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23. El Professore

A 22, now 25, year old, illegal, Guatemalan immigrant gave me his recipe for his happy life. He had, and has, more than his quota of serious difficulties: a partial, grade-school education, 2 1/2 jobs, 2 sons (one being raised by his g-mother in Zacapa, Guat., and the other being negligently and indifferently "cared for" by his estranged, borderline-psychotic wife. To visit his eldest son he must expensively fly to Zacapa and then illegally re-enter the US either by swimming the Rio Grande or playing a dangerous footsie-game with the Feds at the airports. To visit his youngest, born here, he must negotiate a ransom with his whacko wife.

He saves all his money and is getting trained as a welder. His goal, for five years now, is to secure a welding-shop in Zacapa and to provide a safe environment to raise his beloved sons. He is the epitome of the ideal family man who is, presently, severely frustrated. (There's more turbulence of the lethal variety in his past, stemming from the Guatemalan history of civil and armed-gang wars)

But he is happy, ebullient, valued as an employee, greatly loved by his family (except for wifey) and friends, and I am one of the latter. He calls me Poppy and I call him My Bel Amigo.

I asked him how he does it, i.e., stay so vigorously happy. He told me, "I forget the bad parts and the good parts too". I was astounded at the 'good parts too'. At my dumbfounded stare he went on, "I want to live now!"

I'm 70 and this kid's 25. Before 'Poppy' he used to call me 'El Professore' because, of course, I know a lot about America and he didn't. After those remarks of his I didn't let him call me 'The Professor' any more.

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