Youth

While watching cartoons one morning in Southern California, the ground began to heave, and the windows started to rattle. Then, to our dismay, the television went out, so my brothers and I couldn’t watch the show. Instead, we were treated to Dad, in his underwear, jumping around trying to shield us with a blanket while trying to keep Mom safe as well in their bedroom. “The cartoon’s gone!”, we complained, unaware of the earthquake that just occurred. Duck and Cover buses and exercises were to come later that school year.

Another move sent us to Torrance, California, where a drunk neighbor ransacked the garage and stole a lawnmower before facing off with my utterly confused grandfather inside our home. After determining that the man was inebriated and of no threat to anyone, Dad escorted the drunkard back to his own home.

From Torrance, we relocated north to San Jose, California. The Loma Prieta earthquake devastated the Bay Area in 1989. One brisk morning I woke to the chatter at the front door. Dad was denying something while a man and woman interrogated him after identifying themselves as FBI agents.

“It’s him!”, shouted the woman once Dad dashed past them out of the house.

“Mom, what’s going on?”, I asked as she rushed out of her bedroom.

“You’re dreaming, you’re dreaming.”, she hastily chastised as I kept asking about the man and woman chasing after Dad.

I wouldn’t know for decades why he was detained by the FBI and sent to Federal Prison Camp Nellis. Had I known that he wasn’t, in fact, attending college, I would have spent more time on our weekly phone calls. A home life in turmoil ensued as Mom tried to support the household on her own.

My parents foreclosed on the house in San Jose after Dad was captured, and we moved yet again. However, we managed to stay in the same city and school district, so the move wasn’t as disruptive as previous ones. Dad served his short prison sentence and was transferred to a halfway house. During this time, he made visits home, always with some snacks on hand.