there at all, but he felt it would help his career." She brushed the bits of grass from her cotton pants as we stood. Looked at me. "We fought about it. So badly that he left me for two days and a night. Then he came back, and... well, that last week was when we started Michael, that last week before he left. And then, I never saw him again...."
Maria gently steered me up against my mother's side. I put my arm around her, and she me.
"Thank God there's no war for you two to worry about now... well, no big war, at least." Mom sighed, glancing over at Maria on my other arm. We slowly walked back to her car.
thomas@masinternet.zzn.com
Next entry -- Dream & Reality
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Copyright 2001 Daniel Charles Thomas