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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781504949439 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 04/07/2016 |
| Pages: | 164 |
| Product dimensions: | 6.00(w) x 9.00(h) x 0.35(d) |
Read an Excerpt
Shame on You!
By Mark Villasenor, Larry Shannon, Larry Gonzales
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2016 Larry GonzalesAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-5049-4943-9
CHAPTER 1
Reflection
"Dad, you there?"
"Yeah Sweetie, where are you? You ok?"
"No, dad, I'm a little freaked. We're in the limo and I just told Brooklyn and Aubrey that I don't think I can go through with it. They told me to call you."
"Lindsay, you don't have to do anything you don't want to do. We can just have the reception. No pressure."
"Dad, listen to me ... Gotcha dad!
"OOOHHHHHH!! That's funny. Ok, put Brooklyn on. So whose idea was that, hers or yours?"
"We both came up with that simultaneously. You should see Aubrey. She is still laughing her round head off."
"You got me good. Listen, I put the airline and honeymoon info on ..."
"Got it"
"Luke was supposed to ..."
"He did, everything is taken care of. You can relax now."
"Ok see you in a little bit."
I really don't remember much about that day until after I got that call. I mean, I'm used to Brooklyn taking care of most everything. Once I hung up the cell phone, I apologized to the other customers in the restaurant for the exploding laugh and ordered dessert. It wasn't that I was nervous. I was ecstatic that Lindsay and Lee were getting married after all this time. I was sweating a little bit, even though it was an overcast, late fall afternoon. But I was sweating mostly because of this tux that felt four sizes too big. Every detail is ingrained in my mind. The excitement of waiting for the family to get to the chapel, the anticipation of seeing Kaylee and Jack and them being a part of this big day after so many years of the relationships we never had; it was all coming to a head. So I finished my plate, paid the tab and walked down the street to the chapel, ready to give my daughter away.
One by one, the guests on the small list arrived. Short but sweet was the list, which could also be used to describe the chapel. Lindsay was so adamant about wanting very little help with the planning of the wedding and all the details that went along with it. She has always been amazing. Brooklyn has been amazing. But putting this all together in just three months, all the touches of color, flowers and little details, they are truly talented. The ceremony was exactly what Lindsay wanted: delicate, full of color and a party of family and close friends. She didn't want any more or any less.
Nobody deserves to be happier than Lindsay. Nobody has come as far as Lindsay has come, with everything that has gone on in the past dozen or so years. Of course, Aubrey and Luke also went through the tough times, but Lindsay was old enough to remember a lot of what went on. Most would say that she was forced to grow up faster than any kid should have to grow up. But even to this day, I still see the girl who I used to sing to sleep after changing her extremely dirty diapers.
My thoughts as the music began and the procession started were how lucky I am to be here with the people I love and need more than anything in the world. I peek around the corner to see Luke walk Brooklyn down the aisle. In twelve years, Brooklyn has become the rock of our household and best mother these kids could have. I see that she now fits in with the rest of the extended family. Tight knit families can be tough to become a part of, especially when there is no formal event like a wedding to solidify it for everyone to see. Especially when my family has seen the kids and I go through devastation and anguish. The times I see the kids introduce Brooklyn as their mom, I don't know who is prouder, her or me.
I see Luke as the young man he has become and Brooklyn is the reason he is such a caring person. I wish that Luke had a sibling or even a cousin that was closer to his age to push and challenge him in a different way than we do. I know that he will find his way with his schooling and go on to accomplish big things.
When it comes to Aubrey, I see both sides of the spectrum. I see the good in her. I see how beautiful she is inside and out. I see that she is putting her life together as an adult and is off to such a good start. But I often wonder how much she remembers. I wonder if she has more of her mother in her than me. I am very confident in the ways Brooklyn and I raised her, but is it enough to instill long term stability in a young woman who has often times been a follower rather than a leader? I love her, just like all my kids, and I probably haven't said it enough to Kaylee and Jack. But for some reason, I worry about Aubrey a little more than her siblings. Today though, she is walking down the aisle as Lindsay's maid of honor.
"You ready dad? Dad?"
"Yeah sweetie, let's do it."
And the music began. I couldn't ever be prouder. My baby girl was walking down the aisle to the man of her dreams. A very good man who I know will provide a good life for her. That's all a dad can really ask for. I just wanted to make sure she never wanted for anything. I wanted to protect her from the bad things in the world. I wanted to show her that "family first" should always take precedence. And I wanted her to find a man who would continue to do that for her as a loving, supportive equal and best friend. I know she will be happy with Lee. As I literally gave her away, I kissed her on the cheek and she gave me that smile that I have been accustomed to get from Lindsay.
The ceremony was also short and sweet. I couldn't quite make out what music was playing in the background from the wedding in the next room. What can you expect from a tiny chapel near the corner of Wilshire and La Brea? In just a few short minutes and vows, my Lindsay gave up her last name for a new one. Dozens of pictures later, we were on our way to the reception hall for some food, not to mention an open bar, waiting for us.
