My funny valentine

While I am not the sort of person to focus on commercial and conventional holidays designed only to extract money from people don't have it, or who should be spending it on more useful things, there are small people whose worlds would crumble if such notable festivities were not marked in their own particular parenthesis.

So, Mongolian BBQ, while not a traditional feast on such an evening, was where we found ourselves, and thankfully, unlike last year, no one asked me if I was divorced, the only lamentable thing in all this is that there were no scallion pancakes, only on Sundays it would seem.

The best part of the buffet, beyond the crab rangoon (which must be an east coast name because here they are fried wontons), in her eyes, is the dessert. She has jello, which she never likes, but always tries, canned peaches and frozen yogurt. The jello is sampled and then played with, as she squirms uncomfortably in her wet underwear. (She had an aiming accident in the bathroom, but my shoes were spared). She happily cuts the peach with the side of her spoon.

"You know those snack cups that come with fruit?"
"Yeah."
"I haven't had one in a long time."
"huhm."
"I know your not the type of person to buy that kind of snack, but they're good."
I burst out laughing. This is how my child classifies me: not the type of person to buy canned peaches. Goddamn, I don't know if I have done right or done wrong. She giggles when I tell her I love her, and she blows me kisses from across the table. The man who is bussing comes over to the table. "Cómo está?!" he smiles and I smile back... "I knew I knew you! I saw you come in and I thought, I know that woman from somewhere..." He offers us cold water, apologizes that he can't attend to us in the manner that we deserve as he is the only busser and the joint is packed. I smile to myself. We so rarely go out, but we get special attention when we do. At the indian place it is always a free dessert for I. At the other Chinese place the owner came out after we left to give us both a hug and a kiss.

Perhaps, we are more inclined to places in which customers are treated with local warmth. Maybe we just make an impression wherever we go. (Given my experience with the back-massaging Brazilian waiter in Coimbra at the Paki-Indian restaurant, I may be inclined to believe that warmth is often just the tip of the iceberg.) So. My child forgives me for not being the "kind of person" to fall for crass comercialism, even if I did take her to TJ's to buy each other flowering plants (I bought myself my favorite flower of all time, hyacinth, just budding and soon to flourish), I forgive myself for not striking in tomorrow's general strike. I believe in supporting the anti-war movement, I believe in the right to strike and the need for collectivity. I just don't happen to be one of those people that can stomach the herd mentality, even when the herd is being driven in the "right" direction. I had my students discuss, in Spanish, the reasons behind the strike and had them debate amongst themselves whether they thought it an effective strategy or worthwhile cause. At the end, I asked for a show of hands for people who planned to participate in the strike. I told them that there would be no penalty for missing tomorrow's class, but because half of the class was planning on coming, I would be there for them. I try my best to be just, and weigh the needs of everyone not based just on my personal ideology, but on a model of equity.

So I. tells me, "I don't know if I am old enough to go live with my Bobie." And I ask her about her feelings, she is still weighing her options, like I am, hashing it out with our respective therapists. --God, I am becoming a fucking caricature, I think, and the doctor prescribed me Attavan, for nausea, with the added bonus that it calms anxiety attacks, and I envision myself, bent in premature mysery, popping Attavan or Zanex, with a red wine chaser, and I laugh, because, well... I'm not that sort of person either. So, we come home and she talks on the phone, and I grade papers, hunched over in weird ways, remembering why my back hurts so much, because I lifted her, sleeping like a 69 pound sack of potatoes, over my shoulder last week to carry her out of campbell hall.-- I begin to wonder who I am, what sort of person would I be, after all, without her?