Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the twentyfifteen domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /chroot/home/a6f7779a/9d7429a5d9.nxcli.io/html/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6170 {"id":176,"date":"2014-03-03T20:53:16","date_gmt":"2014-03-04T02:53:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=176"},"modified":"2014-03-03T21:51:07","modified_gmt":"2014-03-04T03:51:07","slug":"stress-3-and-the-beginning-of-the-end","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=176","title":{"rendered":"Stress 3…and the beginning of the end."},"content":{"rendered":"

Stress 3<\/b><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n

So here I was, a young man of seventeen years with less than two months left in high school, sitting on a crowded city bus heading home and shaking like a leaf.\u00a0 When I had boarded the orange and white Rapid Transit city bus on the corner of Griggs Road and Calhoun Road, it had been mostly empty.\u00a0 Dropping two dimes into the coin receiver I asked the driver for a transfer ticket.\u00a0 He ripped a faded pink paper ticket from a thick pad, handed it to me, and motioned me to find a seat somewhere.<\/p>\n

Holding on to the overhead rail I saw that I had my choice of just about any seat on either side of the bus.\u00a0 With the hot sun hanging low in the sky and the humidity clinging to my skin like a sticky, damp, sheet, I quickly decided that a window seat would be my best bet.<\/p>\n

Finding one about four rows back I hopped onto the seat and slid across the cheap faded green plastic upholstery.\u00a0 I forced the window open and felt the heavy breeze generated by the jerky forward motion of the old bus warmly kissing my clammy face and smoothly gliding down my neck hurrying the beads of sweat already slowly rolling down my chest.<\/p>\n

Looking around to make sure there were no passengers too close to me I reached into my right pants pocket to worry the already damp bill nestled safely at the bottom.\u00a0 Easing my hand out and glancing downward I reassured myself that I was in fact the true owner of a genuine one hundred dollar bill.\u00a0 The dull empty vacuum in my stomach lurched a bit and sent a stress chill up my spine.<\/p>\n

Easing it back into my pocket and closing my eyes, my anxious mind began to form the narrative that I would have to have memorized by the time I got home.\u00a0 I knew that whatever I chose to tell her, short of the truth, would be picked apart and scrutinized down to the most insignificant detail.\u00a0 My mother was like that.\u00a0 What she may have lacked in formal education and common sense she more than made up with an uncanny sense of intuitive clairvoyance.\u00a0 Sherlock Holmes had absolutely nothing on her.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Hooky Day<\/b><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

As an example of my mother\u2019s physic skills I\u2019ll relate a little adventure I had as a young teen. While attending MacArthur Junior High, my best friend Robert talked me into skipping school; something that I had never done, or even considered doing, before.\u00a0 That fateful morning, while waiting for the bus to pick us up, one of Robert\u2019s thug friends came roaring up in a sporty black Ford coupe.\u00a0 Robert walked over to the passenger side and ducked his head into the open window.\u00a0 After chatting for a minute or so he motioned me over.\u00a0 I scanned the street to make sure our bus was still not in sight, and not seeing it, trotted over.<\/p>\n

The Ford driver\u2019s name was Joe Garcia, a local punk who had dropped out of school the previous year because it was apparently interrupting his ongoing training as an aspiring criminal. \u00a0A few years later he would be shot six times in the back by the owner of a laundromat he and Robert were burglarizing.<\/p>\n

Joe’s \u00a0long black greasy hair was sculpted up and back into a perfect ducktail, and he was decked out in the fully sanctioned Hispanic thug (pachuco) uniform of the day: oversized pleated khaki pants, highly polished Stacy Adams dress shoes, and a white Tshirt worn under a plaid long sleeve shirt buttoned only at the collar.\u00a0 He turned his half lidded gaze towards me and hissed, \u201cHola, ese.\u201d\u00a0 That, of course, was the approved all around pachuco greeting of the day.<\/p>\n

\u201cEse vato,\u201d (back at you dude) I coolly responded while tipping my head slightly back in the approved pachuco fashion.<\/p>\n

Robert put his hand on the back of my neck and said, \u201cLet\u2019s play hooky, vato.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHooky?\u201d I asked, my eyes slightly bulging and my tone suddenly very squeaky and uncool.<\/p>\n

\u201cS\u00ed, vato, Nobody will know.\u201d This, in a pre-hip hop, singsong, vocal manner.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d I responded defensively, \u201cbut when they take attendance and you\u2019re absent don\u2019t they call home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNaw, they just say that to scare you.\u201d\u00a0 Robert said, pinning me with his glare.\u00a0 \u201cThey never call.\u00a0 You coming, ese?\u201d<\/p>\n