Seeing Lindsay and Lee dance their first dance as husband and wife, it was the perfect ending to an amazing day for everyone. Everyone but me. You see, I had to have my last dance with Lindsay Martinez. It's my right and privilege as father of the bride to have those few minutes with her. As I heard the lyrics to the song, "I loved her first," I felt that this was my perfect ending. I could now officially give her away. After all, I did love her first. Before anyone knew about her, before she came into the world. As soon as I found out that a baby was coming in July, I loved her at that very moment.
So I hugged her a few seconds and kissed her one last time as the music was ending. As she walked away, albeit just to the sweethearts' table, a tear began to build in my eye. It went away very quickly as Lindsay turned back and gave me that smile that only Lindsay could. Then it hit me like an eight-foot wave at Zuma beach. That smile, I have seen it before, and it took me back right then and there.
It also happened to come in July, just like Lindsay, but unlike her wedding day, that day was extremely hot and the tux was too tight. I was extremely nervous, just as any twenty-one year old kid can get when he is about to take one woman as his wife for the rest of his life. I was almost to the point of vomiting. Unlike what most would expect it had nothing to do with many, many drinks the night before.
You see, I woke up that day in a very cold sweat, mostly because my friends left me to pass out on the floor in nothing but my tighty-whiteys right next to the air conditioner. It was a miracle that I could even get up after one last hurrah with my buddies on the town as a single man. Naturally each one of them took their turn to embarrass me and tell anyone in the bar who would listen about my escapades as a "Casanova." What can I say? I had fun, lots of fun. And what I didn't know back then was that, while girls are a lot of fun, girls can get you killed.
However, I was ready to put that all behind me and walk down the aisle. Yet way, way back in my mind, I knew that it was a mistake. Was she "the one?" Did I turn my back on the actual "one?" Is it my obligation to meet her at the front of the church? Will I be letting my parents down if I don't do the right thing? I mean, hell, I tried on the wedding band a couple weeks before and it felt as heavy as an eight-pound shot put. Perhaps that shot put found its way to the pit of my stomach. As I was getting ready, which wouldn't take so long except my hair needs extra attention and just the right amount of coiffing, all of this was weighing on my mind as well as my stomach. I couldn't shake the feeling though. I sat there looking in the mirror trying to convince myself that many other grooms have those same cold-feet thoughts.
I decided to take a drive. As I came to a stop light on my way to the church I saw that the digital thermometer on the bank building showed an eye popping 107. Part of me wanted to take a detour to the beach and catch some waves. My surfboard was in the truck bed wrapped in a blanket I got at a party. Had brand new surfboard wax from Tuesday. Even the Beach Boys "Don't Worry Baby" was cranked up on the radio and I had my work tools holding my board in place. But there was something I had to do. The music started to fade out in favor of my thoughts as I got out of the car and knocked on the door. It only took a few seconds before the door opened, but it had been a few weeks since I began having these second thoughts. I needed to come clean, pour my heart out one last time and say a final goodbye to my past. It made me feel a little better. It didn't completely ease my worries, but nonetheless I took off for the church to face my future.
Unlike Lindsay's wedding, I got to the church and knew that hundreds of our closest friends were waiting for me. In the foyer, I caught a glimpse of a sign that read, "Rick Martinez to marry Rachel Parker today." It just didn't look right. As I made my way to the back, I passed by numerous happy, familiar faces wishing me luck, shaking my hand, and kissing my cheek. I couldn't tell you who any of them were at this point. All I wanted to do was get to the waiting room and have a cold one before I took my place between the altar and the congregation. I faced the altar first and took a couple of deep breaths. I could feel all of the eyes on the back of my neck and the hair on it stood straight up. The song began, "Here Comes the Bride," and I turned around. While I could see Rachel's smile through her veil, my life was literally flashing before my eyes. My name is Rick Martinez and this is my story.
CHAPTER 2Foundation
Anybody who tells you that working construction is fun, don't believe them. Nobody ever says "I want to be a construction worker when I grow up." That's not how I saw my life. But nonetheless, that's the life I had after high school. And five months past my twenty-first birthday, I was still doing it, making pretty good money from it too. So at least there was some benefit. The job certainly does not make you excited to get up in the morning. Especially when you have to get to the job site before the rooster crows and even then, there is always someone there ahead of you waiting impatiently for you to arrive. I remember those days like they were yesterday.
There was on time. There was earlier than on time. And then there was Dad time, which I was taught growing up. However, I had grown accustomed to Dad time at work. Well, let me rephrase, I had suffered through Dad time. This man, Armand, as the world knows him, had owned the family construction company for twenty-something years. A Silver Star recipient from the Korean War, Dad could do it all. He could fish, he could hunt, he was a damn good mechanic, he always provided for the family, and years later, he still works harder than any three men I know. There are days I can't stand him. But growing up, I saw the foundation he was laying for me, my older brother and my older sister. I love him more than words can say. When it comes to the Martinez family, he is the unquestioned leader. And whenever I pull up to any job site, past or present, it takes me back to the normal exchanges with my dad.
