Don Quijote

Son of Swiss-German-Swedish immigrants, originally from a family of cheese mongers in Thun, Switzerland. My old man was born in Los Angeles. He spent much of his childhood in La Jolla. Then his early twenties in Coyoacan, Mexico City. Since my grandfather was expanding his business to Mexico. They lived just a few blocks away from Frida Kahlo's Casa Azul.
He grew up to more than 6 feet tall. Thin, with a deep voice, short light brown hair, deep blue steel eyes. Two small gold hoops on the left ear, a van dyke, and his white skin. Suntanned from so many years on the tropics, made him look like an old gringo version of Don Quijote in the 21st century, which he was.
He wore the biggest Nike's I've ever seen, a willis leather bag with a book, several packs of smokes and a bottle of Hornitos, shorts, sunglasses, and a black Breton cap defined the regular uniform of a businessman, turned sailor.

I was the first kid on the neighborhood with a light saber
months before Star Wars was even announced
and at school I was the sole teenager with a yacht in Acapulco
the old man sure provided for me
and along the way he taught me a thing or two.

He stood in line so many times
at the space mountain
under the Anaheim sun
spent hours at the arcade, playing
swam on the riptide with a bodyboard
no matter what it was
go kart racing, or just watching TV
he was always next to me.

He taught me how to read the ocean currents
the air streams
how to handle an Evinrude
mix oil and care for it
and flip a Hobie cat
turned upside down in the middle of the bay

He showed me how to dig out clams
on the shallow shores of Baja
how to sail a two mast Catalina class sailboat
winch in the main, duck for the boom
and pee overboard
how to read a radar and measure depth
how to select wine, shoot and fish with a harpoon
How to shoot, since he was a Korean War Vet.

He taught me the importance of coffee
early in the morning
how waking up on the wake of a boat
is, amazingly unmatched
To sit and stop to see the sunset
and the green flash.

He taught me to dive, snorkel and fish
how to pull anchors
and make the marine knots
I tie around your wrists

He taught me how to do almost everything
he just forgot to show me how to carry on
without having a smaller version of me, of him

"If you ever get caught with a Playboy, just stare at them straight in the eyes and say "good articles"
1981 - somewhere in the Mexican Pacific
John R. Gerber

Today is 14 years without my old man, and yet, as time goes by, his presence behind my right shoulder has only grown stronger.