A Painful Way to Learn a Lesson

                                                                                   

The tales our elders tell

     We were just talking, Tony and I. He was in his sixties, an older “Chicano,” his word. He had that feel about him, a WWII veteran from a barrio in Texas, before he came west to settle in L.A., where he married and raised his family. He reminded me of Lalo Guerrero, without the guitar, but a real storyteller, low voice, a little above bass, but clear and evocative. He was also a listener, getting just as much pleasure from hearing stories than telling them.

     I was in my twenties, trying to figure things out, like where I was headed, where were my studies leading. I had no idea. I was telling Tony how tough it was making decisions, to stay in college, go on tour with a band, or just keep working as a gardener for the school district, buy a house, and settle down. Tony had landed a job at the school district, after his retirement from Boeing, to keep himself busy, but he’d done just about everything, fieldwork, construction, oil rigs, from Texas to Montana, but his expertise was mechanics. He could repair anything you put in front of him.

      He listened to me. He sympathized. I told him about the time my dad cracked me on the head with his knuckles because he caught me riding a go-cart in the middle of the street. I hadn’t thought it was fair, back then, when I was about twelve-years-old.

     Tony said, “Well, that was dangerous. A car could’a hit you.”

     “Yeah, but it was embarrassing, too. He did it in front of everybody.”

     “Sometimes, we don’t choose the best time to teach our kids lessons.”

     Tony always seemed to have the right answer. “You know,” he told me. “I was still living in Texas, just a kid, maybe five or six years old, during the Depression, the 1930s, some time. It was after school. I was walking home, right at the edge of the street. I looked down and saw a Nickle, you know, five-cents. It don’t sound like much now, but back then it was big deal. You could buy a sandwich and a soda at the drug store.”

     I said, “Like for us, when a quarter was lot. We could go to the movies, buy popcorn and a soda.”

     “Yes, exactly. A whole Nickle. I was tickled pink. I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my mom and dad, you know, hey! I found a Nickle.”

     He waited before continuing, like he was thinking, maybe his mind going back to Texas, to that time and place. “I walked home, excited. I thought they’d be happy. I walked into the house. My mom was there, but I had to wait for my dad to come home from work. When he did, I pulled it out of my pocket. I held out my hand and showed them the Nickel. “Look, Papa,” I said. My mother asked, “Where did you get it?”

     I told them how I was walking home along the street and found it. I could see fight away my dad wasn’t happy. “What do you mean you found it?”

     I didn’t understand what he was asking me, so I told him again. He looked at my mother and neither of them said anything. I was really confused, you know. Then, they talked, whispering to each other. My dad told me, finally, to go into the room where we slept and wait for him.”

     By thin time I was confused. Tony had a calm look on his face, so I figured everything would turn out okay. “So,” I asked?

     “A few minutes later, my dad came in. He took off his belt. I tried to explain, but I couldn’t even talk, to get the words right. I was so scared. He told me to turn around and bend over. In those days, you didn’t question you parents. You just did what they told you. Man, he hit me five times, one for each penny, I guess.”

     I was outraged. “He spanked you because you found a Nickle? That’s brutal.”

     “It hurt, a lot. I cried a while. He left the room, like he wanted me to think about it. Then, about ten minutes later, he came back, my mom standing behind him. He said, “Son, I don’t know if you found that penny or you stole it.”

     I was still crying. “No, Pa,” I said, “I found it, promise I did.”

     “Well,” he said, “I don’t know the truth. Son, if you did find the Nickle, I am sorry I punished you. Please forgive me, but if you did steal that Nickle, I want to always know you didn’t get away with it.”

     I said, “And that was it?”

     “No,” he answered. “He let me keep the Nickle.