So, my half-siblings decided not to call any of their half-siblings from either of dad's two other families when he died; well, like Forest says in the TV version of Forest Gump, "it happens."
I heard from my friend Emmett in NJ; he said the same thing happened when his mother died in New Orleans, his half sister did not call and he did not find out for nearly two years; he said he was estranged from both of them and it also had to do with money. In my case, i'm sure money had a lot, if not everything, to do with the decisions they made.
Until i decided to write about my father's death, i had not thought about my half- siblings for years. It was just another of life's unreasonableness visited upon me.
Compared to seeing what life did to my mother by way of cancer, i can almost say: what these kin did was merely a lack of courtesy.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Death be not Proud
Getting to this point in writing about my parent's lives felt like a journey to me, now that i'm near the end. I can't say that i know my parents all that well, i just know some of the things they did, the choices they made, but i can't say i understand all the whys. That's ok, though; it was theirs, i'm just one of the results.
Last night, at the Target snack bar, i'm sitting with Guillermo and Eva, my two youngest, and Eva asks me if i've always been the way i am. It would have to be Eva to ask that sort of question; the most introverted child next to me. On summer break, she spends most of her day figuring out video games; out of the house, she's trying to figure me out. I asked, what "way" are you refering to? and she gives me a vague analysis of her perception of my personality. And i see what she has done, she has compared me to an extrovert, namely, her mother. She will eventually learn to better analyse by not comparing apples to oranges. The point is, my kids will probably never know everything about their parents either; we had our lives as individuals, and as a couple, before them, and that is ours to share or to keep.
We all had no doubt that dad's other family meant business, they would call the police in Matamoros if we tried to move dad to an assisted living facility in Texas. What happened next, i will give few details about because i had little to do with; it is something my younger sister did, so it would be her story to tell or not tell. She went through her state representative's office and got the authorities involved; the authorities did meet with dad and the matter was resolved. Unfortunately, dad told them he would stay in Matamoros; surprising for me? yes, shocking? no. I witnessed dad's mental state of being, as well as his physical condition. The sharp mind i was used to was no longer there; in it's place, something a little more like modeling clay.
I disagreed with dad's religious convictions, but that is far from thinking that he didn't have a sharp mind. I disagree with my younger sister's religious convictions as well, and i could never acuse her of having a dull mind, no matter how i've tried. But then, her and dad's dogmas disagreed as well, so they didn't gang up on me like my dear wife and Tania, my oldest daughter, do; but, i think keeping the dogmatic wolves at bay keeps my mind sharp.
They had convinced him to stay with them, and though sad, we acquiesced. They wanted him that badly, all we could do is hope they would find the way to give him the care he needed. Dad lived for another 10 months after that unpleasantness; i would call and my younger sister would call. I can't remember when exactly they started telling us that dad was not around, he would supposedly be somewhere; it might have been right after my visit, actually. My older sister never called him, she said that she had said good-bye to him forever the day he went to live with those people, and she told us from the begining that when dad died, they would not pick up the phone to let us know. Trish, a veteran of Mexican family wars and conflict, told me the same thing the day dad left: prepare yourself for that outcome.
And i did, i could very well imagine that, but i also said that if they were reasonable people they would realize, in the end, what part i played in their lives. What exactly did i do, did i beg to be born to their father? I think they will do the the decent thing when the time comes.
It was mid September the following year, i got a call from Arturo, in New Orleans, where he spends a lot of time with his grown kids. He told me that his mother, dad's first wife, who gets a social security check because dad had applied for her years ago, had gotten a letter from S.S., telling her that she would be getting an increase because of the death, but it did not mention any names and that's all they understood at the time. So, he was pretty certain that dad had passed away and that he didn't need to go poking around and didn't want to have anything to do with those people. I told him that i believed him, but would poke around anyway.
I called the Matamoros number and asked to speak to dad; C. told me, with obvious strain in her voice, that he was unavailable at that time for some reason i can't recall. I then called my younger sister and asked her when was the last time she'd spoken to dad; it had been a while and she had spoken to C. also a couple of weeks before, and had been told he was napping. I then told her what Arturo had told me.
Fortuitously, Trish had become aquianted with the pastor of the Mexican baptist church in Wichita Falls where dad's other family attended services, when they were living with dad in Burkburnett. The pastor had told Trish that he had visited her father-in-law one time, at his house, and asked about them. So, she called the pastor and explained the whole situation and asked if he could give them a call to ask about my father. He was glad to do it, and the next day he came over to tell us that C. had told him that her father had died about six weeks before.
