Archived Excerpts

2011-03-23 11:00:06

January 3, 2002

We've been here in Baja since December 23. Last year I was up at 3 or 4 every morning writing, but this year I'm sleeping more. I need it. It feels great. Not just the sleep, but sleeping with the kids until morning.

We've been reading a lot.. Last night in the tent we finished "Freddie the Pilot," all 249 pages. I read for nearly 90 minutes solid and they still wanted more.

I love it when I read to them. They're literally all over me. Each of them likes to lie on top of me. I've got a reading light fixed up, clipped to the side of the tent, and Tai squeezes between me and the tent wall and Maks lies on my back as I lie on my stomach, or sometimes Tai lies on me, his chin on my shoulder. He likes to read along with me, or at least keep his eyes on the words as I read, and follow.

Spanish has been going terrific. We're spending nearly 3 hrs a morning on Spanish, roughly 8-11, just going through Tai's words. He has a stack of index cards now that's nearly two inches thick, and every day we add about 10 more words. He’s reading in Spanish now, and then translates himself. Each sentence is a surprise, I cover the translation with an index card, and then lift it, and he sees how close he was. Often he's perfect.

Maks said he was reading a book himself. I asked him, What's it called? I don't know, he said. What it's about? I don't know, he said, I can't read.

Monsters flew out of books, first Peter Seeger’s Abiyoyo, the giant I said lived on the mountain that loomed over Los Barriles; now Flat Man, an evil wisp with icy breath that slithered under doors and window cracks to smother and swallow children. Flat Man taps on the window and says, “Let me innn … I'm cominnnng …” and I’d hide around a corner and say that in a threatening whisper, and Maks would freak, before I smothered them like an anaconda as the Flat Man does.

The other night there was a full moon. I hadn't shaved in a few days. I told them I was a werewolf, or hombre lobo. We made a big deal of it, had a lot of fun: Esta noche, con la luna grande, Papa esta un hombre lobo, I would say, with a menacing voice. Then I'd growl and squeeze them and rub them with my whiskers. I said I was gonna eat them up. Maks got kind of scared.

We went into the tent on the full moon night, and I said, Esta noche… and he quick said, Can I go inside? In the morning, he was full of relief at having survived, and challenged me as to why he was still alive, as if I weren't such a big bad hombre lobo after all, and I said I went out and ate two other little boys instead, two little Mexican boys up in the mountains, because I was in the mood for Mexican food. Next month, I told him.

Lorna the Leopard Lady hooked up with Abiyoyo and the Flat Man. She wasn’t a monster, just your original lipstick-wearing pig (and quite sweet about it). Would you like a beeg keees? she kept asking, so we’d ask each other six times a day. Maks ran around saying it and trying to kiss us, So we call him Lorna.

January 6, 2002

Maks has begun chasing cars. He's got some new nicknames, so maybe we should add el perro loco. His new nicknames are, in addition to wumpinzif boy and bugginme boy, Queso Kid because cheese is his favorite food. Wisecracker, tho that one isn't sticking.

Neighbor Lou calls him Tiro Fijo, or Sure Shot because Maks runs around squirting people with his pistol.

Tai's new nickname, which he likes, is Fidget. Because he's always fidgeting. Even in the middle of the night, in his sleep, his feet are fidgeting against my legs. He sleeps at the foot of the tent, horizontally. That's his spot. When we play games, or when he's at school with me, he's always grabbing something with his hands and fidgeting with it. I'm constantly reaching over and taking things away from him. When he has nothing to fidget with, he makes mouth noises, like he gulps a lot. Stop! I say.

Maks discovered Gary Larson and Far Side, in the anthology he found on the bookshelves that ran along the front of the trailer behind the dining nook. “Trapped like rodentia!” we’d say a dozen times a day, stealing the line from a cartoon with nerdy scientists and giant bugs.

