Sarah was born on January 14 in Houston,TX. When she was 3 months old the family moved to Corpus Christi but I stayed in Houston for a while longer to tie up some loose ends. Her first words came one weekend when I met her, her  mother and older sister at the IKEA on I-10. I was inside the store and waiting by the registers and when they walked in, she was the first of the three to see me. She yelled out her first word, “Da-Da.” My heart melted. All three of my children have special qualities and they are all wonderful in their own little ways.

I wanted to share about Sarah’s qualities. If you read my last post, you know my Aunt Rose passed away on January 14. This was Sarah’s birthday and understandably, we were distracted from the focus we typically would have had on her because of the loss. Either way, we were able to treat her and her friend to dinner the night before.

Sarah’s in the process of working on several art projects that she is going to enter in an art show in February. The other day, my 16 year old daughter picked me up from work. I don’t know what we were talking about that brought up Sarah but we both began commenting on how Sarah is such a free spirit and a true Bohemian. Allie said that there are kids that try to be “hip” but Sarah is just “hip” because that’s who she is.

Sarah is definitely an artist but she’s also an athlete. She is a killer on the tennis court. Her mind works unlike any I’ve ever seen. She gets distracted by the next best idea and all of her ideas are good. She’s smart. She’s aggressive because she’s a winner and she craves winning. She says she wants to be a cook and an artist. She says she wants to travel the world and I know she will. She’s fearless and when she sets a goal for herself, she goes after it and there’s nothing that can stop her. Her mother describes her as her rainbow because she is all colors. When she gets upset or sad, everyone knows it. When she is happy, she lights up the world around her in every direction.

Sarah’s creative mind is always at work. The best thing about her is that she has a heart of gold. She doesn’t always show that heart to her brother and sister but it’s there. Yesterday, she told me that she and her best friend were going to start a project to raise money for a restaurant that feeds the homeless. It’s a giant project but I know she will set her goal and it will become a reality. That heart of gold is the same reason that she loves every animal she sees. She volunteered to take care of the dogs and cats that were being adopted and she treats her own dog (Lulu) like a princess. When her Lulu’s sister got sick and passed, Sarah’s heart broke and since that time, Lulu has slept in her bed and has been comforted and is the happiest dog I’ve ever seen.

Sarah is strong but sensitive. She is all over the place and focused at the same time. Her passion for art and the other things she loves ensures that she is going to be successful. I always told her that I don’t care if she’s rich when she gets older but that she spends her life doing what she loves and I know this will be her reality. She is a natural beauty with piercing dark eyes and a heart of gold. She’s my angel. Whenever I look at her, I see the little girl that lights up everything around her. Dad loves you Sarah.

My Aunt Rose passed away today. It was a long day for everyone in the family. The phone rang shortly after midnight and it was my sister letting us know that Aunt Rose was taken to the hospital. I was going to stay in bed but I decided to get up and get dressed, thinking that I should go just in case, but really feeling that it was going to turn out to be nothing serious. As I walked up to the emergency room entrance, and saw the look on my sister’s face, I knew it was more serious than I initially thought. Within an hour, the doctor came in and told us that she was gone.

I grew up around my Aunt Rose. She was like a third parent more than an Aunt when we were kids.  She rarely got onto us but if she needed to, nothing stopped her and we listened to her and she loved us and we loved her. I’m sure all the family members have things they remember about my aunt but there are some very distinct things I remember about her. She collected owls and in her small home in West Texas, there were owls of every sort. As a kid, it was easy to get her Christmas and birthday gifts because I knew all I had to do was look for something with an owl. My aunt always had a gift with painting and being artistic. She was always working on some sort of project and i’m sure that most all of us have something she made displayed somewhere in our homes. James Taylor was one of her favorite music artists. I made a James Taylor CD for her several years ago and as a child, I remember sitting on her living room floor listening to her records. She called me Dave. She called my brother Rob, and I laugh a little now that I’m thinking about it because she called my sister Mouthy (Her name’s Martha). We used to ride our bikes to her house when we were bored and there was always something to do there. In reality, there wasn’t really much to do there, except visit Aunt Rose and hang around while she worked on whatever she was working on and she would allow us to take part in whatever she was doing.

This morning after about 4 and a half hours of sleep, I went to my dad’s and met up with my sister. Not wanting my dad to have to worry about looking for financial paperwork, we went into my aunt’s little apartment behind his house. She had just gotten settled into the small apartment after spending the last couple years taking care of her older sister who has Alzheimers. My aunt’s art and craft supplies were organized neatly throughout the apartment. My aunt had not been there very long but the first thing my sister said (with tears in her eyes), and just before I was able to say it, was “It smells like Aunt Rose in here.” It smelled just like her home in Andrews. It’s hard to describe. Maybe it was the art supplies, the quilts, the books, the perfume, the make-up, but most likely, just a combination of all the things that made up my Aunt Rose.

