El viejo, el mar y el futuro yerno ( The old man, the sea and the future son-in-law.)

I just realized that after four postings, I have yet to write an anecdote. So here is the first true anecdote of a dreamer. Forgive the errors in punctuation and spelling, this blog does not allow me to switch between Spanish and English.

When I first met my wife in 1973, we immediately formed a bond that has lasted until the present time. Not to say that there haven't been challenges along the way. As in any long term relationship, there are events that serve as punctuation marks that move the relationship to the next step.

On Memorial Day weekend 1973, we were invited by my future father-in-law to take a trip to Key West. I am always up for a road trip, so I thought this was a great idea. Little did I know. We all got into "el profe's" car to take the eight hour drive from home. We shared the driving and about five and a half hours later, we arrived at Islamorada. We were to meet Pancho, an old guy who had been the mayordomo on el profe's finca in Cuba. Pancho acquired ownership of a wooden Chris Craft cabin cruiser made from timbers salvaged from the Nina.
When I first set eyes on the vessel, I asked my novia if we were supposed actually take it out to sea. She spoke to el profe (this was before my conversion to Hispanicity) and he said that all we had to do was to apply a little fiberglass to the bottom of the boat and all rrright very well fandango.

We went down to the boat supply store and purchased fiberglass cloth and chemicals. I'm starting to think that maybe this was not such a great idea. Well, we spent the afternoon applying fiberglass along most of the bottom of the boat. El profe then says we're going to Key West to spend the night with a primo who is a doctor. By now, all I want is a shower, a drink and a good meal.

A couple of hours later, we arrive at Key West and try to find la casa del primo.
We find it and after introductions and a brief reunion, we head out to El 4 de Julio restaurant, perhaps the only Cuban restaurant in Key West at the time. Being a doctor on a small island, el primo was immediately treated like royalty. We had a great dinner of typical Cuban food, cafe cubano and more than a few drinks. I didn't even care that I had not yet showered.

We got home pretty late and got up early to return to Islamorada. The fiberglass had set, so we asked the boatyard to lower the venerable vessel in to the water. El profe jumps into the boat and starts to tinker with a motor that appeared to be handmade by Henry Ford's father. There was all kinds of noise coming out of both the motor an el profe. After about twenty minutes, el profe notices that our boat is taking on water. He tries to get the bilge pump to work, to no avail. He then asks me to get a cubo. At that time my spanish was limited to hola and gracias, so I had no clue what a cubo (bucket) was. I thought he said "tubo" which I thought meant hose. I ask the boatyard guy for a piece of hose and he gives me about six feet of hosing. I run back to el profe and by now the water is past his ankles. I hand him the hose and he immediately starts screaming at my novia, "Que se cree el gringo de mierda, que voy a chupar el agua? (Does that shitting gringo think that I'm going to suck out the water?) I ask my novia to translate and through the laughter she makes up some nonsense, but tells me to find a bucket. By the time I get there with the bucket the water is up to his knees and he is apparently cussing up a storm. He asks my novia, "Con eso es quien tu te quiere casar? Me cago en el cono su madre!" ("This is the person you are going to marry?) (The next phrase does not really translate very well, but it's very, very bad thing to say about my mother.) I'm getting pissed at the tone of this whole conversation and she keeps laughing and making up bogus translations to her father's diatribe.

Meanwhile, he's going down with the ship. We called to boatyard guys, and they pulled the boat out of the water with him inside. It looked like a cartoon. As they pulled the boat up, water was coming from everywhere and steam was coming from el profe's ears. By this time my novia was practically rolling around on the ground with laughter. I'm yellling at her that this is the last time I ever go near a boat with her father (it wasn't). We ended up renting a small motor boat and spent an hour or two in the flats west of the island, fishing for nothing. We had some canned beer, but forgot to bring an opener (this being before the time of the pop top) and had to open the cans with a knife.

This event, more than any other, made me want to learn Spanish. I enlisted my novia, her mom and her aunt to be my tutors, and by the end of the year, I was on my way to becoming Hispanic. This event should have taught me to be skeptical of any idea or project that originated from El Profe. It actually took me ten to fifteen years to learn that lesson. Oh well, it's all good, and vayanse pa' carajo!