The Dedalus Log

Charlie, Tootis, and I represented three distinct Mexican-American generations. Charlie was born during World War II, in 1942, the youngest boy in a family of 14 children. He would become the first college graduate in the family, and the first to pursue a career in education and administration. I was the first Baby Boomer, born in 1947, and the first grandchild in a family that would soon explode with countless marriages and grandchildren. Tootis was born a decade later in 1958, while Charlie was in high school and I was in the 4^th grade. Charlie’s life and mine intersected early and often. He was the older brother I never had who gave me social and cultural advice throughout my childhood and adolescence. I was a 17-year-old groomsman at his wedding, and I traced his career through the Peace Corps and marriage as I completed high school and college. Later, I too would marry and pursue a vocation in teaching and administration. We ended up as principals in neighboring schools for one year before he retired (he was the principal of an evening adult school and I directed the adjoining middle school). Tootis’ connection to us was more fragile. After high school, he left home to attend college and, for all intents and purposes, never looked back. He returned to Los Angeles for short periods and visits, but he forged a new life in the Pacific Northwest, marrying, raising three children with Jan, and settling in Seattle. We lost close contact over the years, so we had a lot of family history to fill in.


The following day was spent driving, sightseeing, and talking, talking, talking. We toured the Alki community on the southern shore of Puget Sound, to get a bayside view of the Seattle skyline, and went to the top of the Space Needle that was built for the 1962 World’s Fair. From there we traveled to the Pike Place Market in search of the original Starbuck’s Coffee shop, and had a late fish n’ chip lunch. We found our way to Red Square on the campus of the University of Washington (not Moscow) and ended up watching football practice in Husky Stadium. Jan was a Seattle native, and Raul had been a fireman in the city for over twenty years, so the tour was pretty comprehensive. We returned home to a late meal and a chance for Tootis to shake some of the rust from his piano and play some Ragtime pieces for us before retiring. That night Charlie and I went quickly to bed and fell asleep without talking. The next morning, after breakfast, Tootis took Charlie out on the lake one more time. After a quick lunch he would drop us off at the airport for a 1 o’clock flight. The time alone on the dock, listening to the wind chimes next door, became my only chance to silently reflect on the past three days.





There are two sides to all families, be they Mexican-American, Irish-American, Catholic, Protestant, or Jewish – the public side and the hidden secrets. The dark side of every family is where the hurts and wounds exist. Large families in the 50’s and 60’s generated some astounding levels of anger, estrangements, hurts, and betrayals. De eso no hablamos fuera de familia my mother would say, “Some things are not mentioned outside of the family.” Three days of describing, questioning, and examining our grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers and sisters led to some differences of opinion and numerous revelations. The interesting thing about our conversations was how we had such different memories and perspectives about common events and family members. Our different ages and experiences divided us, but our affection for each other always brought us together. The trip to Seattle was enjoyable on many levels, but probably the most important was the clarity it gave me about my family, cousin, uncle, and myself. We all made choices in our lives; some were good and some bad, some kept us close and some separated us, but we were happy and satisfied. We chose careers in public service that required leadership and responsibility, and achieved a modicum of success. But I believed that the secret to our personal wholeness was the process of recognizing our mistakes, forgiving ourselves, seeking reconciliation from the people we hurt, and moving on. “Let the dead bury their dead”, Jesus said in the New Testament. If some people are caught in whirlpools of anger and resentment, and unwilling to accept repentance, help, or escape – leave them to fend for themselves. All we can do is the best we can and move forward. By the time Charlie and Tootis returned, there was barely enough time to gulp down lunch, load the SUV, hug Jan, and leave for the airport.


