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Thursday, October 08, 2009
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Category: Writing and Poetry
Tomorrow I am making the 300 mile drive south to St. George, Utah, to visit my daughter, Teresa. She works as a medical assistant for an oncologist in St. George and has done so now for three years. I am very proud of her and what she has been able to accomplish in life and how self-sufficient she has become. As an overly concerned (spelled; P R O T E C T I V E) father, I am now used to the fact that my "little girl" is on her own and lives so far away from home. But I remember well the mixed bag of emotions I felt in the days leading up to her "big move" and my fateful trip south to help her move.
Teresa and her roommate had moved in with my wife and I for "a couple of weeks" prior to their southern migration, in order to get themselves financially stable enough to move. I had begged them to "PLEASE, stay with us at least a month or two before making such a big move."
But my daughter was insistent, a couple of weeks, she had said, would be as long as they were willing to be dependent upon parents! FIVE MONTHS later they packed up their cars and were gone.
In all honesty I can't say that I was happy to see them finally leave. But it was a God send to get through one meal without simultaneously having to watch a major surgery on the Discovery Health Channel (My daughter's MUST WATCH TV!). I would however recommend this technique to anyone feeling discouraged with their weight loss efforts. I myself lost an amazing 32 pounds viewing open heart, knee replacement and liposuction surgeries during mealtime.
I had agreed that I would follow the girls to St. George a few days after they left, with my own car filled with boxes, containers and suitcases bursting at the seams with all their worldly belongings. They had promised that the items they had left for me to bring were only the "barest of essentials." Items they just could not live more than a day or two without.
After tearing seven abdominal muscles, and popping my left testicle, I lifted the last of their essential boxes into my car. Curiosity finally got the better of me and I opened this last box to see what it was that two girls could not survive without that could possibly weigh 750 pounds!
Since when did 22 pairs of shoes, 7 make-up boxes, 9 bottles of various fragrances of bubble bath, 13 large candles in bottles, and an undetermined amount of hand and body lotions become essential to ones survival???
Having attended college in St. George a thousand years ago, I have had a long standing love affair with this area and have made this same drive from Salt Lake City to St. George countless times. But never before had I the opportunity of driving this 300-mile stretch of road ALONE and quite honestly I was looking forward to the solitude of the drive.
It's amazing the different perspective you can get from a familiar stretch of road when traveling alone as opposed to a car full of screaming, crying, obnoxious children and other loving family members. Rather than white knuckling the steering wheel in a vain effort to keep myself from jumping over the back seat to strangle the next one of my adorable children who asked "Are we there yet???" I was relaxed and at ease. I felt almost serene as I took in all the beauty I had heretofore missed while driving down this same stretch of road under the influence of five Xanax's I had always felt the need to take in order to survive the trip with my loving family.
To those of you familiar with this drive down I-15 from Salt Lake City, you will know that the 300 mile trip is divided into segments of small towns that are set almost perfectly 50 miles apart. Provo, Nephi, Fillmore, Beaver, Cedar City, and finally St. George. I have always divided the drive into these six 50 mile segments, which mentally made the trip seem much shorter. This time however, as I drove in solitude, everything seemed different.
Not far outside of Nephi the weather began to turn sour. The clouds darkened, flashes of lightening began reflecting off my windshield, followed by a heavy rain. My attention soon turned from the beauty of the drive to paying attention to road signs and staying in my own lane. In good weather I was almost certain that I could make this drive with my eyes closed. But this torrential rain made driving with your eyes closed seem almost preferable.
Soon I spotted an old familiar sign, the "Fillmore, Beaver" turn off. Suddenly something struck me funny. Why had I not noticed that before? "Fillmore, Beaver!" Who in the Hell besides the State of Utah would put up a road sign that says "Fillmore Beaver" and not think a thing about it?
I was still chuckling to myself several miles later when I saw a flashing, neon light in the distance. Even before I could make out what the sign said I knew it to be the Welcome to Beaver sign sponsored by the Rotary and Lions Clubs of Beaver, Utah. That sign, featuring a large beaver bordered by a neon light, had been there since I was a child. What had always struck me as strange was that the neon light had been shorted and blinking in the same spot for just as long. This time however, for the very first time, the sign spoke to me.
