Chapter 7

Times are changing way too fast particularly in the late 1950's to the present day. By the end of the 1950's there was no one around in the role of an elder parent for my father to consult for advice. By then for some unexplained and still mysterious reason my father had left his beloved town of Guanajuato, Mexico around the age of 28 and came to the USA to begin a new life.

As young man my father worked as a grave digger at Forest lawn as did one of my uncles which I am told is how he came to meet my mother in the mid to late 1950's. My father soon after married and started his own landscaping and gardening business. By the mid 1970's, we were living on the border of two cities, between San Fernando and Pacoima, in California.

My father and mother by then were the parents of eight children and had just recently purchased a house. My father at this time was still struggling with his addiction to alcohol and what I presume was the pressures of raising such a big family practically alone.

My father was a functioning alcoholic for much of my youth. Then, when my eldest brother was about 15 years old and I, at about twelve years old witnessed what I could only describe as a spiritual encounter involving my father that helped change his way of life.

After binge drinking for some time during this particular weekend, my father got a call from a compadre of his saying he had a relative that was looking for work and had just crossed the border by San Diego, California. Would he, who was in need of the help at this time, be willing to pick "Luis" up. My father soon after gathered my eldest brother and I to go pick up Luis. As my father was still drinking we both were wary about this trip but really had no choice in the matter.

We had just begun to enter the freeway on ramp by our house when my father spied a young "hippie" looking man at the on ramp with his thumb out "hitch hiking" and directed my brother to pick him up.

My brother and I had a scary similar experience years earlier that ended with my father leaving the poor hitch hiker on the freeway somewhere in the middle of the night near Fresno, California, so my brother and I gave each other a look that read - dear God Please don't let that happen again.

As the young man climbed into the back seat of the Chevy Impala were driving in, my father begin to somewhat sarcastically ask the guy where was he going and what does he do for a living. The young man answered with a strangely calm voice that he was on his way to San Diego to help a friend and that he was a musician. This seemed to irritate my father a bit as the young man obviously had no instrument with him.

"Well then, what kind of instrument and music do you play" my father asked the stranger? He answered "I play a few instruments but mostly the guitar", my father then pressed him about what type of music it was that he played. "I play various types of music but some people are not yet familiar with the lyrics and it is not so easy to classify and some people might not be ready for it" the hitch hiker responded.

My father a man who always had little trust for strangers in general, was already seated with his body turned to look into the eyes of this young man, no doubt to see if he was high or lying to him. He commented "oh come on everyone has their own style but takes something from others" he said a bit agitatedly. The Musician then said something along the lines of "well that's true but doesn't all music comes from the same roots". This calmed my Dad down a bit and we continued down the road.

As we made our way to San Diego, time seemed to stand still, I remember that I would try to look over this young man and found it difficult to stare into his face. For some unknown reason my father seemed to be confessing some of his past deeds to this young man, a stranger we just picked up on the side of the freeway. I thought to myself Wow! My father must be really drunk.

There was also some odd conversations of what my father did in his past, so odd it appeared to me that my father had tears in his eyes by the end of this trip. I remember that when the young man was ready to let us go on our way he mentioned that the exit we were looking for would be the next one coming up and it was. Shortly after dropping the young man off I turned around to see if he was still on the freeway, he seemed to have vanished into thin air. My brother also noted later that he looked for him in the rear view mirror after we dropped him off and could not see him.

Soon after that incident my father already having some health issues had stopped drinking for good and became a Deacon in the neighborhood Catholic Church. I remember my father, Brother and I recalling the trip one day and swearing to each other that the young man was only looking us individually during the road trip as if there was no one else in the car.

For me this has become a real life Highway to Heaven story I will always cherish and feel I have been blessed to have seen and lived it along with my Father and Brother.