Racism and Redemption

Zack attended private school until he completed eighth grade. Just after his graduation his father was laid off, while he found a new job almost immediately the reduction in salary required everyone in the family to tighten their belts. For Zack this meant leaving private high school behind and embracing the wonderful world of public education.

Therefore he was surprised when on the first day of school he ran across several friends who he had believed were attending the local private high school not RHS. As fate would have it their families had also ran into some financial setbacks making it necessary for their sons to abandon the private school route. While they had never hung out together he was pleased to know he was not the only new fish in the big pond.

Zack, while naturally somewhat of a loner never really had much difficulty striking up conversation and developing new friendships. His first weeks at RHS were no exception. Not that they were the type of friends destined for a lifetime by his side, they were however acquaintances who made the transition to public school much easier.

One in particular was Ryan Tibbit. He was a lifetime public schooler but Zack did not hold that against him. They had been seated next to each other in first period study hall and soon realized they shared a common passion: baseball. While the other students were rushing to complete unfinished homework they discovered that each of them had their textbook open with the local sports page buried inside. The clincher was that they were both reading an article regarding the previous nights Dodger game. Though they lived several hundred miles outside of Los Angeles it turned out they both bled Dodger Blue.

They began spending breaks and lunch together, discussing the standings and the possibility of the boys in blue returning to the world series. They both felt the drought had gone on long enough and were ready for some post-season excitement. Zack soon discovered that Ryan and him had something else in common: they both had world-class baseball card collections passed from their father's. Soon plans were being made for Ryan to ride the bus home with Zack on the following Monday so they could compare and swap cards.

Monday came and the boys found themselves sprawled on the floor in Zack's room pouring over binders filled with baseball cards. They found that between the two collections that Ryan owned the rarest overall card while Zack owned the rarest Dodger card. A transistor radio was soon added to the background as the velvet tones of Vin Scully called the action for the day's game.

Time passed and before they realized it six o'clock had come and gone. Ryan called his mom to come and pick him up. They began to clean up the cards when Zack's father returned from work. Zack called for his dad and asked him to come into his room to meet his new friend.

Mr. Wilson stood in the doorway while his son made the introductions.

"Nice to meet you Ryan. Would you mind if I borrowed my son for a moment I need to have a word with him in private."
"Not at all Mr. Wilson, Zack and I were just cleaning up my mother should be here in a few moments to take me home."

Ryan returned to cleaning up the cards while Zack followed his father into his parent's bedroom. Mr. Wilson shut the door behind them and Zack began a mental checklist attempting to determine what house rule he had broken.

His father toward him, his face was red and he appeared to be fighting a losing battle to remain in control of his temper. "May I ask what that kid is doing in my house?"

Zack gave his father a puzzled look; he had often had friends over after school. "We were trading baseball cards, my homework is done and you never said I could not have friends over after school."

"Zack you are not understanding my point what is that particular friend doing in my house?"

"Dad I do not understand the problem, he is just a friend from school. Why is it such a big deal?"

"I will tell you the big deal Zack, your "friend" Ryan is black and I do not want him inside my house. You go back to your room and get him out. I do not care what you tell him but you are never to invite him over again and I also do not want to here that you visited his house. Do I make myself clear?"

"But Dad…"

"No buts. Move it mister. This matter is closed and you will do as I say."

With that Zack's father walked into the bathroom and slammed the door.

Zack was frozen in place his eyes were filled with tears of mystification. He knew his father had grown up in the south but until this very moment he had not know that his father was prejudiced. For his part while he realized that Ryan was black it had never dawned on him that this could somehow make him different. He was just a kid like him who loved baseball. Why did adults have to make the world so complicated? What was the point in judging others by their DNA strands?

Zack dried his eyes and made it out of his dad's room just as Ryan was heading for the door his mom was waiting for him in the driveway.

"Thanks for coming Ryan. I had a great time you have an excellent collection."

"Thanks for having me Zack. Is everything OK you look somewhat stressed"

"Its no big deal my dad was mad at me for having company over without him or my mother being home. He laid down the law. No more after school visits for anyone."
Zack could tell by the look in Ryan's eyes that he did not believe him. He must have sensed something when his father had come into the room. Zack stood in the doorway and sadly watched his friend drive away.