I’ll miss my Aunt Rose but I’m sure it won’t be anything compared to how her brothers and sisters miss her. The hardest part when losing an aunt or uncle is having to see the sadness that everyone else is having to deal with after losing a sibling. When my sister and I were in my aunt’s apartment I noticed a small picture of my grandmother and my Aunt Cuca. My grandmother passed away in 1991 and my Aunt Rose took care of my Aunt Cuca for the last couple years. My grandmother and aunt would go to San Benito to my Aunt Sylvia’s home in the valley to have huge garage sales. It’s what they loved to do in the same way that my Aunt Rose loved her arts and crafts. I made a quick trip to Walgreens to make copies of that photo for the Aunts and Uncles that didn’t have one. I thought of my grandmother as we sat in the Emergency Room waiting on the medical examiner, all I could think about was what a good time my Aunt Rose was having updating my grandmother on all the things she missed out on in the last 20 years and how my grandmother is enjoying her Beautiful Rose.

My 16 year old daughter picked me up at work last night. We’re a family with three drivers (now that Allie has her license) and only two vehicles. I know we’ll be buying her a new car next year before she goes off to college but for the time being, to save several hundred dollars a month, getting dropped off and picked up from work is an inconvenience I can live with. She picked me up and on the short 7 minute drive home, she vented all the way home, complaining about her brother doing this and that and mother being this way and that way and she ended her rant by saying, “This is why I want to move 9 hours away.” It made me a little sad to hear her say these words but I remember like it was yesterday feeling this exact same way. I didn’t have a younger brother. My brother and sister were older and I was the baby of the family but for a number of reasons, I couldn’t wait to leave the nest. Honestly, I don’t remember what they were other than wanting to get out of a small town and just to be on my own and to be responsible for myself.

Several years passed and I found myself living alone in Houston, still a kid in my early 20′s, in the police academy, living in an efficiency apartment with very very few furnishings, and although I had plenty of friends to hang out with, I found myself feeling very lonely and missing my brother, my sister, and my parents. I was on my own and rather than wanting to be on my own, I wanted family around me. My brother Robert came to visit me and he had been there two days and he had to go back to Corpus Christi. It was a Friday and we were sitting at the pool and I told him, “Why don’t you stay the weekend?” I didn’t have to be at the academy and it was two more days for us to hang out together. He made a phone call and it turned out he had to get back. He left and I remember like it was yesterday. I went back into my tiny apartment and I was overwhelmed with sadness. I had missed my brother, my whole family for that matter and I would have done anything to hang out with him for just two more days. It was crazy that I was feeling that way. No one had died. No one had moved to the other side of the world or to another continent.

Looking back, I know that was a transition point in my life. After spending that day in my apartment, lonely and missing family, I went back with my normal schedule of friends, dates, etc. I have never felt that way since. When I left home after high school, I came to a town where there was a sister, grandmother, aunts, uncles, and cousins. I had family close to fill the void of missing parents and being that my brother had been off at college, I was used to him not being around. Now, I was an adult and finally on my own. I’m in my 40′s now and my oldest child can’t wait to get out from under my roof. She can’t wait to leave home, get away from her siblings, and to be independent. She’s going to go through what I went through and she’s going to go through it much earlier in her life than I did, I think.

Allie was a beautiful little girl and now she’s a beautiful young lady. Her mother and I sat in bed last night talking about how she was always such a good child and now that she’s a teen, how she’s responsible and considerate. I don’t worry about her. She’ll be successful and whatever man earns her heart will be fortunate beyond his understanding. What I know for sure is that the sadness that I felt when my brother drove away from my apartment complex in North Houston will pale in comparison to how I will feel when Allie drives away after high school.

I recently started a project that I am sure will be one of the most important projects I have taken on because of it’s importance to future generations of my family. I am not going to get paid to complete this project, in fact, I’ll be putting my own money into the project so that I can share it with my siblings, cousins, second cousins, and other family members. I have a few projects on the shelf and my wife regularly gets frustrated with me because I start something new before I have completed the previous project, but when something comes to my mind, it gets put on a priority list and I shift everything around accordingly. I’d like to say that my mind is a sort of triage for ideas. Unfortunately, none of them have paid off significantly. I don’t mind because this current project has nothing to do with payoff, rather, it has everything to do with investment. Investment in family. Investment in a belief system that my family is based upon and one that I don’t want my children to lose.

My project is the development of a book that is a collection of comments/quotes from aunts and uncles on my father’s side of the family. Yesterday I met with my Aunt Yolanda and Aunt Olga. We sat for about an hour and I listened to them talk about their childhood memories. They talked about my grandmother and their relationships with their siblings and neighbors. They talked about their father, a grandfather I never knew and although I never knew him, I recognized his positive characteristics in my father, aunts, and uncles. One of the best parts of this interview was hearing sentences that began with, “I remember…” One aunt would make a comment and spark a memory in the other. I’m sure that they could have gone on for hours. I wanted to share some of their memories.