January 9, 2002

Trapped like rodentia! We took a shower together and Maks was singing it, got it from Far Side book, must have said it 50 or more times—and he was trapped, I have to trap him in there to get him to shower. He goes from yelling bloody murder to being perfectly happy in an instant, in there. His over-reaction to water in his eyes is so strong, let alone soap.

Yesterday Maks took a long walk by himself on the beach. Just up and did it, without encouragement. Tanis came and told us. She saw him walking along, talking happily to himself. It's not exactly talking to himself, it's usually having dialog between imaginary characters.

It's 4:45 a.m., Tai is here with me in the trailer as I write. He asked what I'm writing about, I showed him the notes I have, eight different things, from Lorna the Leopard lady to how well he did at the raffle. Told Tai that he might never read this until he's 18 or 20 years old, or older, but he'll be able to know who he was, what his life was like. Or maybe when I'm an old, old man, in the old folks' home, and can't remember a thing about my boys growing up, I'll be able to take out this journal and relive it all. These are great times, I told Tai, they really are. I got damp-eyed as I said it, as I am now.

Maks was learning to ride a bicycle and struggling, mostly because the RV park was sandy and he couldn’t get going. It's harder for Maks than it was for Tai because he's only 4 and a half; last year when Tai learned he was nearly six, and that makes a huge difference. Size, coordination, concentration.

January 10, 2002 I think we've solved it. Brodie's bike is too small for him, it has 10 inch wheels, so we fixed up Brodie's and before that Savanna's old pink bike, with the tiny wheels. Painted it black. Discussed names for it, and decided to call it La Pantera Negra. Like Maks, who pounces all the time, on me. Used a silver marker and wrote Maks on the stem, and La Pantera Negra on the crossbar.

January 11 Took him for a bike riding lesson on the way to school, at La Concha, the small stadium with a concrete soccer field. He did fantastic. Stopped without falling, and never fell once while riding. He even made turns, did laps around the court. He asked if we could stay longer. He's so cute, wearing my old windsurfing helmet with the red and gold flames.

January 12 He doesn't need any help any more, I just sit in the bleachers and watch. Although today he rode straight into a goalpost. He hasn't quite gotten the concept of thinking ahead yet.

I pretend he's a racedriver ( a motorcycle racer, not a car driver, he pointed out), and I'm the announcer, and I narrate it all loudly, as he rides around the perimeter of the field, following the painted line, like an oval track, 3 or 4 laps or more. He wins every time, of course. Then I carry him the rest of the way to school on my shoulders.

No monsters allowed in the tent at night, but I couldn’t keep out dreams.

Tai woke up with a bad dream. A weird girl was chasing me, he said, she had white stuff on her face and fingers like frog fingers, with circles on the end of her fingers, and like Lorna the Leopard Lady she was saying, "Would you like a beeg kees?"

Then last night Maks woke up, with the same story almost. Only he said Savannah was in it, and the girl chasing him turned into a monkey-man. He said he didn't want to go back to sleep because of the bad dreams, so we talked for a long time, at 2 a.m.

We listened to all the sounds, it was a quiet night. We heard snoring, tried to guess who it was (Laurence, we think); one dog barking a little bit (moonless night, they're quiet); a scraping noise (Maks scratching his leg); a car came in the park and dropped something off. Almost no other sounds, very rare. No chickens, no trucks on the highway, no trailers with propane heaters turning on.

He snuggled up to me. Tai was on the other side, close, sometimes awake for a bit. I've moved my foam pad into the middle, because it was too confining up against the side of the tent. God, it doesn't get any better than this. As I told Mom on the phone the other day, I've never felt this content, sleeping with a woman.

Reading books aloud to the kids has been one of the great joys of my life, and it began in the tent in Baja. The authors I discovered! Walter Brooks was eye-opening, and now Tolkien was exhilirating. And the next year in Baja it would be C.S. Lewis and Narnia. If it hadn’t been for the kids, I would have missed it all.