Feeling a tiny wave of fear building in the pit of my stomach, I stiffened and shot a glance at Joe.\u00a0 He didn\u2019t look all too thrilled to suddenly find himself in the company of a squirming wimp; especially one who counted on Robert as his friend and protector.<\/p>\n

\u201cSure, vato.\u201d I finally said\u2014a little too loud and half an octave too shrill.\u00a0 Before I knew it I was in the backseat feeling the Ford\u2019s rear wheels spin out, with the sudden forward momentum pinning me firmly in place.\u00a0 Worse, all of a sudden I really needed to pee.<\/p>\n

The day started by doing absolutely nothing.\u00a0 We drove aimlessly around with Robert and Joe casing out likely burglary targets and assessing the perceived take.\u00a0\u00a0 After a much-needed stop at a gas station, where I gratefully relieved myself, we just drove around some more with the radio blaring the latest hits by the Diamonds, the Everly Brothers, and a bunch of other cool hipsters.\u00a0 Finally, Joe said he knew where there were some basketball courts and we should go there to shoot baskets.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got a ball?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, vato,\u201d Joe casually responded, \u201cbut I know we can steal one from that store on Fulton Avenue.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCool,\u201d Robert added.<\/p>\n

Not looking to add shoplifting, or if things got dicey, armed robbery, to my presently short, but growing, list of legal infractions I quickly and thoughtfully suggested: \u201cWhy don\u2019t we go to the courts and see if anyone\u2019s already there?\u00a0 Maybe there\u2019ll be someone there with a ball.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCool,\u201d Robert agreed.<\/p>\n

Joe, being a little more daring said, \u201cAnd if they don\u2019t want to let us borrow their ball we can kick their ass and just take it, ese.\u201d<\/p>\n

Great.\u00a0 Assault and battery would also look good on my rap sheet.<\/p>\n

We cruised some more, mostly in circles, all the while checking out old winos half passed out on the sidewalk, pregnant women on their way to or from the laundromat or market, and noting the absolute lack of any good looking chicks.\u00a0 Well, duh!\u00a0 They were all in school\u2026ese.<\/p>\n

Located in the back of an old church in a decidedly black neighborhood we finally pulled up to the courts.\u00a0 There were about a dozen black guys shooting baskets on the four half backboards.\u00a0 Small gauge chains hung from under the rims instead of silk cord netting, and when a shot whistled through the rim the ball would make a clinking sound instead of the smooth \u201cswish\u201d that I was used to.<\/p>\n

At first it didn\u2019t occur to me to wonder why on a week day at eight o\u2019clock in the morning there would be a dozen, or so, black men in jeans and wife beaters shooting baskets.\u00a0 But it didn\u2019t take me long to pounce on the reality that those guys weren\u2019t your basic friendly family types.<\/p>\n

As we approached the sidewalk bordering the courts, head after head began to turn our way. \u00a0In a few seconds basketball activity had all but ceased and the large group of men stood quietly eyeing us suspiciously.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s up, homies!\u201d Robert called out cheerfully.<\/p>\n

Walking a couple of steps behind him and Joe I noticed that all of a sudden they both had developed a certain hitch and sway to their stride.\u00a0 Assuming that this was how you were supposed walk when approaching a large group of hostile black males I did my best to imitate their homey walking style.\u00a0 Sadly, all I accomplished was attracting the attention of the entire scowling group, who were probably wondering why the two cool dudes had brought along a victim of polio to play basketball.<\/p>\n

Robert, being the lead in this misadventure, made a beeline towards the biggest guy and extended his right hand.\u00a0 What followed was a lightning fast series of hand slaps, slips, and rubs\u2014all the while Robert and the big black guy glowering at each other.\u00a0 When the hand ceremony ended they both broke into huge smiles and patted each other on the back.\u00a0 The pressure was off, or so I thought.<\/p>\n

Everyone started lining up with Joe following up and doing the hand jive with the first big guy while Robert had moved on to number two.\u00a0 I thought about maybe rolling my eyes into my head, falling backwards and faking a fainting spell to avoid performing a gang ritual that was completely unknown to me, but before I could summon up my acting skills the big guy was on me.\u00a0 Smiling splendidly he quickly extended a beefy multi-tattooed hand and I froze.<\/p>\n