Aunt Olga:

“During Easter holidays, our dad used to take us down to Nueces River. Back then, Nueces River was very different. It was neat. I had good memories. Mother would make us Easter dresses. Mother would make our clothes out of flour sacks and our panties out of flour sacks to match. They were good fabrics. We didn’t know any different. Mom would always dress us up for Easter. We always had a basket. I don’t know how or who decorated them. We’d always make confetti eggs. Dad would always have a barbecue. Back then they didn’t have pits like they do now. They’d just make a hole in the ground with bricks and rocks and stuff like that. It was so much fun.”

“Our dad was a giver. He used to run down to the fruit stand and he would always buy the bushels of apples or whatever fruits they had. Everybody in the neighborhood got fruit including us. Everybody knew when Mr. Barrera came that they would get something. He would go fishing and he would bring the tubs full of fish. Our dad was a fisherman and he would literally bring tubs full of fish. Back then, there was not that much pollution and dad would go real early in the morning and if the fish weren’t biting he would come home right away but if they were, he’d be gone til about noon.”

“We’d sit outside. Dad had a lot of Adirondack chairs that he made. He’d make all kinds of outdoor furniture. We’d eat watermelon and just talk. But it was fun sitting outside and looking at all the cars that would come and go.”

“Aunt Cuca was the oldest one and we were all little. She’d get so mad at us because she had to go to work the next day. We’d all be laying down on the floor. We didn’t have beds. We’d throw a bunch of blankets and we’d all sleep together on the floor and we’d start to laughing. We all slept in the living room on the floor and Cuca slept on the couch. We’d start laughing and she’d tell us to shut up and the more she’d tell us, the more we’d laugh and she’d throw us all out. We’d have to sit outside until the laughter died down.”

“On Main Dr. they started having Vacation Bible School and we started going to Vacation Bible School. Travis Baptist church would rent a house on Main Dr. and at the end of VBS they had graduation time so they invited the parents so they could come and see what the children were doing. So, we invited mother and from there Travis Baptist Church bought another house on the other end of Main Dr. and they made it into a mission. Before we knew it our parents started going with us. All of us little kids used to go there. We were the church because there were so many of us. Then, people started putting up sheets and papers on their doors that had the Virgin and it would say, “This is a Catholic home, protestants not allowed.” These were our friends and we would go to their house anyway.”

“He [my father] took off to college. It was a real blessing that he got a scholarship. He went to school in Austin and then he got a job in San Angelo. I remember going to visit him. We went to go visit him in San Angelo. I’ll never forget because I was so hungry and we looked in his refrigerator. He didn’t have very much but he had an angel food cake and I took a bite of it. He came home and he said, “Uh Oh, Ya’ll better watch it.” And we said, “why?” and he said, “because there’s a rat in the refrigerator and it’s been eating some of the cake.” I said, “Oh no, I ate some of it” and he said, “Oh, you’re the rat.” We didn’t know that he was living off of very little. Sometimes he didn’t eat. Your dad wouldn’t tell us so we didn’t know. He would come during holidays to visit and mother would get so excited because her son came home. Mother had a lot to be proud of because Jess did things to improve himself and educate himself. How he did it, we don’t know? I’ve only heard tidbits but he struggled to make ends meet. He got jobs and eventually, he was in the Navy.”

Aunt Yolanda:

“I remember walking and running along the river. I was real young. Somebody would go ahead of time to secure the spot and then we’d eat.”

“I remember sitting outside and counting all the cars that went by.  I remember playing jacks in the front.”

“I remember playing Bingo in our kitchen. Everybody would come and Chavela’s mother-in-law would be there and I would say, “La Viejita iso Bingo!” You weren’t supposed to say that. It was disrespectful but how did I know? She didn’t read or write but she had pennies.”

“Tia Isidra, mom’s cousin, kind of disowned us when we became Christians because we were supposed to be Catholic. We didn’t go to catechism or anything like that. We didn’t know anything about the church other than we were Catholic. Felix was their last name. They didn’t like that we had become Christians.”

“I remember I had a good friend in Jr. High. Her name was Gloria Ramirez and she would invite and I would go spend the night at her house but she would never come spend the night at my house because we weren’t Catholic.”

“I remember as a little kid going to pick cotton. My mother would crack the whip on us. We’d have to pick so much by the end of the day. All along SPID was cotton fields. I was young.”

“I know when we moved to Main Dr. I started first grade at Oak Park and then we moved and then I was in second grade. I had such a hard time because I didn’t know enough English. I could understand but I didn’t have enough vocabulary to speak. I knew what was going on. I had to interpret for Eva. I think she was part of the Mondragons and she would go and we’d be walking and she’d cry and the teacher would take me to the back and ask me, “what’s wrong with her,” and I’d go and calm her down. We used to walk to Oak Park from where we lived. That was quite a distance to be walking as a first grader.  We had to go around the park. Nowadays you wouldn’t do that because you don’t know who’s at the park. It’s not a safe place.”

“We were always down at Dona Petra’s and we would sit on the front porch and she would tell us scary stories.  And then it was late and we didn’t want to come home because we were scared. It was only like four houses down. Dona Petra was your father’s godmother. My godmother lived on the next street and Aunt Olga’s godmother lived next door to Dona Petra.”

