Life in a Parallel Universe

December 11, 2007 at 1:01 pm | Posted in Immigration, Life in the US, Marriage, Weirdness, Working | 6 Comments

Homeboy and my father are tight, and they certainly make an unlikely pair: a twenty-five year old, compact brown fellow and an elderly, red-headed white man.  Yet they go out to breakfast together at my father’s favorite diner, go on errands, and sneak donuts at Dunkin’ Donuts.  My father also fancies himself Homeboy’s tour guide, taxi driver, and ambassador to the English-speaking world.

So when Homeboy finally got a call from the temp agency to report for work yesterday, dad was only too happy to snap to attention.  I switched to crack-head soccer mommy mode to get Homeboy home with his resume, so dad could pick him up, pass off the required work boots, and take him to the temp agency. 

Dad calls to give me a run down of what transpired, but then got upset and only said: “It was chaos, pure chaos.  I helped him with his application, then they took him away in a van.  I don’t know where they took him.”  He calls me a few hours to express his concern, and he sounded even more traumatized than before, especially since Homeboy hadn’t called me to let me know what time to pick him up.

Homeboy finally calls, and I go to pick him up.  He had been moving packages for DHL and is thrilled to use his first paycheck in America to buy a gold chain and crucifix pendant. 

Jump to a few hours later.  Homeboy’s at English class, and I call dad to let him know that he was safely returned to me.  Stepmom picks up the other extension to tell me that after they attended a wake, they went to dinner.  Dad spent the entire dinner with his head down, mumbling “They took him away in a van, I don’t know where they took him.  I didn’t even get to shake his hand. They just took him away.”  Note: my father clutches at Homeboy every time they see each other.  He gazes meaningfully into my husband’s eyes, and celebrates each new step of his life in America as if he were a newborn. 

Dad was much relieved that Homeboy was fine, even jubilant.  I told Homeboy about my father’s trauma and how worked up he got that he couldn’t shake his hand. 

Apparently, as they shoved him into the van, my father remained on the steps of the temp agency, shaking his hand at his favorite Mexican in some sort of victory salute as a van load of recent immigrants, ex-cons, and the generally downtrodden temp laborers looked on.

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6 Comments »

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  1. This is the cutest story! I think it’s wonderful that your dad and him hang out!

  2. Very sweet. I have the opposite problem. The father in law (who just moved in with me) is the newborn and we’re the parents. It’s day one. Is it normal to want to strangle someone for leaving the seat up? The paying men in my household seem to have gotten it under control, so why is the man living on my couch sans rent having such a problem with it?

  3. Ok, is it weird that your post made me all misty? I swear I have tears, how precious that your dad loves him so much. Homeboy is a lucky man to have such a fabulous wife AND a great American family. I just gotta say “Awwwww, que lindo!”

  4. Wtf? Why is el suegro now camped out on your coach? I would be going crazy, as I imagine your condo just perfect for two, definitely livable for three, but a total nightmare for four. Especially when the fourth is sleeping on the couch.

    Canuck: yes, it is precious how much dad digs Homeboy. He’s always wanted a son-in-law and grandbaby of his very own, and he kind of gets the best of both worlds…celebrating all his baby steps in America yet giving him beer constantly

  5. “celebrating all his baby steps in America yet giving him beer constantly…”

    LOL – you are such a trip!

  6. The image of your dad waving to you your husband in the van choked me up a little.


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