Wednesday, February 23, 2005

Fish Story

It's funny sometimes how stuff you've been thinking about pops up right in front of you. In Fixer's post, and mine, we discussed health care for illegal immigrants. I was reading this story in the LATimes, heart-warming, maybe a little sad, of a dad taking his kid to Redondo Beach pier to go fishing as a reward for going to the dentist and ran across this:
Pulido, 37, was born in Michoacan, where his mother sold their home to pay for the move to the U.S. In a Tijuana bar she met a man who agreed to ferry them across the San Diego border.

It was 1974, and Pulido was only 6 but still he remembers crying from the loud music until his mother whispered: "Shhh, hijo. In America, they will fix your legs."

In the 'comments' section of my post, I said I didn't think health care was an attraction to illegal immigrants. I think I stand corrected. A mother's love knows no borders.

On a personal note, when I was a kid in L.A. my uncle would take me deep-sea fishing at Redondo Beach. We didn't fish off the pier. We were rich, so we went high-line and paid a buck and a half (each) to ride the boat out to anchored fishing barges. There were three of them, probably a mile or so apart, and you could go from one to the other all day. We caught mostly mackerel and they put up a good tussle for a 12-year-old. My uncle had several orange trees, and he buried the mackerel in a circle around them.

You haven't lived until you've enjoyed a greasy, fish-scale-covered fishing barge cheeseburger eaten with anchovy-smellin' hands! I think of those days even now as some of the best times of my childhood.

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