Staring at his hand I was fascinated to see that even though the top of his hand was black, his palm was chalky white.\u00a0 Right then, what I really wanted to do was ask him why his hand was two-toned…and was that normal…and if every black person\u2019s hand was like his\u2014but coming to my senses the survivalist in me said that this probably wasn\u2019t the opportune time to engage him in a discussion concerning Negroid skin pigmentation.\u00a0 Instead, I stupidly reached out my right hand.<\/p>\n

Quicker than I could think he grabbed my hand, shook it violently, let it go, and commenced to do a very wicked hand jive.\u00a0 I countered with a rapid series of my very finest \u201cwax on-wax off\u201d hand moves, and even thought about finishing up with a little bugaloo foot flourish and hip sway, but fortunately, and at the last minute, I abandoned that idea.<\/p>\n

While I continued making my cool hand moves (that, by the way, were later successfully brought to the big screen by Mr. Myagi), Big Black said, \u201cYou a funny mutha-fucker, ain\u2019t ya?\u201d\u00a0 I noticed he\u2019d pulled back his hand and stopped smiling.<\/p>\n

\u201cWho me?\u201d\u00a0 I froze in mid right wax.<\/p>\n

\u201cYea, you homes!\u00a0 Hey,\u201d he yelled over his shoulder while pulling back his hand.\u00a0 \u201cLook at this crazy skinny mutha-fuka.\u00a0 He doin\u2019 some karate or some shit!\u201d<\/p>\n

I pleadingly looked at Robert and Joe, mentally beseeching them to let\u2019s get the fuck out of here\u2014fast!\u00a0 But instead I saw them turn and walk back toward me.<\/p>\n

Stepping around my large black, and really unhappy, hand jive partner, Robert and Joe took up positions on either side of me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d Robert said.\u00a0 \u201cwell, he\u2019s our little brother but he really don\u2019t know shit.\u201d<\/p>\n

For what seemed to be an eternity time stood still.\u00a0 Absolutely no one moved, and all I could see was many black sweaty faces, each with a pair of very menacing eyes\u2014all focused on me.<\/p>\n

Suddenly Mr. Black let out a loud whoop and started hysterically laughing.\u00a0 Moving so fast that even Robert was taken by surprise, the big guy had suddenly reached and and grabbed me by the nape of the neck!<\/p>\n

Instead of squeezing the very life out of me he instead pulled me close to him and yelled to everyone, \u201cCrazy mutha-fuka, he\u2019s sumpin\u2019 else.\u00a0 Come on, let\u2019s play some round ball!\u201d<\/p>\n

Suddenly the air was filled with the hollow sound of bouncing basketballs on concrete and the hiss of stealthy floating basketball moves.\u00a0 Robert and Joe relaxed and strolled over to catch an errant ball bouncing towards them.\u00a0 In a few minutes everyone had chosen up sides and the game was on.<\/p>\n

It ended up being a full five on five full court game, with me, after have been picked last, ending up on the all black team.\u00a0 Thinking that I would probably be crushed out of existence on the first pick and roll play I begged off, claiming that an old non-existent gang injury was acting up, and limped over to sit by the fence and watch the b-ball aerobatics.\u00a0 This went on for the next two hours.<\/p>\n

My memory of the rest of the day is a blur because after the games were over we just rode around, parking and talking; riding around, parking and napping; riding around and parking some more.\u00a0 On my insistence we did drive to the old Houston Hobby airport to watch the airplanes take off and land until it was time for school to let out.<\/p>\n

Facing The Music<\/b><\/p>\n

The plan was to have me dropped off at the bus stop at the exact time the bus arrived so I could be seen walking home with the rest of the kids in the neighborhood.\u00a0 That way there would be no question that I had spent the day at school. Or so I thought.<\/p>\n

Walking the three blocks from the bus stop to my house I mentally reviewed all the contingency stories that I would use; all depending on my mother\u2019s mood, of course.\u00a0 I tried to remember how I normally greeted her on a normal \u201cjust getting home from school\u201d day, and so as I turned down my street I thought I had it down pat.<\/p>\n

Stepping onto the porch as I started to reach for the front screen door, it was suddenly pushed violently open from the inside.\u00a0 Looking up I saw my mother, her right hand on the door and her left hand on the doorframe.\u00a0 She looked totally pissed.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, hi mom.\u201d\u00a0 I said, in the most normal voice and tone I could muster.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, Pancho!\u00a0 Where have you been?!\u201d\u00a0 That in itself, was a really bad sign.\u00a0 \u201cPancho” was used when she was beyond angry; and I would\u2019ve loved to have heard her address me as \u201cFrankie\u201d instead.<\/p>\n