“Once upon a time we had a little store next door. It was our store. We had a little house next door to the empty lot and we used to sell donuts and sweets. Ramiro was working at some restaurant and he would bring home donuts. We’d eat them ourselves. I don’t know what else got sold.”

I’ll be interviewing several other aunts and uncles, including my father and eventually, those quotes will end up in a book full of pictures from “back then.” I look forward to listening my family relive those memories.

I was there when all my children were born and those moments were the greatest moments of my life. I was in the middle of a drug sting when Allie was born. I got the 911 page from my father and raced from Houston to Corpus Christi, getting stopped by a DPS trooper for speeding just outside of Victoria. It was a scary situation but you made it and you’re a beautiful and smart young lady. Sarah was born in Houston and although she only lived there for 3 months, she still considers herself a Houstonian. Sarah and Isaiah’s deliveries went smoothly and I’m thankful to have such beautiful and healthy children.

I was there when they all took their first steps and I walked behind them to make sure they didn’t fall. Allie, you passed your walker down to your sister and she walked faster than any of you. Isaiah took a little longer because Sarah insisted on carrying him most of the time.

I was there for Isaiah’s first haircut and I hated to see him lose his beautiful soft baby curls.

I was there when Sarah said her first word. I was living/working in Houston and my family was living in Corpus Christi. We met at the Ikea and when she saw me, she screamed out, “Dadda.” Allie’s first words were Blockbuster and Schlotsky’s. You can imagine where we spent most of our time when Allie was a baby. Isaiah didn’t speak until he was three. Sarah spoke for him and when he said, “Uh Uh Uh” Sarah would interpret and tell us, “He says he’s thirsty.” You fight like cats and dogs now but you were best friends when you were little.

I was there when Allie caught her first fish. We were at the T-heads in downtown Corpus Christi and she was fishing with a purple Danny the Dinosaur rod and reel. It was a monster Sheephead and I was more excited about it than she was. Isaiah’s my fishing buddy now but Allie still holds the record for the biggest fish.

I was there for first days of school and I always enjoyed hearing about all the activities that you did. Sarah wanted to be dropped off just like  Allie. As we pulled up to the school, Sarah said, “You can drop me off here. I can do this on my own.” You haven’t changed a bit.

I was there for birthday parties and I always felt that they came too soon together. Now, all of you are taller than your mother and I’m wondering, “where did all the time go?”

I was there when you lost your two front teeth and I made sure the tooth fairy compensated you well. There’s a little container in my desk full of teeth. I just can’t bring myself to get rid of them. I know…it’s gross.

I was there to watch you all acting silly and to laugh along with you. You all have my sense of humor now because of it and you’re mother can’t stand it when we are all laughing at the same warped and twisted jokes.

I was there to stay up at night with all of you when you were sick, carrying all of you, and rocking all of you to sleep when you were babies.

If there’s anything that I can pass on to parents everywhere and my own children when they become parents….it’s to be able to say, “I was there…” I love you kids.

I’m coming off a 12 hour shift of seeing psychiatric patients and I opened my Facebook page and a lady named Carol had left me a brief message. It said, “I love you David!! You make me happy!” This may sound like an everyday experience to most people and there are times that I get nice messages from people and on a daily basis, my kids tell me that they love me. It’s a habit that I’ve gotten them into and a habit that I got from my parents.

Let me tell you why it was such a pleasant experience. I haven’t seen Carol in more than 20 years. She was a teacher in my hometown. I’ve had brief contacts with her on Facebook along with a few dozen other wonderful people from my hometown. Tonight, I’ve been cursed at, threatened, hung up on, and listened to about a dozen extremely sad stories of abuse and neglect and drug and alcohol addiction. It was just a regular night for me. As my wife will tell anyone, I’m emotionally drained when I get home. I don’t bring home the negative emotions from work. It rolls off my back with ease after all these years I’ve been doing this type of work (and even more difficult work than this in the past).

Very rarely do I get to end a night with such a nice message from someone- from a teacher from my past. Carol reminded me to put in an extra effort to end what may seem like a typical (and maybe stressful) day for the people around me with the simplest of gestures. Thanks for the lesson. I love you too Carol.

There are brief moments in my day when I experience that happiness and whatever amount of stress I’m under goes away. One of those moments is when I walk in the door to my home and my two dogs meet me at the door, jumping on me and wagging their tails, waiting on me to give them their chicken treats. Jackie and Lulu are sisters and I always refer to them as “my girls.” We got them from a friend and when we saw the group of five puppies, we had to get both of them. Something about their personalities that jumped out at us, even as puppies. We always referred to Jackie as “the smart one” and Lulu as “the cute dumb one.” Sarah, my middle child, is like me. She’s the animal lover in the house. She always says she wants to be a veterinarian. She spent time trying to teach the dogs trick and was, for the most part unsuccessful. She was able to teach Lulu to sit and she managed to teach Jackie to stand on her hind legs and turn in circles. Regardless, neither of the girls learned to fetch. Whenever the girls would escape from the house or the back yard, they would stick together. Jackie would keep an eye on Lulu and when we would go out on the front porch to call the dogs to come home, Jackie would come running and most times she would leave Lulu behind. I would tell her, “go get your sister” and Jackie would run back out and it was like she was telling Lulu, “Come On! They’re calling us!” just like little girls playing with friends down the block, and they’d both come running.

