she knew I particularly liked. The platters of chile rellenos and bowls of picadillo were messages from her to me seeking forgiveness. I would pass them, untouched, to my father.
As he separated the flesh from the bone of his fish, John said, “I didn’t go to work for my dad right away.”
“What did you do?”
“Partied,” he said, sprinkling the fish with lemon. “Buen provecho, ” he said, and for a few minutes we ate. “Yeah, I partied for five solid years. Even getting married and having my kids didn’t stop me. When I wasn’t high, I was drunk.”
“And then?”
“I woke up in jail,” he said, piling beans on a piece of tortilla. He stuffed it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, sipped his Coke.
“DUI?”
He nodded. “With injuries, mostly to me, but the girl who was with me in the car, she got hurt some, too. Oh, yeah, and she wasn’t my wife. Wasn’t my first arrest, either. My folks had bailed me out before. This time my pop told me I could either come back home and learn a man’s trade, or rot in jail.” He smiled. “It was a harder decision than you’d think. My father, he’s a great man, Henry, but a little on the severe side.”
“I know something about severe Mexican fathers,” I said.
“He told me loved me,” John said. “But that he didn’t respect me. You know things like that sound a lot worse when you say them in Spanish. He thought I was, you know, un playboy. When it came to construction, I couldn’t tell a hammer from a hole in the ground, so he put me on his crew and I learned.” He grinned. “I didn’t get special treatment for being the boss’s son. Some days, the nicest thing he called me was pendejo. If my mom knew how he talked on the job, she’d make him go to church twice on Sunday. After a while, I started to get the hang of things. I even found out I had some talent for designing stuff. My dad saw it. He offered to send me back to school to study architecture or something, but I told him I was happy where I was.”
“That still true?”
“There were years when I couldn’t watch baseball because it hurt too much to think about what I’d thrown away, but I’m forty-three now and whatever career I coulda had in the bigs would be over by now, so I guess I don’t have regrets I can’t live with.”
“That’s philosophical.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “That’s me, Johnny DeLeon, philosopher. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer. Didn’t I tell you that the other day?”
“You were kind of out of it the other day, Henry. Wow, an abogado. I’m impressed, man. What kind of law?”
“Criminal defense.”
“Helping the people,” he said, nodding.
“Since the heart attack, my new career seems to be sleeping.”
He finished his Coke and signaled the girl for another one. “You don’t have family to take care of you?”
“My parents are dead,” I said. “I have a sister who lives in Oakland.” I decided not to tell about Vicky and her son, as it seemed a moot point.
“Man, I can’t imagine what I’d do without my family.”
“For me, it was good, not really having a family. I was able to live my life my own way without worrying about how the fallout might affect them.”
“You mean being gay.”
“Not just that,” I said. “I’ve tried to be true to who I think I am in other ways, too.”
He looked at me and said, “I think you’re brave, man.”
“Being brave is doing the things you’re afraid of doing, not the ones you were born to do.”
“There ain’t too many people can do either one,” he said. “I bet you’ve done both.”
“But I never pitched in the majors.”
He laughed. “Okay, I guess I’m embarrassing you. How are you feeling?”
I ran a quick check. “I feel pretty good.”
“You wanna go home, or would you like to get coffee somewhere?”
“Coffee.”
We fought over the check, but as it turned out our meals were on Mr. Huerta, who came over and thanked John
As he separated the flesh from the bone of his fish, John said, “I didn’t go to work for my dad right away.”
“What did you do?”
“Partied,” he said, sprinkling the fish with lemon. “Buen provecho, ” he said, and for a few minutes we ate. “Yeah, I partied for five solid years. Even getting married and having my kids didn’t stop me. When I wasn’t high, I was drunk.”
“And then?”
“I woke up in jail,” he said, piling beans on a piece of tortilla. He stuffed it into his mouth, chewed, swallowed, sipped his Coke.
“DUI?”
He nodded. “With injuries, mostly to me, but the girl who was with me in the car, she got hurt some, too. Oh, yeah, and she wasn’t my wife. Wasn’t my first arrest, either. My folks had bailed me out before. This time my pop told me I could either come back home and learn a man’s trade, or rot in jail.” He smiled. “It was a harder decision than you’d think. My father, he’s a great man, Henry, but a little on the severe side.”
“I know something about severe Mexican fathers,” I said.
“He told me loved me,” John said. “But that he didn’t respect me. You know things like that sound a lot worse when you say them in Spanish. He thought I was, you know, un playboy. When it came to construction, I couldn’t tell a hammer from a hole in the ground, so he put me on his crew and I learned.” He grinned. “I didn’t get special treatment for being the boss’s son. Some days, the nicest thing he called me was pendejo. If my mom knew how he talked on the job, she’d make him go to church twice on Sunday. After a while, I started to get the hang of things. I even found out I had some talent for designing stuff. My dad saw it. He offered to send me back to school to study architecture or something, but I told him I was happy where I was.”
“That still true?”
“There were years when I couldn’t watch baseball because it hurt too much to think about what I’d thrown away, but I’m forty-three now and whatever career I coulda had in the bigs would be over by now, so I guess I don’t have regrets I can’t live with.”
“That’s philosophical.”
“Yeah,” he said, smiling. “That’s me, Johnny DeLeon, philosopher. What about you? What do you do?”
“I’m a lawyer. Didn’t I tell you that the other day?”
“You were kind of out of it the other day, Henry. Wow, an abogado. I’m impressed, man. What kind of law?”
“Criminal defense.”
“Helping the people,” he said, nodding.
“Since the heart attack, my new career seems to be sleeping.”
He finished his Coke and signaled the girl for another one. “You don’t have family to take care of you?”
“My parents are dead,” I said. “I have a sister who lives in Oakland.” I decided not to tell about Vicky and her son, as it seemed a moot point.
“Man, I can’t imagine what I’d do without my family.”
“For me, it was good, not really having a family. I was able to live my life my own way without worrying about how the fallout might affect them.”
“You mean being gay.”
“Not just that,” I said. “I’ve tried to be true to who I think I am in other ways, too.”
He looked at me and said, “I think you’re brave, man.”
“Being brave is doing the things you’re afraid of doing, not the ones you were born to do.”
“There ain’t too many people can do either one,” he said. “I bet you’ve done both.”
“But I never pitched in the majors.”
He laughed. “Okay, I guess I’m embarrassing you. How are you feeling?”
I ran a quick check. “I feel pretty good.”
“You wanna go home, or would you like to get coffee somewhere?”
“Coffee.”
We fought over the check, but as it turned out our meals were on Mr. Huerta, who came over and thanked John
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