The next day at school things were different. Ryan and him still talked but Zack could already sense them drifting apart. Friendships were difficult enough to maintain without one friend being banned from the other friend's house for racial reasons. Soon Ryan began hanging with a new group in study hall and Zack often found himself pondering the seeds of hate that still blossomed throughout the world.

Postscript: Zack's younger sister was five years behind him in school and had their father wrapped around her little finger. By the time she left private high school he had mellowed with age and Ashley was able to bring home friends of any nationality or race without a peep from dear old dad.

Zack observed the comings and goings of Ashley's friends with a bemused expression on his face. I guess old dogs can learn new tricks and his dad was the proof in the pudding.

Marriage of Fools

She said:

I am going to use
My words of love
To make you dance
To my tune
I am going to play
Those lover's games
I want to see you beg
I want to see you crawl
I want to see you on your knees
Begging me please
Love me tonight
I am going to mess with your mind
I am going to twist your soul
You are going to be my slave
I am going to mold you
Into a man
My kind of man
Who understands
That I wear the pants
That I am the boss
A man who will follow my lead
No matter the cost
You will see the friends
That I approve
You will wear what I choose
Not what you want
You will sacrifice your freedom
For my satisfaction
If you have an opinion
You will wait for my reaction
You will buy me
Everything
My heart desires
And if you tell a soul
I will brand you a liar
You are in my web
There is no escape
Like the black widow
I will drain the life from you

He said:

I am so tired of
Your silly little games
Your constant whining
Is driving me insane
You cannot lead
Where I will not go
If you believe you can
Then you are a fool
I have to be true
To who I am
But you are to warped
To understand
The more you pull
The more I will fight
We have to be equal
Or I will leave tonight
Its give and take
Take and give
From what I see
That is how most couples live
You have to realize
I am not made of money
I love the simple life
Not wine and honey
I am Wal-Mart
Not Beverly Hills
I am Garth Brooks
Not Beverly Sills
I am barbequed burgers
Not Filet Mignon
I am Pismo Beach
Not Caribbean sun
I live check to check
Not Visa to MasterCard

I am happy just the way I am
Nothing fancy
Just a simple man
I cannot change
For anyone
Not you or someone else
So forget the games
And get out of my head
Or pack your bags
And leave instead
Don't get me wrong
I love you still
And no matter what
I guess I always will
But if my choice
Is changing to fit your mold
Or losing you to someone else
I will lose you before I change

Because when it is all said and done
Each and every morning
When I look into the mirror
I must be able to respect the man I see

Goodby, Dad

My father's last appearance in my life occurred in 1971. He had recently remarried and moved to Bishop, California where he had opened a lodge. In hindsight it was not the best career choice for someone who was swimming in a sea of alcoholism.

He had not had any contact with us for several years, partially because of his marriage to the bottle but mostly because he was not paying child support and he did not want to end up in jail.

His appearance was a surprise but was I am sure at the behest of his new wife. They only stayed for a couple of hours and as usual he was clueless when it came to gifts for his daughter. My sister received a dress that was four sizes to big and just as many years out of style. I cannot remember what he brought my brother but his new wife gave me a book on the Indians of Central and South America, which I still have.

A quick aside, I have never referred to her as my stepmother because this was our one and only meeting. They were divorced not much more than a year later.

The last time my father and I spoke was in early 1980. Once upon a time he had belonged to a local lodge and one of the members heard through the grapevine that he was ill and came up with a phone number, which they passed along to my mother.

Ill was an understatement. After years of alcoholism and smoking unfiltered Camels he had not only lung cancer and liver cancer but also brain cancer. According to the lodge members source he had no more than a year left.

I called him one afternoon from a friend's house, not wanting to open any old wounds at home. When he came to the phone a sob caught in my throat he sounded so old. In reality he was only 44 at the time but you could not tell from the timber of his voice.

We made small talk. He asked me how I was doing and how my brother and sister were. We discussed the Dodger's and baseball in general. He asked about my mom. Our conversation was all over the map but somehow we avoided discussing his fate. Maybe he was just trying to protect me from the bad news. He might not have even known that I knew. Whatever the reason our phone call lasted about thirty minutes and I never spoke to him again.