Over the last couple of days, Jackie was looking depressed. We knew she didn’t feel good. She wasn’t wagging her tail and she didn’t want to get off her bed. At 10:30 last night we decided to take Jackie to the emergency room. After blood work and urinalysis, the doctor gave us the bad news and without going into detail, I ended up having to make the decision to end Jackie’s pain. She had several problems and we were surprised to find out that she didn’t seem to be sick until the very end. I feel strongly that she was sick for a while but because she was such a happy dog and always needing to look out for her sister, she held on and ignored a lot of the pain she was in. Her tail kept on wagging even on those days that she didn’t feel like it and every time her sister went out the back door, she knew that she had to go out there and keep an eye on her.

We brought Jackie home last night and I put her on the sofa wrapped in a towel while I woke up the kids and let them know about their dog. We all cried and I spoke with them about the reality of having animals in the family and the inevitable difficulty of losing them. I told the kids that they could see Jackie one last time before I buried her if they wanted to and they chose to not remember her wrapped in a towel but running around the house and sitting on top of the sofa, peering out of the front window, waiting to bark at the mail man. Lulu walked around the house, searching for her sister. I let the kids know that it was going to be important to give Lulu extra attention. Sarah put Lulu in her bed and cried herself to sleep and I laid Jackie to rest between the two plumerias against the side fence. How fortunate we were to enjoy Jackie over the last four years and the unconditional love of a dog. Regardless of my daughter’s religion teacher’s opinion, I’ll look forward to seeing her again.

I started interviewing the couple and the radio continued in the back room.  I asked the woman how old her grandmother was and I let her know that since she was living in the home I was going to have to interview her.  She said that wouldn’t be a problem but I would probably have trouble understanding her because she had suffered a stroke several years back and her speech was mumbled.  I told her, “not a problem, I’ll just say hello to her and ask her simple yes and no questions that she can shake her head to.” A few minutes later I heard a familiar tune come on the radio.  This was one of those Oldies/Christian stations that plays instrumental music most of the time.  The tune sounded very familiar and like a wave it hit me.  I remembered the tune.  It was a hymn that I hadn’t heard in years, “In the Garden.”  Several years ago I heard a remake of this song by a country and western artist but it wasn’t this version that I remembered.  It was the version that I heard as a child sitting in the pew at church.

I continued with my interview and a few seconds later I heard what initially sounded like this soft mumbling sound of this old woman singing along with this old hymn.   Within seconds that soft mumbling noise that this woman was making mixed with my memories and it sounded like an angel singing the words from that song as crisply and clearly as I remember my mother’s voice on Sunday morning.  I remembered every word and as I typed the responses that were being given to me, I faded in and out of paying attention to the couple in front of me to the beautiful singing of this 93 year old woman in the back room.  Here’s the words to the song:

I come to the garden alone
While the dew is still on the roses
And the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.

And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.

He speaks, and the sound of His voice,
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.

I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe
His voice to me is calling.

As the angel in the back room got halfway through the first verse, I told the couple that I needed to stop.  I told them that this was a song I grew up with and the sound of their grandmother singing was distracting…but in a good way.  I asked to meet her and we walked down the hallway.  Her soft singing became a little louder as we walked up to the halfway closed door just at the moment that she came to the chorus, “And He walks with me and He talks with me.”  The woman pushed the door open and said, “Grandmother, there’s a man here to meet you.”  This 93 year old angel was sitting in her wheelchair and caught a little off guard she smiled in embarrassment.

I told her, “Don’t be embarrassed, that’s the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard and I’ve never heard it sung more beautifully than I did just now.” She beamed a huge smile with the left side of her face as she said, “thank you.”  What would have been an otherwise mumbled voice, I heard perfectly.  The woman told her grandmother, “Grandmother, he’s got a few questions to ask you” and she nodded her head in agreement.  I told her, “I don’t have any questions, I’m going to finish my interview with your granddaughter and you can continue singing.”  She lifted her left arm up letting me know that she wanted to give me a hug and as I bent over to allow her to hug me, she said, “God bless you and the work you do.”  To me, at that moment, those words came out as clear as day.  My eyes welled up a little and I told her, “It was such a pleasure meeting you.”

I don’t know anything about this woman’s past.  I don’t know where she’s been or anything about her life but I could tell that she had a heart of gold beating underneath that elderly shell.  Her granddaughter told me that she had been nothing but a pleasure since she’d been in the home and they didn’t expect that they would want to see her go but the other family members wanted to have their time with her.  This wasn’t a woman that was being passed around between family members because she was a burden but she was a ray of sunshine that everyone in the family wanted to experience.  The 93 year old woman in a wheelchair mumbling while she sings, “And He walks with me and He talks with me and He tells me that I am His own.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yzzqhaLl_8w

An interesting thing happened tonight while we were at dinner.  Everyone sat at their tables, conversing with family and friends.  Waiters and restaurant staff went back and forth dealing with the hustle and bustle of a busy restaurant and in the middle of it all, a loud chime went out.  It was a man at a table directly behind where we were sitting.  He was tapping his glass with his knife.

