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Airports look like death and fear and loss and separation to me. These days. I mean, they are also opportunity and prospects and ganas and esoperanza, for the person flying away, but for the person staying behind -- since Homeland Security they don't even let you see the plane take off. It's just a wrench. You only get that last embrace at the door.
Every time he leaves I'm afraid I'll never see him again. He's probably laying over in Dallas right now. He'll be in Louisiana before Gustav makes its landfall. When he was down there for the aftermath of Katrina, Rita came through, and they did take shelter. So I suppose they have a planm to keep their workers safe during the storm.
This is what he's always wanted, as long as he's known what he wanted, adn before. When he was three we were in the grocery store and I had to explain the Nestle boycott ro him because he wanted that strawberry milk and Hershey only made chocolate. He digested the story and said, "I'm going to grow up and be superman and go to Africa and stop nestle."
When he was five, he tried to make a citizen's arrest of the groundskeeper at Derby Park because he was poisoning the gophers.
He was ten when the earthquake hit. He spent his afternoons with his dad fixing the house. He was eleven when the first Gulf War was rammed down our throats. His reaction: "I've just got things together, and now this." He felt personally responsible to stop the war. We had to go out with him and protest every night because if we didn't, he'd have gone by himself, and he was young enough to think he could take on the counter-demonstrators, who were all, in Santa Cruz, drunken louts who would never have given him slack for being a distraught little kid.
When he was fourteen, he was already our family splinter remover. He wanted to do it, and his hands were steady and his touch was gentle. After pulling shards of glass from Emma's foot one day he came to me and said: "You know when you go through a windshield and all those pieces of glass get stuck in you and somebody has to stand up all night taking out every piece of glass? I want to be that guy."
He got a copy of The Coming Plague by Laurie Garrett, and he said, "You know how when there's a devastating epidemic, and the land is all blasted and people are dying everywhere, and there are those guys who come in and analyze the illness and figure out how to take care of the people? I want to be that guy."
So now he's that guy.
He gave his availability as up to the 20th. His flight for Prague is the 22nd.
He's planning on coming back in time for the Perseid meteor shower next year, to help scatter his father's ashes on Scout Peak, in the Pinnacles National Monument.
As I write, Gustav is a category four.
Every time he leaves I'm afraid I'll never see him again. He's probably laying over in Dallas right now. He'll be in Louisiana before Gustav makes its landfall. When he was down there for the aftermath of Katrina, Rita came through, and they did take shelter. So I suppose they have a planm to keep their workers safe during the storm.
This is what he's always wanted, as long as he's known what he wanted, adn before. When he was three we were in the grocery store and I had to explain the Nestle boycott ro him because he wanted that strawberry milk and Hershey only made chocolate. He digested the story and said, "I'm going to grow up and be superman and go to Africa and stop nestle."
When he was five, he tried to make a citizen's arrest of the groundskeeper at Derby Park because he was poisoning the gophers.
He was ten when the earthquake hit. He spent his afternoons with his dad fixing the house. He was eleven when the first Gulf War was rammed down our throats. His reaction: "I've just got things together, and now this." He felt personally responsible to stop the war. We had to go out with him and protest every night because if we didn't, he'd have gone by himself, and he was young enough to think he could take on the counter-demonstrators, who were all, in Santa Cruz, drunken louts who would never have given him slack for being a distraught little kid.
When he was fourteen, he was already our family splinter remover. He wanted to do it, and his hands were steady and his touch was gentle. After pulling shards of glass from Emma's foot one day he came to me and said: "You know when you go through a windshield and all those pieces of glass get stuck in you and somebody has to stand up all night taking out every piece of glass? I want to be that guy."
He got a copy of The Coming Plague by Laurie Garrett, and he said, "You know how when there's a devastating epidemic, and the land is all blasted and people are dying everywhere, and there are those guys who come in and analyze the illness and figure out how to take care of the people? I want to be that guy."
So now he's that guy.
He gave his availability as up to the 20th. His flight for Prague is the 22nd.
He's planning on coming back in time for the Perseid meteor shower next year, to help scatter his father's ashes on Scout Peak, in the Pinnacles National Monument.
As I write, Gustav is a category four.