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.