"Oh, my God," I thought "A flashing beaver on the side of the road!" This had to be an omen.
The rain began to subside a bit, and I couldn't keep myself from thinking about the irony of the two signs I had just passed. Never before had I felt a desire to turn off the freeway and visit the small central Utah town of Beaver. Then again never before had I traveled this road alone, it was time for a change. I took the next exit and soon found myself heading smack dab into Beaver. Even that thought made me chuckle.
Each side of the street heading into town was lined with very neat, small, brick houses, each with immaculate yards and brightly colored flowers. Parked in front of one of the houses was a white utility truck, several men dressed in greed coveralls were busy filling the bed of the truck with tree branches. As I passed them by my eyes caught the words "BEAVER TRIMMERS" printed in big bold letters on the driver's side door.
No freaking way!!!
What was going on here? Was this really as funny as it seemed, or was I just being overcome by a severe epidemic of silliness? I came to the conclusion that the latter must be true. Just then I looked up in time to see a sign posted by a local real estate agency and development firm. The sign declared:
"City life have you feeling Claustrophobic? Try Beaver! Still as wide open as ever!"
This was too much! I knew it couldn't be just a bad spell of silliness, especially when another sign in front of an approaching fruit stand advertised "Beaver Cherries $4.99" Sounded like a Hell of a deal to me, so I stopped.
Trying to gain my composure I walked through the isles of fresh fruit. I had to fight myself to keep from popping one of the "Beaver Cherries" as I passed, but I knew doing so would throw me back into uncontrolled fits of laughter. As I headed back to my car to continue my journey, I passed a homely, zit faced young man sitting in a lawn chair who thrust a small Dixie cup in my direction.
"Sir, would you like a sample of our new Beaver Juice?" the boy asked in a high pitched, nasally voice.
That was the last straw! I could not leave "Wide open Beaver" with its "Beaver Cherries" and "Beaver Juice" fast enough. In fact it seems, I may have been just a bit too anxious to leave. Just before making it to the Freeway on-ramp I glanced into my rearview mirror only to be greeted by red and blue flashing lights.
"Oh Christ, not the BEAVER POLICE!"
After several minutes a Barney Fife looking fellow in horn rimmed, mirror glasses leaned his head in my window.
"Good afternoon sir," Barney said in the same nasally voice as his son back at the fruit stand. "May I ask if you have any business in Beaver today?"
"Just visiting," I answered
"So you are unfamiliar with Beaver?"
"More than I care to admit," I said staring at my steering wheel and biting my lip to maintain my composure.
"Do you have any idea why I pulled you over today sir?" Barney asked.
"For pulling out too quick?" I asked, unable to resist the wise crack.
"That is correct sir" Barney proclaimed while pulling off his sunglasses in an effort to show the seriousness of what he was saying. "While you may have been within the posted speed limit, that speed limit applies to conditions permitting. With today's rain fall you can see that the roads are quite wet."
"Yes sir," I said trying to be as polite as possible.
"While I'm not going to cite you this time," Barney said "I will leave you with this warning,"
"Okay," I nodded, receptive to any advice Officer Barney offered that would keep me from getting a ticket.
"After many years of patrolling this road it has been my experience that Beaver can become quite slippery when wet."
"Thank you very much, I'll try to keep that in mind." I said fighting back the fits of laughter that swelled within me, as Barney walked back to his patrol car.
I finally made my escape from Beaver and continued on to St. George, where my very impatient daughter awaited me.
"Dad, where on earth have you been?" she asked waiting to hear what creative excuse her old man could pull out of his hat this time.
"You're not going to believe this hon," I said putting my arm around her waist. "But I stopped for a little Beaver on the way."
"DAD!!!"
I wonder what my wife will think tomorrow as I give that flashing beaver a wink and a smile as we pass on by… Without stopping!!!