"Get your ass in here, you're late!" I couldn't ask for a better alarm clock, "Don't we open this job site at six, damn it?!"
As I get out of my truck and scan the job site, in the dark mind you, and see absolutely no one and nothing. Well nothing but those piercing eyes of his. I can only muster up a shot of sarcasm.
"Yes we do and it's a good thing."
"Where were you last night?"
"Out."
In my mind, I know the script by now.
"You get any sleep?"
"A little. Met up with some buddies and crashed on their couch."
"So that means you met a piece of ass and you crashed on their couch afterward?"
"Normally yes, but I knew I had to be here at six this morning"
"You smoking pot?"
"No, Dad."
"Why should I believe you?"
"Because you scare the hell out of me! I worry about any beating from you more than any sentence a cop or judge could slap on me."
He stands for a moment then retorts:
"Ok start by measuring those two-by-fours ..."
Deep down, I was laughing and biting my lip. Yet measuring those beams, I would think about the what-ifs. Just a few years prior I was playing soccer in Europe. Actually, I was dominating. Our team was dominating. We were beating all the European teams and I was on cloud nine. That was until I got caught drinking and was benched by my coach, my dad. I was a great soccer player. This was back when soccer was just becoming popular in the States and just entering the high schools as a legitimate sports program. When playing for the local leagues or against other schools in the area, it felt like the parting of the Red Sea. I could hear the whispers. I could hear the people talking, "There he goes. There goes Rick Martinez, the best player in the area." Not only was it a great feeling, it was a great time.
My brother, who was studying to be an accountant at one of the top universities in the country, had arranged for me to meet with their soccer coach. Right away I was offered a scholarship to play division one college soccer. I mentioned that my grades were sub-par. His words, "We'll take care of it." I thought about it, but at the end of the day, school just wasn't for me. I just wanted to party. Party and play soccer on my terms, no responsibilities. I just wanted to run up and down the field and find a different way each game to knock the ball into the back of the net. When I missed, I could hear another voice. A very high pitched voiced, "Oh Rick, how could you miss that one?!" I'd look to the sidelines and see my mom with her hand on her forehead, then leaning back in disbelief. Sometimes she would lean back so far, her wig would come off and everybody would break into laughter. Even Dad would joke, "You better pick up some chili dogs, she's not making dinner for us tonight."
Those dinners. Those lunches. Hell, every meal Mom made was just the best homemade Mexican food you could ever taste. Chorizo and eggs for breakfast. Leftovers for lunch, which typically meant taco meat, cheese, beans and corn tortillas. For dinner, you name it. Chili con carne one night, enchiladas the next. Food that was all made with recipes handed down from generation to generation. Helen, as her friends knew her, was the best cook in the land. She would always make sure I had clothes to wear, food to eat and a few dollars to have fun with. I teased her constantly about her high pitched voice, especially when she'd get excited or mad. I'd leave early on a summer morning to go surfing and could hear the yell from half a block away,
"Be careful mijo and be home by three." Naturally, I'd pull in the driveway at four.
"Rick, get your ass in here! You're never going surfing again!" She'd yell.
"Just calm down, I'm ok, nothing bad happened. I wasn't doing anything I'm not supposed to do. I am just late."
"You better clean up and hope your father doesn't find out you were an hour late. By the way mijo, did you pick up the sothas like I asked?"
"Yes Mom, I got the so-das."
"You know what I mean. Keep making fun of me, you're gonna miss me when I'm gone!"
That's Mom to a tee. Her Spanish accent is so cute and so easy to make fun of. Sodas are an everyday occurrence. A spatula is spashla. But no one can deny that she was a good wife. He was a good husband and treated her wonderfully. But those day-to-day spats and normal married-life conflicts, sometimes I say deserves a medal. She was the best mother too, raised the three of us and provided us with a happy home.
In my eyes, my dad was always on my case. My older brother and older sister would say something like, "Are you kidding Rick?! You got it easy." Mom would then add, "That's right mijo, I don't care how old you are, you'll always be my baby." And there you had it. How can you argue with that? How can you argue with any of it? They taught me how to fish, taught me how to water ski, taught me how to fight, taught me how to cook, and taught me how to pour concrete. More than anything, they taught me how to be a man. I don't know what I'd do without them. And just when I'm letting all these warm and fuzzy thoughts swim around in my head, I'd hear banging all around the job site and snap back to reality, thanks to Dad ...
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Shame on You! by Mark Villasenor, Larry Shannon, Larry Gonzales. Copyright © 2016 Larry Gonzales. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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