Pre-Father's Day Dream

Last weekend I flew down to San Diego and got to visit both my sons Alex and Zac and Sally's daughter, Hannah. Zac drove down from Santa Barbara to join us. My role as Dad with adult kids is still new to me, though the twin boys are now 26 and have been making their own way for several years. I'm not exactly clear on how they see me now, what they need from me now, what advice or worries to voice, what confidences to share. But what remains crystal clear, is the pure pleasure of looking at them. I can still feel a sense of miracle at their being at all and my visceral connection to their lives, and theirs to mine. yummmm.......

We played doubles tennis with one of Alex's apartment-mates, Sean. At this point, my main goal is to make a few good hits and most importantly, not to keel over, or spoil all the fun with a heart attack. It worked out pretty well, though there was a rebellious muscle in my neck, determined to spoil my illusion of being a 20-something too. Within a half hour after we stopped playing I couldn't turn my head right or left and had to turn my whole body to speak to someone throughout the Padres game we went to see with Hannah and Heather. I was all of 56 years old for that event.

The first night I stayed at Alex's apartment and he stayed at his girlfriend Heather's. He gave me his bed and Zac slept on a pad on the floor next to the bed. Before waking up the next morning, I had a long, convoluted dream that I've mostly forgotten. But there was a scene in the middle of it where my Mom showed up. She's been dead almost 30 years now and I almost never get an appearance from her in my dreams. It must have been triggered by how connected and happy I felt with Zac and Alex close by.

When we woke up I told Zac that I had a rare "Rochelle sighting" in my dreams and that I remember asking her to come to my backyard and see the flowers I'd planted that were all blossoming. Then the dream evaporated - as they do - in the welcoming breeze of the new day.

It wasn't until last night that the dream came back and grabbed my attention. While I'm no dream-specialist, it is clear to me that I wanted to show Rochelle her grandsons Zac and Alex who are in full blossom at age 26.

Gang Violence hits home

My 23 year old son was pretty badly beaten last night in San Diego as he was eating a burrito at an outdoor taco stand. A witness told police that the assailants were members of a local gang. The five alleged gang members were insulted when a drunk young man at the same taco stand, unknown by my son and his two friends, threw salsa out at cars passing by. My son has no memory of the beating, but was told at the hospital that he'd been hit hard in his face, fallen to the ground, and then stomped repeatedly on his head. He'd been walking around the parking lot in a bloody daze and was unable to answer simple questions. He only remembers when he came to in a hospital ER, restrained to a gurney to keep his head immobile, with police around the bed and no doctors available. Eventually he was let go to be driven home by his friends (also beaten) with no instructions about how to deal with the aftermath of a concussion. Fortunately or unfortunately he has had several of those before from snowboarding, wakeboarding, etc. and had his girlfriend keep him awake and observe him. The paramedics had cleaned the blood from his scalp and face.

I'm sure the assailants had no thoughts about this young man's inner beauty as they beat on his head; the way he makes so many of us laugh; his tireless sense of play, his abiding friendships, ready smile and affection, his poignant, early steps into post-college adulthood; least of all that he might have parents and a twin brother who would lay sleepless with concern in their respective homes miles away after hearing about it.

I'm sure they just saw a young white guy who may have been connected to the "salsa-insult" on their car. He remembers their car pulling into the taco stand lot and was naive enough to think he had nothing to worry about since he had nothing to do with the guy on the other side of the lot who had tossed salsa.

I remember that sense of empathy-free righteousness that allowed me, as a high school student already filled with rage, to hit others who I thought were the "bad guys" in one situation or another. I see that same inappropriate, unevolved mentality in the foreign policies of our White House leaders. That's all so abstract compared to the image I can't get out of my head in the wee morning hours..... of a heavy shoe coming down on my son's unconscious, precious head.