“I loved playing War in that backyard” Charlie mused, slumping comfortably into the back seat, as the car turned onto a frontage road paralleling acres of green forests. “Our Lincoln Heights house was the perfect battlefield. There were abandoned cars, a shabby, barn-sized garage, crammed full of stored recreational and surplus materials, a towering lumberyard, fence barricades, trees, and lots of hedges. It was like traveling through wartime Europe after D-day. I could still get my friends Bobby, Isaac, and Stevie to join me and form a combat platoon and go on reconnaissance missions”.
“I remember that!” exclaimed Tootis, glancing back quickly at Charlie from his driving position, as he turned onto the Sea-Tac (Seattle-Tacoma) Airport freeway onramp. “Manuel and I always wanted to join. Playing War and pretending to be soldiers was one of the reasons he and I went into the service. Manuel enlisted in the army and I went into the Coast Guard. We wanted to be real soldiers”.
“Well” corrected Charlie, freezing his nostalgic scene for a moment to weigh the merits of Tootis’ extrapolation. “I never let my imagination carry me that far. I liked playing War because it was fun giving orders. I never really wanted to get into a shooting war where people were getting killed. Vietnam was just heating up back then, and it was not an imaginary war”.
“Yeah”, Tootis persisted, “but war games and simulated scenarios are not just imaginary, they are important. In the Coast Guard and Fire Department games and simulations are a vital part of training. I loved ‘war games’ as a kid, and I saw their relevance as an adult. As a fire captain, I want my men prepared for any situation. We still play those games”.
“How old were you when you stopped ‘playing War’?” I wondered aloud, changing the subject and looking back at my Uncle Charlie from my co-pilot seat. “I remember playing with you in Abuelito’s backyard. I was 5 years younger than you and your friends, but you let me enlist as a private.  At some point those games stopped. How old were we when that happened?”
“Ya know that’s a funny thing,” Charlie replied. “I think in those days we were kids longer. We didn’t mature as quickly as children do today. Stevie and I were still playing imaginary war games in the 8^th grade. Then one day I remember my brother Kado watching us. He came up later and told me ‘Chuck, they don’t play War in high school. You should start finding other interests’. It was kind of sad, but he was right. I was lucky to play for as long as I did”.
There was a long silence in what had been ceaseless talk, as we respectfully grieved Charlie’s childhood end. I watched the emerald tree stands wiz bye the freeway as I thought of my own last days of playful imagination before I went to high school."
“Do you remember the old plastic toy soldiers we played with in those days?” I asked, breaking the melancholy interlude.
“Yeah!” chimed in Charlie and Tootis together, relieved at the resumption of conversation.
“I had a whole cardboard box full of soldiers” Charlie bragged.
“Which toy soldier was the best?” I challenged, holding the picture of a green plastic rifleman, in the prone shooting position, in my mind.
“Well I can tell you which soldier was the dumbest” Charlie announced, laughing, “the standing rifleman. Man, that guy was one big target. I’d probably want to be the machine gunner or the prone sniper”.
“I loved those toy soldiers” I reminisced. “I played with them throughout the 8^th grade, and then I stopped too. I hated doing it, but I finally gave them all to my brother Eddie. He played with them for a while, but then he upgraded to bigger, newer versions. You know, those GI Joe figurines”.
“I gave mine away too,” Charlie said. “Did I give them to you, Tony?”
“No” interrupted Tootis, “you gave them to me! Eddie and I were about the same age. Those soldiers were the best gift you ever gave me”.
“You know,” I said, turning to Charlie. “I just realized the secret benefits of passing on toys to younger brothers, or nephews like Eddie and Tootis. When we became too old to own and play with them ourselves, it allowed us join in and play with Eddie and Tootis while they played with the toy soldiers”.
“What do you mean?” Tootis asked warily, not sure if I was complimenting him or belittling him.
“He means,” Charlie elaborated, “that it allowed me to watch you with the toy soldiers and then joining you by saying: ‘that’s not where you put a bazooka man, Tootis! Here, let me show you how to play with soldiers’. Then I’d get down on the ground with you and we’d play soldiers together. But with the clear understanding that I was teaching you how to play, not actually playing with them myself”.
“So you finally recognize that I played a vital role in your life!” crowed Tootis, slapping the wheel of the truck he was driving. “I knew the day would come!”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Charlie added dryly. “I was in high school and you were my cover for secretly doing the things I still loved to do. Don’t get all big-headed over that”.
“Charlie” Tootis said, looking over and laughing. “It was a metaphor!”