Flash forward six months. I walk in the door just in time to hear the phone ringing.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Pat?"

"She's not home right now. May I take a message?"

"Whom am I speaking to?"

"This is her son Darrell."
"Well Darrell you do not know me. My name is G and my husband and I have been taking care of your father for the past two months. This is hard to say to someone I don't even know but I have to tell you that your father passed away today."

I almost dropped the phone. My father was dead. Even though I hardly knew he was still my father. As I groped for something to say G continued to speak.

"I also wanted to tell you what a rotten no good son you are. Your father has been living near us for the past six months and you did not bother to call, write or visit. Your poor father died with no one by his side but two almost complete strangers. I hope you can look yourself in the mirror at night because as far as I am concerned he would have been better off without children."

CLICK!

Before I could respond she hung up on me. I was shocked. How could someone speak like that to a teenager who had just lost his father? Obviously there was no way to explain the history of our family. No way to explain that after we last spoke he had moved again and I had no way of contacting him. Of course with her hanging up on me any explanation was beside the point.

I walked out the door into a night that was cold, wet and windy. Without a jacket I wandered the streets until I ended up at my best friends house. Her mother let me in and we sat for hours playing gin rummy and talking about my dad.

For many years I carried a lot of what ifs with me concerning my dad and anger toward the lady who called that evening. However, what ifs will not bring my father back and any family reunion will have to wait for some other place or time. He may not have been a great dad but he was still my father and he had his demons that he could never escape.

I am no longer carrying a grudge toward G. She did not know me. Her only knowledge of our lives came from my father and I have no way of knowing what he had told her. From her perspective all she saw was a man dying alone far from the home of his youth and the children he had loved. With nothing left to show for his life but,to quote from one of my poems:

A faded picture
From long ago
Of three small children
He used to know

Forgotten Memories

As I reviewed my mothers photo albums over Memorial Day weekend I stumbled across several photos of an object I have absolutely no memory of. According to the photographic evidence, which I cannot dispute, we had a clubhouse in our backyard from 1965 until we moved in 1970.

Now I was ten years old in 1970 and I should have some tidbit of memory left from that year. Obviously though the brain cells where evidence of this clubhouse were stored have been damaged over the years. Maybe I should have a heat sink installed inside my brain to keep it from over heating.

Apparently sometime in 1965 I made a big ruckus wanting to know why we did not have a clubhouse at the time. My sister was only two and my brother one so the request had to have come from me yet I do not remember it.

At the time my father worked for a company in Burbank called Zero Manufacturing. They were a company that made various types of machines for factories around the world. One day some large piece of equipment was delivered to the plant inside a large wooden box. My dad took one look at it and decided it would be perfect for building a clubhouse.

He brought it home and along with my mother went to work. They cut a doorway and four holes for windows into the box. My father took some wood and made door for it complete with hinges and a doorknob. From the photographs it appears that they used actual glass for the windowpanes but my mother cannot remember for sure. My father put a roof on it complete with shingles. My mother than painted the outside white with blue trim. She even hung little curtains in the windows.

According to mom this was our absolute favorite toy. We played in it every day for the next five years. When my mom and step-dad sold the house in 1970 we begged them to take the clubhouse with us but they refused. So we parted ways after five years of fun.

I wish I could conjure up some kind of memory concerning this clubhouse but I cannot. It is almost like I accidentally when it comes to that one part of my life in the late 60's.

Brush with Fame

More reminiscing from the river, my mother shared with me a story she never had before concerning earliest brush with meeting a celebrity.

It happened in 1961 or 1962. I was two years old and making my first aware trip to Disneyland. Baby trip do not count because all you do is sleep in the stroller and you are oblivious to the ongoing show.

As we roamed the park we had made our way towards Frontierland, which at the time contained an Indian village complete with an Indian chief. According to my mother the chief fascinated me and I cried when she began to walk away. The chief took notice and walked towards us. He held out his arms and my mother says I ran right to him as if I had known him all of my life.

I guess I was in seventh heaven and did not want to leave. So my mother stood there with the chief while I pulled on his war bonnet and they made small talk.