“Can I have everyone’s attention?  Hello….Can I have everyone’s attention!  I want to make a toast!”

I thought this guy was drunk, maybe he was?  Regardless, the words he said stopped everyone cold.

“I want to make a toast……to my son.  He leaves for Iraq this weekend.”  He looks down at his son and says, “I love you son and I’m proud of you.”

A lump formed in my throat and my eyes welled up with tears.  I looked at my wife and her eyes were watering.  I wanted to get up and go over to this father and son, hug them both and tell them “Thank You.”  Thank you to the son for serving his country and Thank you to the father for sharing that moment with us. We drift off at times, living in our own worlds, dealing with the problems of our own lives while Fathers and Mothers are telling their children good-bye like this on a regular basis.  It  helps to put things in perspective.  My heart is heavy for this father right now and although I don’t know him, I’ll pray for his son and his safe return.

My Son

My son just woke up and in a daze, walked into my office.  ”Is everything ok son?”

“yeah” (in a slow voice with his eyes halfway shut)

“go back to sleep son and i’ll come in and give you a kiss before I go to sleep.”

“I love you dad” (as he turns and walks back to his bedroom)

“I love you too son.”

Several years ago my son and I got into the habit of writing letters to one another.  Of course, because I live on the computer, most of my notes were typed.  He would write me stories and ask me what I thought.  This is my encouragement to fathers…build those moments because eventually…they will be gone and we’ll have the memories. I wanted to share one of his stories and one of my letters to him.

I’ll finish this entry with a toast to my father.  I think you did a great job Dad.  My son is a caring little boy with a good heart.  I followed your lead and I try to do everything for him that you did with me.   I’m proud to be your son.

My Dad

I walked past the Jones house on the right at the end of the 1000 block and remembered the giant cave they dug in their back yard and the time Lance Jones pushed my sister Martha off the trampoline, smack into one of the big mulberry trees they still have.  I cross the street onto my old block to the Moore house on the corner just across the street from the Jones’.  The pigeon cage they used to have in the back yard was gone.  From what I heard, Dr. Moore, the town veterinarian, has passed away.  He helped us get a blow dart out of our dog Sylvester’s head once.  Some mean kid experienced some bad Karma over that I’m sure.  Mrs. Clark’s house is on the corner on the left.  The front yard is surrounded by 2 foot high cinder block fence.  They used to grow little green onions on the side of the house and we used to cook them over fires that we’d start in the alley.  One time, me and Erik Wilson almost burned down the whole alley way and if Mr. Clark hadn’t jumped his fence with the water hose, I’m sure we’d have burned down the whole block of back yard fences.  Mr. Clark’s gone now too.  From what I heard, he passed away one day after mowing the grass.  He sat down on his recliner, fell asleep, and never woke up.

Then came my house.  It was a sad moment.  There used to be three trees out in front of the house that my dad planted for each one of us.  It was a red brick house with a big planter out front.  If you looked at the front of the house you could see the giant mulberry tree in the back yard.  There was a big tree house in that tree and underneath it was a sign that my mom had brought home from the dentist office where she used to work “The Bad Breath Club.”  All that’s gone now.  Whoever lives there painted the red brick and tore the planter down.  I didn’t look into the back yard.  It would have been too upsetting.  It wasn’t run down, it just wasn’t the house I grew up in.

I crossed the street and continued walking down the block that I remembered as such a big place.  The block was five houses long and everything was so small.   As I walked up the block, a little girl on a scooter pulled up behind me.  “Am I in your way?” I asked her and she pointed to the old Gregory house and said, “That’s my house.”  Bud Gregory and his wife died in that house and the Guzman’s moved in when I was in 5^th grade.  No matter who you were, you were always welcome in the Guzman home.  I wanted to take a picture of the house but didn’t feel comfortable with two kids and a family being out in front of it.  I circled the block, walked by the Wilson’s old house.  Next door to them was Mr. Criswell’s house.  I looked up the street and the emotion flowed over me again as I saw Jack Horner Kindergarten on the left.  I remembered the time me and my sister, Martha, planned on spending the night on the covered patio to teach my mother a lesson for making us walk home 8 blocks after fighting with each other in the car.  We had our plan laid out when our big brother, Robert, pulled up on his little blue bicycle and said, “Mom knows ya’ll are here and she says, Come Home!”  Our plan had been foiled.   I sat on the same little bench that I had been on 35 years ago and thought of how good life had been for the kids in that neighborhood.  I remember sitting in a circle with a dozen other 5 year olds and reading Dick and Jane readers.  The building is used for storage now.  How good I had it and I didn’t have a clue how fortunate I was to grow up in a neighborhood where there were no worries and no concerns.