We've very much into The Hobbit. I'm surprised by how much they're into it, they can't wait to hear what will happen next. I read it before breakfast, sometimes before dinner, and at bedtime. In little more than a week we've polished off 190 pages.

We had a great time a couple days ago, went to Agua Caliente about 45 minutes away, into a tiny village back in an arroyo, then a long hike over boulders along a stream to waterfalls and hot springs, well lukewarm. Some climbing over 6-foot boulders. We made it like a hobbit expedition the whole way, with me shouting about goblins and wood-elves and wargs and Beor. I was Gandalf, Maks was Bilbo and Tai was Thorin.

I said I saw a serpent with 4 red eyes and two forked tongues, plus the wargs came out when the sun went down, so we had to race back before sunset. Maks truly ran, just in case; I was last, yelling about the wargs' hot slobbery breath down my back, plus the frogs that sucked your blood like leeches and the vines that strangled you, and the moss on the water was the slime of Mirkwood, and there were thorns on bushes that would fly off their stems and spear you.

We were gone nearly 4 hours on this expedition, the kids climbed some rugged stuff, great for their confidence. We stopped at the blue tarp for tacos on the way home, and polished off our usual 16.

I've been taking Maks to the local Mexican pre-school every day, dragging his bike that we call La Pantera Negra (the black panther) half the way. La Pantera Negra used to be pink, when it was Savanna’s bike.

We stop at La Concha, the small stadium with a concrete soccer field, so he can ride for 15 minutes before school. He's so cute on the bike with its tiny wheels, wearing my old windsurfing helmet with the red and gold flames.

He doesn't need any help any more, I just sit in the bleachers and watch. Although yesterday he rode straight into a goalpost. He hasn't quite gotten the concept of thinking ahead yet.

I say he's a racedriver ( a motorcycle racer, not a car driver, he pointed out), and I'm the track announcer. I narrate it all loudly, as he rides around the perimeter of the field, following the painted line, like an oval track, 3 or 4 laps or more. He wins every time. Then I carry him the rest of the way to school on my shoulders.

He appears to be popular. Yesterday a boy ran up to him and grabbed his hand. And when I come to pick him up, the kids recognize me, and shout, Mawks! Mawks! to tell him his dad is here.

Meanwhile Tai loves to race me here in the RV park, back from the beach. We zoom very fast down the concrete road between the hotels, then onto the dirt, and around the sandy curve before the trailer. We actually slide the bikes, tail out. Tai usually cuts me off, he's quite aggressive. We've had contact. He loves to race. I make him ask me in Spanish, Quieres hacer una carrera? Hecho. Listo? Listo. Uno, dos, tres, vamos!

January 26

Maks has got the bike riding down. Last Sunday morning he went out on his own for the first time, and now one week later he's completely comfortable, riding all over the place. We even have races, like I do with Tai. I call Maks el campeon de bicycleta! We even rode to school yesterday.

We took a long ride up the desolate "road to nowhere," which climbs the mountain and stops, unfinished. Los tres amigos, with Kim following in the van because I thought Maks might get tired, and also because we had to drive to the edge of town to begin. We must have ridden a mile up, some of it slightly uphill, and then coasted the mile back down. I rode behind Maks, giving instructions to stay near the edge of the road, avoid the potholes, ride the brakes in places to keep from going too fast. He looks so very cute in his helmet, my old windsurfing helmet with the flames painted on, it really draws attention.

Meanwhile Tai’s been on the beach building onto his rock fort, making it el pueble de roca. The dead eel that he was keeping in the Bustelo coffee can inside the fort began to smell a lot, so we had an eel funeral. A funeral march from the beach to the garbage cans, the three of us, me chanting da-da-da-daaa.

January 26

I was all gung-ho to get Tai into first grade at the local school, so he and I went up to check it out and meet the teacher. I asked him, Tai, do you want to go tomorrow? He said yes. Just so you know I didn’t make him. In the journal I discreetly described the teacher Andrea as another warm sensitive woman, but now I’d say she was hot.