\u201cUh, school, why?\u00a0 Did somebody call?\u201d\u00a0 (Attendance office has done me in, I thought).<\/p>\n

\u201cCome in here, now\u2014and, no, nobody called.\u00a0 Looking at me intently.\u00a0 \u201cWhy are you asking?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMe? Oh, no reason.\u00a0 Just wondering\u2026\u201d I faded off.<\/p>\n

\u201cOK mister! Put your books down and tell me what\u2019s going on.\u00a0 Your face tells me you did something wrong.\u00a0 What was it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWrong?\u00a0 What wrong?\u201d\u00a0 I was starting to whine and I suddenly had to pee again.<\/p>\n

She walked me into the kitchen by pulling me by my shirt, sat me down and took her seat across the table from me.\u00a0 Then she just stared.<\/p>\n

I knew she was doing: Dr. Spock later made this technique famous\u2014it was the DeLe\u00f3n mind meld, but my mother didn\u2019t have to touch my head.\u00a0 Her penetrating psychic eye was now seeing me in that Ford automobile with Robert and Joe, hand jiving with Mr. Black, and later watching the Eastern Air Lines DC-7 noisily lift into the sky.\u00a0 She knew it all.\u00a0 Oh, crap!<\/p>\n

\u201cMom, why are you mad at me?\u201d\u00a0 I tried one last tack.<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause I know you did something wrong today, like maybe play hooky<\/b>!\u201d<\/p>\n

That did it!\u00a0 Dam Break!!<\/p>\n

Tears literally flew out of my eyes and the guilt that I had been suppressing all day long bubbled up into one big sob.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry, mom!\u00a0 I didn\u2019t mean to do it, I\u2019m so sorry, and I\u2019ll never do it again.\u201d\u00a0 I gurgled.\u00a0 \u201cWho told you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo one told me, Pancho, I just knew.\u201d\u00a0 She softly said. \u201cAnd, because you told me the truth right away I\u2019m not going to spank you.\u00a0 But you do have to do the dishes after supper and clean the bathroom every Saturday for the rest of the month.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cO-O-OK.\u201d\u00a0 I sniffled out.<\/p>\n

So, for many years I have wondered how she ever knew what I did that day.\u00a0 When report cards came out at the end of that semester I showed perfect attendance; meaning that somehow I had not been counted absent that day.\u00a0 So it was then that I knew for sure that no one had called her from the school attendance office to report me truant.<\/p>\n

My mom\u2014she was spooky.\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n

The Asian Connection<\/b><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Ten minutes from home on the third bus I had transferred to for the long trip home from my uncle\u2019s paint shop to my house in El Crisol, my stress and anxiety was at its highest level.\u00a0 \u00a0Having never really learned my lesson on how well my mother could read me I was still mentally rehearsing what I was going to say to her about the money I had received.<\/p>\n

Although she knew that my uncle usually gave me five or ten dollars whenever I went to visit my dad at work, having a hundred dollar gift was probably way out of her guessing range.\u00a0 Whenever I come home from visiting my dad and uncle she would immediately ask to see how much money I may have gotten.\u00a0 Whatever the amount was, she always took it from me to use for \u201chouse expenses\u201d, (food), and would make it up to me by giving me fifty cents to spend anyway I wanted to.<\/p>\n

I never told my uncle about this because I just didn\u2019t know how he would react.\u00a0 Would he confront my parents and demand that they reimburse me?\u00a0 Would he stop giving me monetary gifts?\u00a0 I just didn\u2019t know.\u00a0 So, I kept it to myself.<\/p>\n

When I was a little kid I really never minded this too much because I really had no feel for money.\u00a0 Fifty cents was something I understood because it would let me buy a few RC Colas and Moon Pies for a whole week at Henry\u2019s Store.\u00a0 But a five or ten dollar bill just didn\u2019t generate that kind of culinary excitement.\u00a0 For some reason as a kid it just never dawned on me how many goodies that kind of money could buy.<\/p>\n

Now the bus\u2019s squeaky air brakes yanked me back into reality.\u00a0 My stop was coming up and I was within minutes of facing the mother of all inquisitions (no pun intended). \u00a0Getting off of the now crowded bus, and still squeezing the hundred-dollar bill in my right pants pocket, I stepped into the hot dusty Houston afternoon.\u00a0 Pulling noisily away, the bus\u2019s black diesel smoke pouring from the exhaust pipe cloaked me in a thick choking cloud.\u00a0 Turning and quickly walking away, I put my head down holding my breath until I was clear.\u00a0 Looking up I saw that I was within twenty, or so, feet from the front of Kings Supermarket.<\/p>\n