It was at this time that one of Disneyland's old-fashioned automobiles drove up and stopped near where we were standing. The occupants of the car were a princess from a country that my mother has long since forgotten and Walt Disney himself. Walt according to legend enjoyed giving visiting dignitaries personal tours. He was pointing the sights and sounds of Frontierland out to the princess when he noticed my Indian chief and me.

He beckoned to the chief who along with my mother carried me over to the car. He introduced himself and asked my mother if we were enjoying the park. All the while though he kept watching me interact with the chief, finally he asked my mother if he could hold me. She replied of course and the chief began to hand me over to Mr. Disney. I however would have nothing to do with him. I didn't cry but I also did not let go of my Indian. No matter how they tried I would not allow Walt to hold me.

According to my mom Mr. Disney got a kick out of the whole thing. He told her that he thought she had a lovely family. He told her to have a great time in the park and went about his tour.

As for my Indian chief my mother was finally able to pry me out of his arms but I cried all the way out of Frontierland.

Crossroads

From a distance Josh moved like a tight end weaving his way through the secondary. With a leather briefcase in one hand and a cell phone to his ear, he conducted business on the sidewalk as he headed to the office. He rarely noticed those who shared the sidewalk with him. When they did come to his attention it was only long enough to curse them after a collision.

By all definitions Josh Stevenson was a Type A personality who with all things being equal would probably drop from a stroke or a heart attack before the age of 55. He was an ad executive who handled the accounts for several fortune five hundred companies. He brought home six figures a year not including bonuses. His house and garage were filled with all of the toys that any self-respecting thirty-something would covet.

Josh kept his eye on the ball and dreamed of one day owning his own ad agency. He allowed no distractions to interfere with his long-term goals. He never took the time to stop and smell the roses, watch a sunset or even remove his shoes and walk barefoot through the warm afternoon sun.

On this particular Monday Josh was late for a meeting with a client and was impatiently making his way to the office. He never saw the homeless man or his son until he tripped over the dad and went sprawling across the sidewalk. His suit was ruined and he came off the ground with fire in his eyes ready to give the man a piece of his mind.

As he turned towards the father he noticed a broken wheel chair sitting next to him. Looking down he saw that the homeless man was paralyzed, most likely from the waist down. Still the man should have been more careful about where he sat.

He was ready to give the dad a piece of his mind when he noticed tears forming in the son's eyes. Despite his obvious fear the boy stepped between Josh and the father. With shaking hands and a quivering voice he stood up to Josh.

"Mister I am sorry that you fell, but you really should look where you are going. My daddy's legs don't work anymore and he cannot move them out of the way." While he spoke the boy picked up Josh's cell phone which lay unnoticed on the sidewalk. He brushed it off and returned it to him.

Angrily, Josh shoved the phone in his pocket and looked at boy and his father with scorn in his eyes. "I am not concerned with your fathers problems or yours for that matter. If he cannot move out of the way he should not be on the sidewalk. You and your father have managed to make me late for a very important meeting. My lateness could cost me and my employer a lot of money."

The boy appeared to shrink into himself but he still managed to stand his ground. "Mister we would not have been on the sidewalk if my dads wheelchair had not broken. My dad is trying to find work to support us but he is unable to make it to any interviews without a chair. Could you maybe spare some cash to help us get another wheelchair? I saw one down the street at a thrift store it was only twenty dollars. Could you help mister?
Josh almost laughed right out loud. "First you make me late for a meeting and now you have the nerve to ask me for help. I admire your guts kid but I did not become wealthy man that I am by wasting money on those without the wherewithal to climb the ladder of success. If your poor it is your fault not mine."

He turned to leave but the little urchin grabbed the back of his jacket and stopped him.

"Please mister. We have already slept against this wall for two nights. I cannot move my father by myself. If I get the other wheelchair I can take my dad to the shelter for a hot meal. Mister just a few..."

Josh cut him off. "I do not have money or time to waste on people like you. Why don't you walk to the shelter and ask one of the bleeding hearts that runs the place for twenty dollars and leave me alone."

With that he stormed off, brushing his suit, straightening his tie and calling his client on the cell phone to say he had been detained but was on his way. He did not look back and he never saw the tears in the little boys eyes or the defeat in the fathers.