So yesterday was his first day. We rode bikes together, Tai in his purple helmet. As soon as we got to the schoolyard gate, he did the puppydog thing with his arms, which he does when he’s feeling insecure. I told him to force himself out of it. So he crossed them in front of his chest, more like he clutched himself. I said no, drop your arms at your sides. So he did, totally rigid. We walked around back of the school to park his bike.

He was rigid as a board as he stepped, on his toes, heels not even touching the ground. Almost literally frozen with social fear. Kids quickly surrounded him and stared. Mexican kids not bashful about their curiousity. We walked across the concrete schoolyard to his class, with a circle of kids following and staring, Tai pretty much ignoring them, afraid to look at or acknowledge them.

A little boy with a NY Yankees hat was most curious, I asked his name, it was Alejandro, I told him I used to live in NYC and have been to Yankee Stadium many times.

In the classroom, more kids surrounded Tai. There were 3 other American boys in the class, but Tai didn't talk to them, they didn't talk to him. The teacher set a desk for him right up next to her, in front of the blackboard. I left him, surrounded by staring kids, barely giving him breathing room. I was nearly choked up. This was his true first day of school, Whitson was no sweat.

He did try to take my hand once, I just told him maybe he didn't want the other kids to think he had to hold his daddy's hand.

January 27

Los tres amigos ventured out on our bikes. I had an old yellow mountain bike that I’d bought in a rush of exhiliration migrating to Oregon in 1989. Maks was zooming on La Pantera Negra. Tai had a blue mountain bike I’d bought for $40 from a big kid in the park, a 9-year-old.

We rode down to the boatyard beside Las Palmas the pink hotel, where the alien spaceships were, rusted hulks of tanks and strange stuff. Maks has gotten the picture of going along with it, and kept up his end of the imagination. He said no, two weren't spaceships, they were the aliens' television and refrigerator. He wanted to climb up on one of the tanks, and look down into the hatch, so we did.

Drove up to La Ventana to visit Steven and Nelly, had been thinking about buying their lot, just one back from the beach, for $10,000. Tai said he was glad I wasn't going through with it, he didn't want to live there. That's good enough reason for me. Hit La Paz on the way back, found a store Anything for 20 Pesos, and brought them cheap toys, including spray bottles for squirt guns because I refuse to pay $8 for cheap plastic squirt guns that break in one day. Toys are so unbelievably expensive in Mexico, it's exploitation of the Mexican indulgence of children.

Of course Maks abuses the squirt gun thing, but what you gonna do. It also gives him a lot of happiness.

February 5, 2002

It's Mexican Independence Day, no school today, we're going on a hike with four other families of 2 kids each, 20 people in all.

It rained most of the night! Drizzled. First time in 4 years here. Tent is pretty wet. Kids are sleeping now, it's 5:30. They woke a couple times, I moved them to dry spots, tucked them in dry parts of sleeping bags, they're fine.

I got up to pee in the night, came back in the tent and Maks was sprawled horizontally across my space in the middle. I moved him back, and sighed, Ah, Maks. He sighed back, facetious and playful even in his sleep, Ah, Daddy. Later he woke again, it was all damp by his head from the dripping tent at the edges, he asked if he could use my stomach as a pillow, and of course I let him.

We had a favorite game, called Avalanche! The surf cut cliffs into the sand two or three feet high, and we run up and jump on the edge, and the sand crumbles under our feet and we shout Avalanche!

Sometimes I’d stand at the edge and pretend to see something way out at sea, and the kids sneak up from behind and push me over the edge. We did it over and over again. I’d say I'm watching windsurfers, and they promise not to push me over the edge, cross my heart, all that. Each time, I’d make a big deal out of being tricked yet again. They howl and howl and howl with laughter, loving it.

Sam Moses

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