And that was it, i never called again, never felt the need to speak or yell at them. I understood then the level of unadulterated bitterness and resentment that was fostered in that family. Of course there was anger on my part, but there were also conflicting feelings from imagining what their life must have been that i could not concentrate on that anger i thought i should be fostering. Calling family to tell them what had happened reminded me that it was grieving that i should be doing, and after that was done, the anger was just resentment.
Last night, at the Target snack bar, i'm sitting with Guillermo and Eva, my two youngest, and Eva asks me if i've always been the way i am. It would have to be Eva to ask that sort of question; the most introverted child next to me. On summer break, she spends most of her day figuring out video games; out of the house, she's trying to figure me out. I asked, what "way" are you refering to? and she gives me a vague analysis of her perception of my personality. And i see what she has done, she has compared me to an extrovert, namely, her mother. She will eventually learn to better analyse by not comparing apples to oranges. The point is, my kids will probably never know everything about their parents either; we had our lives as individuals, and as a couple, before them, and that is ours to share or to keep.
We all had no doubt that dad's other family meant business, they would call the police in Matamoros if we tried to move dad to an assisted living facility in Texas. What happened next, i will give few details about because i had little to do with; it is something my younger sister did, so it would be her story to tell or not tell. She went through her state representative's office and got the authorities involved; the authorities did meet with dad and the matter was resolved. Unfortunately, dad told them he would stay in Matamoros; surprising for me? yes, shocking? no. I witnessed dad's mental state of being, as well as his physical condition. The sharp mind i was used to was no longer there; in it's place, something a little more like modeling clay.
I disagreed with dad's religious convictions, but that is far from thinking that he didn't have a sharp mind. I disagree with my younger sister's religious convictions as well, and i could never acuse her of having a dull mind, no matter how i've tried. But then, her and dad's dogmas disagreed as well, so they didn't gang up on me like my dear wife and Tania, my oldest daughter, do; but, i think keeping the dogmatic wolves at bay keeps my mind sharp.
They had convinced him to stay with them, and though sad, we acquiesced. They wanted him that badly, all we could do is hope they would find the way to give him the care he needed. Dad lived for another 10 months after that unpleasantness; i would call and my younger sister would call. I can't remember when exactly they started telling us that dad was not around, he would supposedly be somewhere; it might have been right after my visit, actually. My older sister never called him, she said that she had said good-bye to him forever the day he went to live with those people, and she told us from the begining that when dad died, they would not pick up the phone to let us know. Trish, a veteran of Mexican family wars and conflict, told me the same thing the day dad left: prepare yourself for that outcome.
And i did, i could very well imagine that, but i also said that if they were reasonable people they would realize, in the end, what part i played in their lives. What exactly did i do, did i beg to be born to their father? I think they will do the the decent thing when the time comes.
It was mid September the following year, i got a call from Arturo, in New Orleans, where he spends a lot of time with his grown kids. He told me that his mother, dad's first wife, who gets a social security check because dad had applied for her years ago, had gotten a letter from S.S., telling her that she would be getting an increase because of the death, but it did not mention any names and that's all they understood at the time. So, he was pretty certain that dad had passed away and that he didn't need to go poking around and didn't want to have anything to do with those people. I told him that i believed him, but would poke around anyway.
I called the Matamoros number and asked to speak to dad; C. told me, with obvious strain in her voice, that he was unavailable at that time for some reason i can't recall. I then called my younger sister and asked her when was the last time she'd spoken to dad; it had been a while and she had spoken to C. also a couple of weeks before, and had been told he was napping. I then told her what Arturo had told me.
Fortuitously, Trish had become aquianted with the pastor of the Mexican baptist church in Wichita Falls where dad's other family attended services, when they were living with dad in Burkburnett. The pastor had told Trish that he had visited her father-in-law one time, at his house, and asked about them. So, she called the pastor and explained the whole situation and asked if he could give them a call to ask about my father. He was glad to do it, and the next day he came over to tell us that C. had told him that her father had died about six weeks before.