The store had been there, on Liberty Road, for as long as I could remember.\u00a0 It was owned by a Chinese family, whom everyone assumed was named \u201cKing\u201d; but no one ever knew for sure, as they didn\u2019t live in the neighborhood.\u00a0 In fact, no one knew where they lived or where their kids went to school.\u00a0 I know that I never knew of any student named King that attended any of the schools in our district.<\/p>\n

We never did any of our grocery shopping there either, and I didn\u2019t know anyone in our neighborhood that had. The word on our street was that the prices at Kings Supermarket were inflated, meats, fish, and vegetables not very fresh, and the service rude and indifferent.\u00a0 Most, if not all, of our neighbors did all their grocery shopping at Henry\u2019s Store.<\/p>\n

A few blocks east there was a neighborhood where mostly black families lived so we assumed they did their shopping at Kings since we never saw them at Henry\u2019s.\u00a0 Kings certainly wasn\u2019t hurting for business because not only had it been there for years, the storefront was always gaily painted and the building in pretty good repair.\u00a0 That\u2019s more that I could say for Henry\u2019s; his store was old, any paint the wood had ever received had long ago chipped off, and the coolers and such were archaic.<\/p>\n

A quick idea popped into my head and I made a beeline for the front door.\u00a0 Inside, the store was cool and a bit dark.\u00a0 Signs hung from the ceiling announcing the latest price on whatever happened to be on sale that day.\u00a0 The whole store smelled like a vegetable garden with a hint of slightly off fish.\u00a0 Seeing the large checkout counter I headed towards it while pulling out the bill from my pocket.<\/p>\n

An oval faced middle-aged woman, with black hair streaked with gray, fixed her stare on me immediately.\u00a0 I cautiously approached and put on my best smile.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi,\u201d I said cheerfully.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, uh, could I have some change?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou want change?\u00a0 For what?\u201d\u00a0 She said, lowering her head and really fixing me in her sights.<\/p>\n

\u201cUh, just for a hundred.\u201d<\/p>\n

If I had pulled out a bazooka from my pants pocket and pointed at her little round face her reaction could not have been any worse.<\/p>\n

\u201cYOU!!\u00a0 YOU WANT HUNDED DOLLA CHANGE?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWHAT YOU MEAN?\u00a0 YOU HAVE A HUNDED DOLLA?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes I do\u2014see?\u201d\u00a0 Bad move.<\/p>\n

She started speaking in what was apparently Chinese, but never having heard Chinese spoken before I thought she was having some kind of attack and had lost control of her vocal abilities.\u00a0 Waving her hands and yelling at the top of her lungs she soon attracted the attention of the entire King clan on duty.<\/p>\n

Little Chinese people suddenly appeared from every direction, some wearing bloody aprons and carrying shiny meat cleavers, and others in dark gray work clothes\u2014all jabbering in that unintelligible language at her, each other, and me.\u00a0 I was horrified.<\/p>\n

Finally, when I thought I was going to be sliced and diced, through the throng appeared a tall dark haired middle-aged man wearing a white shirt with dark slacks.\u00a0 He made some arm gestures and said a couple of very loud Chinese type words.\u00a0 Everyone immediately shut up.<\/p>\n

He looked down at me as I stood there in my sweaty shirt, my skinny hand halfway in the air waving a hundred dollar bill.<\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d He said, in perfect English.\u00a0 \u201cWhat is the problem here?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI just asked if I could get change for this bill, that’s all.\u201d\u00a0 I said meekly.<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm.\u00a0 Where did you get that?\u201d He asked, squinting a bit.<\/p>\n

\u201cMy uncle Frank gave it to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUncle Frank?\u201d \u00a0He mused as he ran a set of finely manicured fingers through his black hair.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook, I know you live around here because I\u2019ve seen you getting off the bus, but I also know that you should not be waving that kind of money around.\u00a0 Where did you really get it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cReally!\u201d I insisted.\u00a0 \u201cI got it for my graduation expenses from my Uncle Frank.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAlright.\u201d He said calmly.\u00a0 \u201cMy mother was thinking you\u2019d somehow taken it from the register, but we don\u2019t keep bills like that here\u2026only tens and twenties.\u00a0 So, you need to leave now with that money and go home.\u00a0 Or, at least go somewhere away from our store.\u201d<\/p>\n