THE STORY BEHIND THE STORY
Hi folks, I would like to begin this “Story behind the story” by apologizing for my lengthy absence from posting on “MySpace”. I had promised that throughout the month of October I would be posting my newest short story “mini-series” “THE GHOST WRITER”. My intentions remain true to this promise. However, as of late my focus and attention has been directed to a particular and very personal family matter. All of my stories are derived in one way or another from true events in my life, obviously some more than others. The story you just read perhaps is closest to being Non-Fiction than anything I have ever written. This is because it deals with a true event when my oldest daughter Teresa, after years of fighting and struggling to find her footing in this crazy world in which we live, ventured out on her own in search of who she was and what she wanted from this life. I couldn’t be happier to report that in the three years since she made this move she has done a whole lifetime’s worth of personal growth. She is working as a Medical Assistant for an Oncologist in Southern Utah and after twenty-nine years she has finally found true happiness and love in her life. The only problem is the source of her love and happiness is an honest, good young man from Morocco, hence the problem. She met this young man here on MySpace two years ago and believe it or not… THEY FELL IN LOVE! Of course as a concerned father I was at first, skeptical and very un-supportive of this relationship. Then over the course of months then years, I watched as this relationship grew. I watched night after night as the two of them alternated staying up to the wee hours of the morning local time so that they could time together each and every day of the week, month, and now, years. I watched as my daughter scrimped, saved and sacrificed in order to earn enough money to fly to Morocco and spend a month with this young man she had come to love. I have always been a firm believer in strict immigration policies for our Country, so I urged my daughter to be patient and if she honestly wanted to marry this young man to do it the right and proper way and gain legal immigration into our Country for this young man who had become the love of her life. I warned her that it would be very expensive and would not be easy but in the end, I promised, it would all be worth it. Both my daughter and her now fiancée agreed with me completely and set forth to do just that. Over the course of the next year they jumped though every hoop they were instructed to, spent hours upon hours filling out countless forms and documents, spent thousands of dollars {much more money than either one of them had put away} in filing fees and legal counseling. Finally after a Roller-Coaster ride that would leave the most extreme thrill seeker retching, they were at long last told that their application had passed Homeland Security Checks, and every other hurdle needed here in the United States and was being forwarded to the U.S. embassy in Morocco where after he passed his medical screens and examination and received all inoculation needed for entry into the U.S. he would be granted his final interview to receive his K1 Fiancee Visa. At that time countless more dollars were spent for Medical examinations and inoculations. Here in the U.S. a Wedding dress was bought, Reception Hall rented, plans made and an extremely excited bride to be, who had sacrificed more than anybody knows to get to this point, waited anxiously. This Last Monday my “Son-in-law” to be, Issam Riah went to the U.S. embassy in Morocco, ecstatic that after all they had been through and so much time apart he would soon be united with the young woman he loved with all his heart. For four hours Issam sat in this interview nervously listening to and answering each and every question asked with his limited English skills. Finally he was asked a question about my youngest daughter who he had earlier told them had recently had a baby boy. The interviewer asked him if: “She was out on maternity leave?” Issam didn’t understand the question, he had never heard of “Maternity Leave.” In this particular interviews eyes the process was over at this point. She told Issam it was her feeling that he did not possess the verbal skills he would need to succeed in America and that he had not provided sufficient evidence that his bride to be had support from her family and friends that they would need in order for him to succeed in America. Folks, as father and head of this so called “Un-supportive Family”, I can tell you unequivocally that this short-sighted, Embassy Bureaucrat could use my support as an Armature Proctologist! In the end, Issam was given no promises but told he could have till October 19th to provide proof that he had support and would be welcomed here in the United States. Our family now is on a two week mission to do anything and everything possible to prove to the embassy that Issam has a loving and supportive family and many supportive and welcoming friends awaiting him here in the United States. For three years now I have been sharing my stories and essays with you here on MySpace and I have made so very many wonderful friends doing so. I have said many times in the past that the friendships I have made would be the only payment I would ever ask for sharing my stories and I have stuck to this. But now for the first time I am asking you; if I have ever given you a smile when you most needed one, if you ever related to a certain character in one of my stories, if I ever caused you to shed a tear, or opportunity to stop and reflect… I am asking you to send my daughter Teresa and her fiancée Issam a short note of support to: foreverRaih@yahoo.com It doesn’t have to be anything long, something as simple as; “Hang in there guys, we are with you!”, or “Everything will be okay, just be strong” I know these little notes will not assure that Teresa and Issam will be united, but just maybe the sheer volume of support might help a little. If nothing else, it will give this couple a little bit of encouragement they so badly need right now and make a father feel like he is doing all he can. Thank you so very much!!! ~Lattie~
ISSAM AND TERESA
6:49 PM
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