And that was it, i never called again, never felt the need to speak or yell at them. I understood then the level of unadulterated bitterness and resentment that was fostered in that family. Of course there was anger on my part, but there were also conflicting feelings from imagining what their life must have been that i could not concentrate on that anger i thought i should be fostering. Calling family to tell them what had happened reminded me that it was grieving that i should be doing, and after that was done, the anger was just resentment.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Call of the Wild
Mom with 2 of 11 grandkids, circa 1993
In 1988, when dad had his heart troubles, and my half-siblings came to visit him, i knew there was some strain between mom and dad. As usual, mom was probably nagging dad; but as usual, she probably had a valid point. Her arguement was that he had just gotten out of the hospital and his daughter, C., and his younger son, H., were still hanging around in Wichita Falls; their older brother, E., made an appearence just before they all left. So, he's going back and forth from Burk to W.F. and yelling at mom to stay out of it instead of just staying home and taking it easy.
When the siblings had gone back to Matamoros, i dropped by the house to see mom; i lived in an apartment and would go visit mom often, like a good Latin son. I asked her if she had any Cinzano and she gave me a small glass and i sat with her in the living room sipping the wine. She always kept her Reader's Digest, religious literature, and her bible, all in Spanish, on a large footstool in front of the sofa. "Oh!" she says to me reaching for her bible, "last night, while he was taking his shower, I rummaged through your father's wallet, and I found this," and she took out a little piece of paper from the book, "it's the Matamoros number," she whispered, as if dad was in the next room--he was at the shop.
She handed me the paper and i looked at it, "yep, that's what it looks like," I said taking a sip of Cinzano. Holding up the Italian wine, i said, "what color would you say that is?"
"It is convenient that I found it," she tells me, "because I want to talk to your half-sister, C.," and she placed the phone on the footstool in front of me. "Dial it for me and ask to speak to C. before you hand me the phone, I don't want to have to speak to the mother." Mom wore bifocals, so she's sitting across from me with her head tilted back some, looking at me through the bottom part of her lenses.
So, i make the call and pass her the phone when i determined that it was C. "Hello C.," she starts, "this is your father's wife. Look dear, I have something I want to say to you: it's very nice that want to visit your father, but you must know that these visits cause your father a great deal of stress, which is the last thing he needs with his heart problems. So, I don't think these visits are such a good idea."
C. has a high pitched voice to start with, and her response was immediate, venomous, and shrill; but, mom was also quick, she pulled the receiver away from her ear making a face, then she carefully put it back in its cradle.
"Wow! mother, what did you say to her?" i asked staring at the phone, in disbelief;
C. had totally lost it.
"You heard what I said.... I thought I was being quite reasonable."
"What is her problem?" i asked rhetorically.
Mom adjusted the apron over her lap, a gesture she shared with her sisters, "she needs to find a husband."
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
The Onion Trip
Visiting dad in Matamoros
Dad had a good friend in Burkburnett, Mr. B.; retired engineer, very smart, had a large vegetable garden; he died a few years after dad. He used to bring me shoes to mend, and after dad left, used to bring me vegetables from his garden, like he'd used to bring dad. When i told him that i would be going to visit dad, he brought me a bag full of big sweet onions, and asked me take some to dad and keep some for me.
When i got to Brownsville, i gave some to my aunt Carmen; in Matamoros i gave some to my half-brother, Arturo, and had a bunch left to give to dad.
I didn't make that trip just to take care of the business with dad's house; we did take care of it then, but it would have been done one way or another, sooner or later. So, this involves my younger sister, she graduated from Texas A&M as a biomedical engineer and worked for GE about 10 years; sometime after mom died she quit, went back to school, and became a physicians assistant--bla-bla-bla, yeah-yeah she got the brains in the family. Actually, our little, gay half-brother, H. has a doctorate in mathmatics, so they hogged all the brains in this tribe; but, i was given skills too like: nunchuck skills.... computer hacking skills.... and i can draw.
Anyway, it was fortuitous that at that time sis was working for a doctor who took care of the elderly in assisted living facilities; she did the routine check-ups for him. When dad first moved to Matamoros, she would call to see how he was doing and she would tell him about her job, taking care of people like him. So, dad started telling her about all the different health problems he had and that he thought he might do better in one those assisted living homes that she talked about, and she wholeheartedly agreed. She talked to her boss and the people in the facilities, and figured it would take what little saving dad had left and his social security check, and there would still be some owed each month, but she said she would take care of that. That's when i said i would go talk to dad in person about the matter.
I really didn't have to ask if he was sure it was what he wanted, i saw it pretty much right away; and it was no one's fault--age was just doing it's thing, he was in bad shape. He didn't live in their small house, he had his own seperate room with a bath that had been built next to the house. When it was time for Arturo and i to leave, we planned to inform dad's other family about his wishes to move. When we stepped outside, dad's wife, the daughter, and older brother (not litttle H.) were waiting for us, and they were none too happy; i think (as they say in Mexico) they smelled something.