With the King clan burning holes in my back, I headed for the door.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Facing The Music \u2013 Redux<\/b><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n

Of course my plan had been to break the bill into smaller denominations and tell my mother that my uncle had given me a smaller amount, like say, two twenties. I would give up the money gladly, receiving maybe two or three dollars back, knowing that deep in my pocket I still had a lot more. \u00a0So much for that plan.<\/p>\n

Entering the house I heard my mother in the kitchen cooking and singing along with some Mexican song playing on the radio.\u00a0 I shuffled in, pulled up a chair from our table and sat heavily down.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell?\u201d She said smiling broadly.\u00a0 \u201cWhat did uncle have for us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUs?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShure.\u201d\u00a0 She said sweetly.\u00a0 \u201cI can smell a lot of money and my palm has really been itching!\u00a0 So, tell your mommy how much we got.\u201d<\/p>\n

Knowing I was defeated and with no way out, I dejectedly pulled out the wrinkled bill and put it on the table.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere it is.\u201d\u00a0 I groaned<\/p>\n

In a flash she had moved from the stove where she had been stirring some watery soup and had snatched up the bill.\u00a0 Carefully unfolding it her eyes began to bulge and a large smile spread across her face as she realized what it was she was holding in her hand.<\/p>\n

Turning toward me, her mood instantly changed.\u00a0 Scooting her chair right next to me she darkly said,<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t your ever tell your dad anything about this\u2014you hear me?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, but can I use some of the money for my graduation?\u201d\u00a0 I need to pay the balance for my ring, and I need to rent a cap and gown.\u201d<\/p>\n

Clutching the bill in her fist she sat back and went into deep thought.<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, if you did all of that, then your father would know something was up.\u00a0 We can\u2019t have him thinking you got this much money.\u201d\u00a0 She said, looking up to the ceiling.\u00a0 \u201cBut what you can do is pay the twenty five dollars for the ring and tell him that\u2019s all you got.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut what about the cap and gown?\u201d\u00a0 I asked, pleadingly.<\/p>\n

\u201cWe decided that you didn\u2019t need that because you\u2019re not going to the graduation.\u00a0 So no cap and gown.\u201d She flatly said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBut mom, that\u2019s not fair!\u00a0 I have more than enough there to get those, plus even pay for a taxi to take me and bring me back from the Coliseum.\u201d\u00a0 I whined.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo Sir!\u201d\u00a0 She stated, slamming her hand on the table.\u00a0 \u201cNo Coliseum, no taxi!\u00a0 No Sir!\u00a0 If he were to know what you were planning, your dad would end up taking the money and using it to buy some stupid gift for the church or the pastor.\u00a0 Worse, he\u2019d probably buy them dinner at some fancy restaurant that even I\u2019ve never been to.\u00a0 NO SIR!”<\/p>\n

\u201cBut mom\u2026.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNO!\u201d\u00a0 And with that she stood up, tucked the bill into the pocket of her apron and went back to the stove.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ll give you the twenty five dollars as soon as I get this bill broken up.\u201d She said, not looking at me.\u00a0 \u201cAnd, not a word to anyone\u2026and, I mean no one! You hear me?\u201d<\/p>\n

And so it was.<\/p>\n

Escape<\/b><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

On a Friday in June of 1960, the graduating class of Jefferson Davis Senior High School individually marched up to the stage at the Sam Houston Coliseum one humid evening, and amid the cheers of family and friends, approached Mr. John Paul Rogers, to receive their high school diploma.\u00a0 Afterwards, various private parties and a dance at a Latin-American club were held to commemorate the occasion.<\/p>\n

At the same time I was playing my guitar in the Iglesia Samaria church band accompanying the sweating, swaying congregation while they joyfully sang some long forgotten hymn.<\/p>\n

I was not missed at any of the graduation festivities by any of my classmates, and I never heard from any one of them until many decades later.<\/p>\n

*****<\/p>\n

Two weeks later the mailman delivered an official looking manila envelope, addressed to me, to my house.\u00a0 My mother opened it, took out the document that attested to my successful completion of high school in the state of Texas, and put it on the kitchen table for me to find when I got home from my job at Texas State Optical.<\/p>\n

Six months later I boarded a Continental Trailways bus destined for San Antonio, Texas.\u00a0 Upon arrival, a blue United States Air Force bus transported me, along with twenty-nine other lonely young men, to the basic training barracks at Lackland Air Force Base.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/b><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"