Tuesday, September 23, 2008

deported to the middle



The first time I got deported to the middle I was fifteen years old. You don't have to be an illegal to get deported you just have to be a free spirit living in San Diego, have a whole lot of time on your hands, and have one parent living in Kansas.

My mom a single mother with numerous part time gigs and full time nursing school could no longer handle my free spirit and contacted my dad. Her chief complaint, this kid never comes home and I have no idea where she is half the time (that's how I imagine the conversation went).

Being a card carrying member of the night owl club for teens and making good use of my bedroom window, I would sneak out late at night. There was a whole group of us that did this and to some extent I look back with relief because there is safety in numbers. Fortunately, nothing bad ever happened to us. I can't remember ever a time that we vandalized property or harassed anyone. We probably looked like a gang because everyone of us smoked and we trolled the city streets late at night. We lived near Balboa park so we ended up there a lot. Occasionally, one of us would get a car from a sleeping and unsuspecting parent and we would make it to the beach.

The beach was always great because there was always something going on there, like a bonfire or some interesting weirdos to talk with. The tide changes made for a good time of exploring. I remember walking out during a really low tide and climbing through some of tide pools at Sunset beach. It was magical at night and if the night was clear it was perfect.

Another memory was the time Jenny and I needed to acquire some roses for her mother's birthday. So we opted for the best free roses money can buy the rose garden at Balboa park. There I found a brown paper grocery sack sitting on the edge of a brick raised rose bed. It was obvious that something was in it. I called out to Jenny and some punk rock guy, whose name I have long forgotten. I just remember his phony English accent. " Hey you guys check out this sack" and having an arm reach out from within the rose bush and grab the sack yelling "leave it it's mine." Needless to say I screamed, Jenny screamed and we all fell into the rose bush. Fortunately Jenny and I landed on the punk who I distinctly remember him saying "Cool!" I can't remember if we ended up with the roses for her mom or not because we got the hell out of there fast.

Getting deported ended my night trolling permanently and saddly I left behind all of my friends in the neighborhood. Friends move and neighborhoods change so it was never the same when I got back to San Diego but I did get back. I was 18 when I got my green card aka a high school diploma and back I went. What happened after that, well that is another story altogether.

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