We played tackle football around the fastest merry-go-round in the world.  The field we played on behind the Jack Horner was huge at one time.  Now it looked as small as my back yard.  I picked up a few pine cones for my daughter to put together in her own little artistic way for the desk in my office.

I walked around the Fetner’s old house and kept walking down 11^th street and walked under a Mulberry tree, grabbing a leaf as I walked under.  I took a picture and sent it to my sister with the message, “Remember when we used to put these under paper and color them?” She sent me a message back telling me how she got emotional when I sent her that message and it’s funny how what seems to be the most insignificant thing can bring on a flood of memories.

I drove by James Coffman’s old house and remembered the time he had a big birthday party and as we played cops and robbers, I got clotheslined across the mouth (literally by a clothesline).  I fell backward on top of a water spigot and I still have the dent in my back.

Later in the day I went to the Commercial State Bank with John Kraft.  I looked across the street and noticed what used to be the La Hacienda Mexican restaurant that my parents opened.  La Hacienda is a booming restaurant now.  Back then, it was a place for me to play in the back underneath the big tree using the roots as bridges for my hot wheels.

Afterwards, we drove around town for a bit.  I had to drive by my Aunt Rose’s old house.  It looks completely different too.  Me and my sister spent countless hours laying around on her floor, going through her records and listening to Barry Manilow, The Pointer Sisters, Captain and Tenille, Doobie Brothers, Simon and Garfunkel, and many more.  Many of these records I have found over the years and now my children laugh when I tell them we used to listen to this music all the time.

We met Gilbert Peters in front of the Middle School.  Our friendships started when we were small and they just got stronger as the years passed.  When we got to Middle School and our personalities took shape, we didn’t grow apart as some kids do, we just got closer. From what I hear, this part of the middle school is used for storage too.  My dad’s orchestra class took place in this building.  Mr. Rose’s art class was the most fun I ever had in middle school and there’s still a wood sculpture of a tennis player that I did hanging in my son’s bedroom.

We met up with Patty Guzman, Gilbert, and two of his workers at Buddy’s Drive Inn.  We ran into Johnny Delgado there.  We ate the famous Buddy’s steakfingers and they tasted just like I remembered.  We talked and laughed and started our weekend of sitting around together and telling old stories. You can see on the sign that this place has been around since 1969…..that’s right around the time me and my friends were born so this place was part of our worlds for as long as we can remember.

Everyone went their separate ways until later in the evening when we would get together again at Gilbert’s house.  It was funny because Gilbert asked, “What are ya’ll doin’ tonight?”  and I said, “Coming to your house for dinner.”  It was me, Gilbert, John, Brian Jeffcoats, Patty Guzman, and Mark Bairrington joined us.  He brought his two kids and we sat around again for hours joking and laughing.  It was 2am before we decided to end the conversation and turn in for the night. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the desire to stay out that late.  The next day, we met up at Cassidy’s sub shop.  This place wasn’t around when I was growing up in Andrews.  I visited with Stephanie Tonroy on the front porch and Steve Smith and his family walked up. Steve got upset that Brian didn’t call him the night before but he quickly forgave him and we picked up where we left off the night before…poking fun at folks, remembering things and trying to forget some of the things we did.  Thanks for reminding us of all those things Gilbert  Stephanie made the astute observation that when we were all in middle school we walked around the lockers like a bunch of psychiatric patients and again we laughed until our bellies ached.  After lunch, Stephanie took off and us guys piled into one car and drove around town talked about all the things we remembered that happened in different parts of town.  Everyone had a little story for every other block that we drove by.  I laughed so hard a couple times that I got light headed.  We went to the high school and walked around, took a picture together in the Dome and the laughs continued.  This was the dome where we spent a majority of our time between classes.  It was the social meeting ground and everyone milled around up until the very last second before the bell rang.  I took pictures of the new sports facility and thought to myself, “these kids have no idea how good they have it.”

We parted ways again with the plan of getting together again at Victor Guzman’s mother’s house.  I went back to my hotel room, showered, and ran by the Tucker’s house.  Mrs. Tucker opened the front door and looked at me, not knowing who I was.  I said, “Mrs. Tucker…I’m David Barrera.”  Her eyes widened, her hands went up and she said, “David Barrera! Get over here and let me hug your neck!”  She hugged me and said, “Get in this house!”  We sat down on the bar in their kitchen and caught up.  Mr. Tucker went to his room and came out with a metal sculpture that my dad made for him years ago.  “You have to tell your Daddy that I still have this.” I think I heard them say “We just love your family” or “We just love your parents to death” about a dozen times while I sat in that kitchen.  They got upset with me for staying at a hotel and invited me and my family to come back and stay with them.  I hugged them both and it felt like hugs from another set of parents.

Victor was flying in from Tennessee and Patty and his mother had been cooking all day in preparation for everyone coming over.  As usual, we sat around, told stories, and joked and laughed.  It was great to see Patrick, Victor, and Patty again after all these years.  Mrs. Guzman is still one of the sweetest ladies I know.  Mr. Guzman already passed away and I missed him….I can only imagine how much his family misses him.  I sat with Victor and he told me, “You have no idea how hard I looked for you in Houston one time.” It meant a lot to me knowing that an old friend went to a city of three and a half million people and looked for me.