I do not do verbal confrontation in english, much less in spanish; i'm a clam, and so is Trish (we are both moonchildren); in the 20 years we've been married, we
have never finished a fight.
I could only stand there and watch Arturo go toe to toe with all three, but he had no problems taking them on. They were even pissed that we didn't call before showing up and claimed that they knew i was up to no good, but i never got any specifics on that. Bottom line, they would call the cops on us if we tried to take their father away from them.
Bridges were burned that day.
Sunday, June 6, 2010
A House Divided
Father did not sell his house, like mother wanted. Instead, he gave it to me; he said it would come in handy with all those kids we have. I told him i would keep it available to him in case he changed his mind about living with his other family.
In time, i saw that dad was not going to be coming back to Burkburnett where he'd spent nearly 35 years. Thinking about it, i realized that i had not noticed how quickly he had been aging because i saw him every day; and whether he thought this or not, he probably did not have long on this earth, so spending time with his other family was now or never. And i was totally cool with that.
Then there was a slight complication with getting the deed to the house put in my name: mother had died intestate, so there would be some extra paperwork to do; half the house was hers. I called father and told him i would send a document for him to sign, he said to send it. It was sent and i heard nothing for weeks; i called my half sister C. and she said they'd gotten no such thing in the mail. I'd sent a few things to them, and they'd gotten them, so i knew she was lying. So, i decided to call my little half-brother H., whom i'd had a brief conversation with in 1988 when he'd visited with his older sister. I knew he was in San Antonio going to school, and hoped to appeal to a sense of logic in getting this business taken care of. But before i tell you about that phone call i must say that my little half-brother H. is gay, but only because i'm about to repeat a story that dad told me about H.
Believe me, i have absolutely nothing against gayness; i know there is rampant homophobia among Hispanics, it's that machismo thing, and on top of that is religion piling it on--like pious straight people don't do some questionable stuff in private. Anyway, dad went to visit little H., who is actually the baby of the families, now that i think about it; he told me that H. took him on the riverwalk and dad had experienced the Peruvians playing their musica folklorica and he brought back one of the tapes they sold to tourists. So, visit over, dad had his things packed, ready to hit the road, and as a by-the-way, dad says to little H.: so when are you getting married? Well, that was a mistake, litttle H. threw a fit; told dad to get the f--- out of his house.
Probably, what H. didn't understand about dad was that he wasn't an ignorant fool; he just came from a different time, and was determined to stay there. Dad knew quite well that his little H. was homosexual, but in his world, gay or straight, you married the opposite sex and hid your "tendencies" from the world and even your spouse, if possible; you learned to live your miserable life as long as it all looked "normal."
So, over the phone, i explained to H. the situation i had with his delighful sister in Matamoros, and implored to him that i only wished to take care of this business with the house like father had asked me to. He then becomes belligerent, and he accuses me of having let father physically deteriorate to a shadow of his former self. Furthermore, he accuses me of wanting to strip father of all his worldly possesions, and that that was my only objective in life. So, i got my answer fairly quick, but it wasn't a short conversation; he became quite emotional and threw in the f-word occasionally, for good measure. He actually wanted me to believe that he was crying because of what i had done and was doing to our father. I could only think of the story that dad had told me about H., and try not to laugh, which was difficult because he got melodramatic; he said things like: i told my partner that my heart just broke when i saw father....
I expected him to just hang up on me pretty soon into it, the way he was carrying on, but he just kept at it. I didn't hang up because i wanted to hear this crap; this kind of crap fascinated me. I grew up with two sisters, this was a new experience for me, i never had this level of emotional turmoil dealing with them. After a while, i just said: listen, forget it, i know where you all stand, fine; and he said: ok.... bye.
I then called Arturo, my half-brother from dad's first marrige, he lives in Matamoros, and had gone to visit dad on one occasion. Told him the situation and that i would be going to visit dad, would he come with me? He said he would be glad to. So, in July 2003 i went down to Brownsville, and stayed with my aunt Carmen; i walked across the border, and then Arturo and i went to visit dad.
In time, i saw that dad was not going to be coming back to Burkburnett where he'd spent nearly 35 years. Thinking about it, i realized that i had not noticed how quickly he had been aging because i saw him every day; and whether he thought this or not, he probably did not have long on this earth, so spending time with his other family was now or never. And i was totally cool with that.
