The Cold Embrace.....

... of San Francisco.

Going up to San Francisco or Oakland is always interesting. My best friend since I was 12, Preyma, went to UC Berkeley. Now, she lives up in Oakland, her ex-roommate and good friend used to live in SF, but recently (well, actually more like 6 months ago) moved to Jamaica Plains, Massachusetts. Anyway, the last time I made it up to "the city", they were having a party at Dolores Park, which I’d never been to before. The party was in honor of Persian New Year and was thrown by Shabnam. The only park I’d ever been to up there was Golden Gate Park, which can be kinda skanky sometimes (especially the part up by Haight/ Ashbury). I was a bit nervous going to SF that day because the last time I went, a cement truck side swiped my car while I was sitting in traffic, at a red light (an entire door had to be replaced!). I brought cookies, Shabnam brought Iranian food, and someone else brought beer. We hung out there for a few hours until the sun went down and it got super cold. (Remember, I’m a Californian and have a different standard for "super cold".)

I could never live in San Francisco. The parking (lack thereof), horrid traffic, numbers of (crazy?) homeless people who yell at you when you don’t give them money, and crappy weather don’t impress me much. There are some positive qualities about "the city" (as its referred to in the bay area), like great clubs, great restaurants, and... um... (give me a second, I’ll think of another quality) numerous museums make it a nice place to go– just talk someone else into driving you there so you don’t have to worry about driving, parking, damage from potholes (I swear my car was almost swallowed by once!) and kamikaze cement trucks. I don’t want to make anyone mad or hurt anyone’s feelings. It’s okay, as cities go. I’m just saying it’s not for me. All those dislikes probably just mean I’m getting old.

Although I was born in San Diego (at Balboa hospital, if you must know), when I was six months old, my family moved to San Jose when my dad got out of the Navy. So I’ve always regarded San Jose as my home town. And even though I like living here, I always wanted to (oooh, get ready for a cliche) wanted to "see the world."

When I was a 9th grader, our French class got a visit from the foreign exchange program. As I sat there, listening to an exchange student who had been to Japan, my eyes got big as saucers. I remember thinking "I’m going to that." Freshmen could not be exchange students, one had to be at least a 2nd semester sophomore. My imagination ran wild for months, trying to decide where I would go if I ever became an exchange student. Japan? France? Argentina? In the car with my mother one Spring day in 1994, I proclaimed "I’m not going to be like you! I’m going to be adventurous and see the world." My mom briefly looked at me, then turned her attention back to the road. I remember thinking ‘oops, that came out kind of wrong– kind of mean.’ I should have apologised or clarified what I meant, but it was already too late.

It was the meanest thing I ever said to my mother.

Three years later, my mom and I were eating a late lunch at Coco’s when she made her announcement. With only one-quarter of my Sicilian chicken sandwich eaten, she told me she was going to divorce my dad.

On TV or in the movies, these important moments can be dramatised in different ways. In "Jerry Macguire" (however you spell it), his boss takes him out to lunch at a swanky restaurant and fires him. Poor Jerry, played by Tom Cruise, begins to look around the room, suddenly aware of all the other people, and time seems to slow down. This was my experience at Coco’s. Before I started to cry, I remember looking around, suddenly embarrassed, sad, angry, etc.

You’d think in this so- called ‘culture of divorce’ that I would have at least seen one afternoon special or movie- of - the- week where the child of divorced parents develops some sort of serious problem, the root of which is the belief that he/ she caused her parents divorce, and only after said trauma is explored through therapy, yadda yadda yadda, is said kid able to move on. You’d think I might have seen at least one Dr. Phil episode exploring a similar theme about how a divorce is never the child’s fault, and grasp on to it like a piece of treasure, a flotation device in deep water.

You’d be wrong.

~besos