We drove a few blocks to a block party close to the middle school and walked around.  The city was having a celebration and we walked around, gave the kids time to run around and we visited some more.  Everyone decided to take off for the night and we said our goodbyes to Victor, Patty, and Patrick. We made sure we had each other’s phone numbers and we promised to stay in touch. Patrick and Patty hugged me at the same time and it was just like I was talking to my own brother and sister when I said, “I love you guys.”

The next day I slept late and met Gilbert and John for lunch at La Hacienda.  It’s grown over the years but the quality of the food is nothing compared to when Jess and Halya Barrera (my wonderful parents) ran the place.  We spent another hour and a half of joking and laughing and we knew our time was short.  I was going to meet up with Troy Yarbrough after lunch, run around town and visit some folks and then head back to Corpus Christi.  It was a weekend filled with hugs and folks telling each other “I love you” and “I’ve missed you.” My parting with John and Gilbert was no different.  Gilbert said, “I never really knew how much I missed people until this weekend.”

I drove out to Troy’s shop and Stephanie Tonroy came out and visited with us for a little bit.  Troy’s wife Kim showed up and when I wanted to take pictures they both refused because neither had make-up on.  Stephanie took off and me, Troy and his son, Taylor headed out to see folks.  We started off at the Gilliam’s house.  We pulled up and Mr. Gilliam walked out the front door.  “Hey Troy….who you got with ya?”  I said, “Hello Mr. Gilliam, I’m David Barrera.” Again…just like at the Tucker’s house, his arms went up around my neck and he hugged me and said, “Get inside this house.” Mrs. Gilliam walked out of the back room and I walked over to her and she looked at me not quite knowing who I was.  I said, “I’m David Barrera.” She hugged me and said, “Oh My Goodness.” We sat in the living room and visited for about 40 minutes.  Mr. Gilliam said, “I’ve missed you kids.  There’s never been a group like you and there’ll never be a group like you in the future.”  We all played tennis together and just like most parents at sporting events, the Gilliams were a permanent fixture at the tennis tournaments.  Mr. Gilliam would stand behind the windscreens and cheer you on whether you were his kid or not.

From there we went to Mrs. Clark’s house.  I’d already walked by there two days earlier and now I was knocking on the front door.  Mrs. Clark opened the front door and said, “Can I help you?” “Mrs. Clark, I’m David Barrera.” Same response, a hug and an invite into the front living room.  Mrs. Clark took care of me when I was in kindergarten.  Her and my mother were back and forth comparing crafts and I still remember the macrame baskets hanging around her house.  Mrs. Clark said, “your mom told me that you liked coming over here because I would let you crumble crackers in your soup.”

We crossed the street and we went to the Jones’ house.  Billie Jones answered the door and invited me and Troy in without knowing who we were.  There’s things that people do in a small town that you would never imagine doing in a big city.  Even then, it’s dangerous.  I introduced myself again and Mrs. Jones said, “I was inviting you in and I had no idea who you were” as she gave me a big hug.  We visited and talked about all the good times all of us kids had running around the neighborhood.  She talked about the big cave her boys dug in the back yard and I reminded her about the warped tree house we all put together and about the concrete bike ramp we built behind her house.  As I was leaving, she told me to tell my parents that she’s at the same address and she wants to send them a Christmas card.  She was showing me her fish pond as her two grandsons (Lance’s boys) climbed out the window into the back yard.

We went back to Troy’s and he showed me his work of art kitchen and then I drove him and his boy back to his shop.  I got out of the car and gave him a hug and we talked about a future vacation together and the possibility of him and his family coming to visit us in Corpus Christi.  As I drove toward Odessa, I looked and saw Andrews in my rear view mirror.  I couldn’t wait to get out of that little town when I was 18 and after 22 years of being gone part of me wanted to stay.  I didn’t get to see everyone I wanted to see but I’m sure i’ll be back.  The people are special in that little town.  The friends I made there as a child will be my friends forever.  We’re doctors, lawyers, supervisors, electricians, soldiers, business owners, nurses, police officers, and school teachers.  We’ve been to war. We’ve crossed oceans and continents.  We’ve lost close friends and family members.  We’ve made a good living and lost everything…just to climb back up and do it all again.

We’ve survived cancer and illness and some have lost those battles.  As police officers and soldiers we’ve taken lives and we’ve saved lives and we’ve survived the trauma that comes with the realities of life.  We’ve raised family’s and some of us even have grandchildren already but when we come back to Andrews, Texas we walk through the neighborhoods where we grew up and we go back in time to a place where we had the best childhood anyone could have asked for.  We sit down across the table from each other and as my good friend John Kraft said, “we pick up our conversations like we just saw each other yesterday.”   We look different, some more than others but (from the words of Gilbert Peters), “They can look in your eyes and you’re the same person everyone remembers.”