CALIFORNIA
Around the time my younger son left for California — about seven years ago — I ran into a 24-year-old San Francisco girl at a shiva in Cleveland and told her to meet up with my son in Cali and show him around. I said, “Find him a job, a house, and marry him. I hope I’m not laying too big a trip on you.”
I was. She avoided me the rest of the shiva.
My daughter (who moved to Chicago about 10 years ago) once told me: “The kids who go out to California never come back.” My son in Cali said he feels guilty about leaving Cleveland, but not that guilty. He is 47-percent homeboy. I — by comparison — am 99.9-percent homeboy. I went to California four times in my twenties and ate a lot of KFC chicken on Shattuck Avenue in Berkeley and saw many loose screws on Sproul Plaza, such as a woman who wore a vinyl yellow-and-black Carnaby Street cap all the time. I hitchhiked up to Bolinas and Santa Rosa, and ate a large snail at a marine biology lab in Bodega Bay. My dad told me to move to California. Maybe that’s why I didn’t.
3 comments
You may not have stayed in CA, but that snail explains a few things. From a lab, yet….
I went out to Cali from Ohio and never came back. I tried to land a job in Troy and vicinity, including a gig managing a local X-rated theater, but no luck. Same thing when I tried, two years later, to find a teaching job. So goodbye Columbus (or rather Troy).
Wonder what would have/did happen if the guy hit NYC.
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