Then there was a slight complication with getting the deed to the house put in my name: mother had died intestate, so there would be some extra paperwork to do; half the house was hers. I called father and told him i would send a document for him to sign, he said to send it. It was sent and i heard nothing for weeks; i called my half sister C. and she said they'd gotten no such thing in the mail. I'd sent a few things to them, and they'd gotten them, so i knew she was lying. So, i decided to call my little half-brother H., whom i'd had a brief conversation with in 1988 when he'd visited with his older sister. I knew he was in San Antonio going to school, and hoped to appeal to a sense of logic in getting this business taken care of. But before i tell you about that phone call i must say that my little half-brother H. is gay, but only because i'm about to repeat a story that dad told me about H.
Believe me, i have absolutely nothing against gayness; i know there is rampant homophobia among Hispanics, it's that machismo thing, and on top of that is religion piling it on--like pious straight people don't do some questionable stuff in private. Anyway, dad went to visit little H., who is actually the baby of the families, now that i think about it; he told me that H. took him on the riverwalk and dad had experienced the Peruvians playing their musica folklorica and he brought back one of the tapes they sold to tourists. So, visit over, dad had his things packed, ready to hit the road, and as a by-the-way, dad says to little H.: so when are you getting married? Well, that was a mistake, litttle H. threw a fit; told dad to get the f--- out of his house.
Probably, what H. didn't understand about dad was that he wasn't an ignorant fool; he just came from a different time, and was determined to stay there. Dad knew quite well that his little H. was homosexual, but in his world, gay or straight, you married the opposite sex and hid your "tendencies" from the world and even your spouse, if possible; you learned to live your miserable life as long as it all looked "normal."
So, over the phone, i explained to H. the situation i had with his delighful sister in Matamoros, and implored to him that i only wished to take care of this business with the house like father had asked me to. He then becomes belligerent, and he accuses me of having let father physically deteriorate to a shadow of his former self. Furthermore, he accuses me of wanting to strip father of all his worldly possesions, and that that was my only objective in life. So, i got my answer fairly quick, but it wasn't a short conversation; he became quite emotional and threw in the f-word occasionally, for good measure. He actually wanted me to believe that he was crying because of what i had done and was doing to our father. I could only think of the story that dad had told me about H., and try not to laugh, which was difficult because he got melodramatic; he said things like: i told my partner that my heart just broke when i saw father....
I expected him to just hang up on me pretty soon into it, the way he was carrying on, but he just kept at it. I didn't hang up because i wanted to hear this crap; this kind of crap fascinated me. I grew up with two sisters, this was a new experience for me, i never had this level of emotional turmoil dealing with them. After a while, i just said: listen, forget it, i know where you all stand, fine; and he said: ok.... bye.
I then called Arturo, my half-brother from dad's first marrige, he lives in Matamoros, and had gone to visit dad on one occasion. Told him the situation and that i would be going to visit dad, would he come with me? He said he would be glad to. So, in July 2003 i went down to Brownsville, and stayed with my aunt Carmen; i walked across the border, and then Arturo and i went to visit dad.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Retirement
To begin a pair of cowboy boots, we start with a pair of lasts that have been fitted to the customer's measurements and toe style. When i started constructing boots, start to finish, without help from my dad, about 15 years ago, dad would still find and fit the lasts for me. I thought that was very cool of him, i could get right to building the boot and not have that anxiety about how they would fit the customer; i figured eventually he would say: here are the customers measurements, go find some lasts and fit them. Later on, i figured he would say: there's the customer, measure his feet and go from there; and he would be around to check my work.
Of course, it didn't happen that way, or i wouldn't be telling this story. The day before he got on the plane to go live with his other family, he sat me down and explained last fitting to me; took about an hour and a half, then i was on my own. I'd seen him work lasts since i was a kid, i knew what he did, that day i started to learn why. I thought it was an odd way to teach me this task, but now i think that it's not an exact science; some of it is experience and intuition, so actually he did all he could.
The last pair of boots that dad made were in December 2001, he was 81 years old. He didn't make many pair that year, there were many aches and pains, the knee, the shoulder, the neck, the back....Early in 2002 he said he would not make another pair of boots and it was time for him to go live with his other family. Trish and i tried to talk him out of it and he would give us different reasons for wanting to leave; what was odd to me was that he never mentioned the wife that was waiting for him in Matamoros. He waited until September and then left to start his retirement.
