Before We Go

Our family recently became aware that we would be living in San Diego for only a few more months and then move to Miami.  True, it is not Minnesota, but it is also not what has been “home” for the last ten years.  The turmoil in the minds of our five children, nine through nineteen, matched their levels of maturity and complexity.  Each had definite thoughts.

Trying to ease the strain of this momentous change, I approached them as a group and asked if there was something they had always wanted to do in San Diego, but might never get the chance if we left.  Their fertile minds went to work, and we began to plow through rows of choices.  During weekends when our realtor held open-house, I took all the available children out in our van as though we were on a mission.  We visited the nearby Quail Botanical Gardens with its lavish and extraordinary vegetation that had somehow missed our attention all these years.  We took in the Torrey Pines State Reserve, home of San Diego’s only indigenous conifer, and a majestic one at that.  The large ones are built, not pine-like, but as mighty oaks, while those overlooking the ocean at the cliff’s edge are stunted and picturesque—nature’s bonsais.  The mile hike down the path from the parking lot to the palisades with my ten-year-old’s wheelchair was a first for us, and probably for the sandy path as well.  But the workout checked off another accomplishment and the photo opportunities will bring back memories for years to come.

The next weekend we visited the old Point Loma Lighthouse high above the ocean.  It was past this cliff that Juan Cabrillo first sailed centuries ago, and its grandeur gives one pause.  A switchback trail, again with the wheelchair, brought us to the famed tide pools filled with creatures that spend their lives in their own microcosms but a few feet wide and inches deep.  Pondering their plight, I wondered if we are not all subject to the ever-present churning of the sea around us.

Now that we had seen the natural treasures, we asked ourselves what else we could do before we pioneered our way back east.

Returning from our latest adventure, a radio ad broadcast a number to call for children to try out for TV commercials.  This was a message we never would have heard, but for our short-timer status in San Diego.  The announcer’s luring words fell on different ears from those we had just months before.  They may as well have been notes from the Pied Piper’s flute, for the children were hooked immediately.

I looked around at the two most ham-like of my offspring.  Gavin, fifteen, and Natalia, ten, beamed back.  Yes, indeed, this matched perfectly with what we had in mind.

We quickly phoned, got the information, and, on the following Sunday, showed up with several dozen others for tryouts.  Each child said his name and age into a video camera and read one provided line.  Each was gauged for presentation and whether anyone would buy a product extolled by his cherubic countenance.  Somewhat surprisingly, in a group of vibrant, outspoken and rambunctious TV-commercial wannabees, my two made the cut and were welcomed back.  Finally, in a room with a real live Hollywood talent scout, the kids were perused and surveyed for the most marketable among them.

“Can anyone here sing?” she asked.  Without batting an eye, Natalia bounded from her wheelchair and issued a pert rendition of Patsy’s Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight,” still on the tip of her tongue from last year’s talent show.  The response from the entire audience was nothing less than stunning.  “Sign her up!” was the instruction—but it was not to be.

While both Gavin and Natalia made the final cut and might have been headed for a crack at stardom, we all knew this first big step for many would actually be the last for us.  The children took it in stride and celebrated in the van on the way home by bursting with glorious versions of their favorite songs, from Gavin playing the windmill-fighting Man of La Mancha in his best baritone, to Natalia’s lively rendition of Shania Twain and Celine Dion songs.  My would-be commercial kids reveled in what they were sure they could-have-done and what might-have-been.

We thought our pre-move fun would end there, but another opportunity came waltzing through our front door.  Besides playing football at Torrey Pines High, Gavin has had bit parts in well-presented school plays, most recently in the musical “Sweet Charity.”  While juniors and seniors are awarded choice roles, Gavin, always helpful and willing to try, took whatever he could get—a dog walker here, a doorman there, and a member of the marching chorus somewhere else.  It’s not Broadway, but it makes for broadening one’s life, and this is what he so enjoys.

As the run came to a close, no parents had volunteered their home for a cast party after the final show.  The kids were ready to settle for sipping milkshakes at a local restaurant to commiserate with each other.

Of his own accord, Gavin approached me and explained the thespians’ predicament.  Cautiously and hesitantly he asked, “Would this qualify as something I ‘always wanted to do in San Diego but might never get the chance if we left?’“

I had to admit he had me, so we discussed the numbers.  Our house is not like the ones in nearby Rancho Santa Fe with living rooms that our whole house could fit into, but perhaps it was large enough to meet the need.  We figured if each participant dropped a five-dollar bill into a basket in the kitchen we could have sixteen large pizzas, sodas, chips and dip, enough, not to nourish, but to let the actors laugh, enjoy, and sit back to ponder the glory of their recent success.  “But, don’t be the first to volunteer,” was my admonition to Gavin, “in case a parent with a larger house has also lost his mind.”

Friday he called at noon and told me his hand was the only one in the air when the subject of the cast party was raised.  So, we were to be the chosen ones.

I stopped by the school on my way home from work, just to make sure we were all on the same page.  I found parents, teachers, and advisors concurring that it was a wonderful offer and all the students looked forward to it.  I scrawled out directions which they duplicated fifty times over and then went home to join my other children to prepare for the event.

The pizza guys told me it would take two hours to cook up what we needed.  Delivery would be at 11:00 P.M., just in time for curtain calls and for the kids to drive the five miles to our home.

I almost lost my self-confidence when the enormous tower of pizzas, carted on a dolly, arrived at our house.  Little Sam, the delivery man, peeked left and right, around empty doorframes and down echoing hallways as he made his way to the kitchen, finally saying with hesitation, “Is anyone coming to your party?”

I took a gulp, wrote out a check, and gave him more assurances than I had for myself.

We had pizzas stacked in and out of the oven, bowls of nachos and chips, soda bottles lined up like soldiers at parade-and-review, and assorted treats spread all around.  Then we waited and wondered.

Would the upperclassmen play such a dirty trick on a sophomore?  How small would that make our underclassman feel, to say nothing of our checking account?  Worst of all, I did not look forward to eating pizza every day for the next three months!

Finally, a varooming noise rumbled up the street made by two-dozen cars filled with expectant partygoers.  Out of costume, but still in stage make-up, they burst through our front door ready to devour our fare and dance to the music of the night.  Never have I seen such a bunch of well-behaved kids; no smokes, no booze, no drugs, a smile on every face but, sadly, not one other parent on the scene to witness such a rarity in our society.

And Gavin, host par excellence, in trying to help out his friends and classmates, did more for himself than he would ever know.  He could have spent years as the one walking the dog and whistling for the taxi and all the time, receding into the curtains.  But now he is the guy who saved the day, and the night, and threw the final party.  He got more handshakes, high fives, slaps on the back and hugs (from the girls), than he would ever have imagined.  Years of orthodontic bills finally paid off by giving Gavin the broadest and straightest smile on the planet.

Sure there is irony in having visited all the local natural wonders which we should have enjoyed for years but squeezed into these few short weeks.  There is irony in the fact that my kiddies, who might have wondered if they would have made it in TV-land, now know they could have, but will not.  There is irony that Gavin, who might have blended in forever, chose instead to grab the last opportunity and shake it, as he never had before, and enter from stage right playing the role of the hero. 

Some people live, expecting, and even hoping, that the next day will be just like the one that came before.  In our moving mode, we knocked ourselves off center, had experiences we never expected, and rediscovered who we are.  We learned that you should live life to the fullest, wherever you are, always, as though you are about to leave, and—you should try never to miss anything.  As a family we can feel proud, knowing we have brought out the very best that is within us.

4/25/00

San Diego, CA