Later that evening Josh left his building and headed for the subway. He was still furious at the day's events. The collision with the old cripple had led to him being late for the meeting and to his company losing the opportunity to close a multi-million dollar deal. While his boss had been understanding he knew that the memories of those in upper management were long and today's debacle could come back to haunt him.

He came around a corner and was immediately blinded by a sea of flashing lights. Fire trucks and police cars filled the street. Josh was about to cut across traffic to the other sidewalk when he realized a crowd was gathered where he had tripped over the old cripple earlier today.

With growing dread he edged his way through the crowd until he could see what was happening. What he saw would give him nightmares for weeks. A car, driven by a drunk driver jumped the sidewalk and crushed the father and son against the wall, killing them. There was blood everywhere. The broken wheelchair was unscathed by the accident and filled Josh with guilt.

"Twenty dollars," he thought to himself. "Twenty dollars and they would have been long gone before the car jumped the curb. Hell I spend that much tipping waitresses on Friday nights I could have given the boy that and more."

The sound of the boys voice came back to haunt him. "Please mister all I need is twenty dollars to get the chair and take my father to the shelter."

With a heavy heart and tear filled eyes Josh shuffled away from the accident.

He did not remember the subway ride or even driving to his home in the foothills. One minute he was at the scene of the accident the next he was sitting on his deck overlooking the valley. However, for the first time he could remember he did not notice the view or anything else for that matter.

The events of the day kept playing over and over again in Josh's mind. If, if, if, all of the ifs were driving him mad. One gesture was all it would have taken and two human beings would still be alive. But know that was too hard for him. He was to busy being Josh Stevenson ad executive to notice the important things in life.

As he sat there on the deck through the long night Josh realized that the events of the day had brought him to a crossroad in his life. He could move forward as if nothing had happened and keep living life the way he had. Or he could change his lifestyle completely. He knew himself to well to believe that halfway measures would work. He was to addicted to success to cut back and remain in the industry. He had to either walk away completely or not bother changing at all.

In the east the sun was just coming over the horizon when Josh came to a decision. He could not let the deaths of those two human beings go for naught. They may have died but in doing so he thought, they may have saved me. All that I have done before today meant nothing to the universe. From this day forward I am going to contribute, to make a difference, to become a man who can be proud of what he sees in the mirror.

As the sun warmed the chill from his bones Josh entered his house and took the first baby steps of his new life.

Unseen by Josh three spirits remained on the deck in the morning sun. The boy, his father and one who shown with the brilliance of a full moon. They exchanged smiles and slowly dissipated.

Traditions

I spent Memorial Day weekend in Bullhead City, Arizona visiting with my mother. Most of the visit was spent in Laughlin and Las Vegas, Nevada as my mom's favorite past time is playing video poker. I did however find time to revisit our families history by perusing the many photo albums my mother has put together. One of the pictures that captured my imagination was of my great-grandfather Quinto Spelta with his parents that was taken circa 1895. The photograph brought to mind the stories my grandmother used to share about the old country and its traditions.

Just four generations ago in Italy arranged marriages were still the norm.

On a clear day in 1893 Quinto noticed my future great-grandmother Maria Scribante, thirteen at the time, coming home from the bakers. With just that glimpse he lost his heart and made a promise to himself that she was the girl for him.

He returned home and announced to his parents that he had found the person that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Of course, they were taken aback. Tradition did not allow for children to choose their spouses. He had to marry whom the family chose. His father asked about his son's new found love but he had no facts to share he did not as of yet even know her name.

He worked on his parents for several weeks and their resolve did eventually weaken. They told him to find out who his mystery woman was and where she lived. Armed with that information his father would approach the family about arranging a marriage.

Eventually the fathers met and without too much squabbling they were able to come to an agreement. When Maria turned eighteen Quinto and her would be allowed to marry. Unlike most arranged marriages the bride and groom were introduced once before the wedding. They did not have to wait until the walk down the aisle for their first look at their spouse.

Quinto and Maria enjoyed a long and fruitful marriage. Seven children and a move from Italy to Missouri were only two of the grand adventures that they enjoyed. The beginning of their marriage may not have been built on love but over the years they built a foundation that was meant to last.