Of course, it didn't happen that way, or i wouldn't be telling this story. The day before he got on the plane to go live with his other family, he sat me down and explained last fitting to me; took about an hour and a half, then i was on my own. I'd seen him work lasts since i was a kid, i knew what he did, that day i started to learn why. I thought it was an odd way to teach me this task, but now i think that it's not an exact science; some of it is experience and intuition, so actually he did all he could.
The last pair of boots that dad made were in December 2001, he was 81 years old. He didn't make many pair that year, there were many aches and pains, the knee, the shoulder, the neck, the back....Early in 2002 he said he would not make another pair of boots and it was time for him to go live with his other family. Trish and i tried to talk him out of it and he would give us different reasons for wanting to leave; what was odd to me was that he never mentioned the wife that was waiting for him in Matamoros. He waited until September and then left to start his retirement.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Todos mis Children
I understand now how the choices i made for myself, starting about the time i graduated high school, would create a life that my children would have to share in, at least until their time to create their own life.
On occasion i have regreted not finishing college in order to go into a good paying career; for them, not for me, but that's as far as i go with regrets.
It surprises me that my father's choices in life did not cause me and my sisters more grief growing up. It may have been the distance between Burkburnett and Matamoros that saved us.
Eventually, though, father's children from the woman he chose not to marry showed up. It was 1988, dad wound up in the hospital with a clogged artery; that year he had two medical procedures done to unclog it, that's when they showed up. It was the woman my age, or older, and her younger brother. They did not come to the house, of course, they mostly stayed in Wichita Falls. The details of that visit are unimportant to me, so i'll skip them; i'll just say that i met them, i was civil, they were civil, i mostly ignored them when they were around, and they left.
One of the last things that my mother said to me, literally on her deathbed, was that she thought it would be best for everyone that, when she was gone, dad should sell the house and go live with his other family in Matamoros; she knew they wanted him. I'm a little surprised they didn't hate him, after all, he chose my mother to marry and bring to the U.S. I guess it didn't hurt that he came with a Social Security check.
Mom left us in 1995. Father did not sell the house, but 4 or 5 years later he went down to Matamoros and married the mother of his illigitimate children. He came back by himself, and he never told me he'd done that; he told my wife, Trish. I can only theorize that if he'd had a legtimate reason for this marrige, he would have no trouble telling me himself; he would expect that telling me would have provoked questions from me with difficult answers. When Trish told me, i could only laugh;
i never brought it up with dad, it was his life. He was 78 or 79 years old, for heaven's sake; i say live and let live.
A year or so later the new wife and daughter showed up, at the house this time. Dad said very little about it, they were there, thats all. They attended the Mexican baptist church in Wichita Falls, not dads church. They stayed a few months and then went back to Matamoros; dad didn't say much about it, they'd left, that's all.
On occasion i have regreted not finishing college in order to go into a good paying career; for them, not for me, but that's as far as i go with regrets.
It surprises me that my father's choices in life did not cause me and my sisters more grief growing up. It may have been the distance between Burkburnett and Matamoros that saved us.
Eventually, though, father's children from the woman he chose not to marry showed up. It was 1988, dad wound up in the hospital with a clogged artery; that year he had two medical procedures done to unclog it, that's when they showed up. It was the woman my age, or older, and her younger brother. They did not come to the house, of course, they mostly stayed in Wichita Falls. The details of that visit are unimportant to me, so i'll skip them; i'll just say that i met them, i was civil, they were civil, i mostly ignored them when they were around, and they left.
One of the last things that my mother said to me, literally on her deathbed, was that she thought it would be best for everyone that, when she was gone, dad should sell the house and go live with his other family in Matamoros; she knew they wanted him. I'm a little surprised they didn't hate him, after all, he chose my mother to marry and bring to the U.S. I guess it didn't hurt that he came with a Social Security check.
Mom left us in 1995. Father did not sell the house, but 4 or 5 years later he went down to Matamoros and married the mother of his illigitimate children. He came back by himself, and he never told me he'd done that; he told my wife, Trish. I can only theorize that if he'd had a legtimate reason for this marrige, he would have no trouble telling me himself; he would expect that telling me would have provoked questions from me with difficult answers. When Trish told me, i could only laugh;
i never brought it up with dad, it was his life. He was 78 or 79 years old, for heaven's sake; i say live and let live.
A year or so later the new wife and daughter showed up, at the house this time. Dad said very little about it, they were there, thats all. They attended the Mexican baptist church in Wichita Falls, not dads church. They stayed a few months and then went back to Matamoros; dad didn't say much about it, they'd left, that's all.
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