Postcard From José & Raúl

Almost every evening, I take Goose to the backside of our apartment complex for a little exercise.

There’s a decent-sized stretch of hilly green grass that wraps around a large pond — home to several ducks, turtles, and the occasional school of fish flashing beneath the murky waters.

It’s a safe slice of outdoors where I let Goose off the leash so he can do what he does best: sniff, hike, and gallop around like the oversized goofball that he is.

Last evening, after letting him run buck wild, I signaled “playtime’s over” and met him back at the car.

Panting like a madman in the backseat, with his paws covered in grass stains and his tongue dangling behind my shoulder, I began steering the horse and carriage back towards my apartment.

Being that it was just after 6 PM, the parking lot was fluid with people, as their end-of-workday routines began to settle in.

As we slowly cruised past a strip of consecutive parked cars, I noticed four legs swinging down from the tailgate of an old red pickup truck.

Because my windows were cracked, as we got closer, the pulse of their reggaeton music grew louder with each passing car.

As Goose and I rolled by, both guys stared straight at me through the windshield.

Holding their eye-contact, I dipped my chin with a friendly, acknowledging nod.

Simultaneously, they both returned the favor.

Then, instantly, my brain went somewhere else.

And the next thought that went darting through my mind:

“These dudes better be more careful with their stares.”

Not because they felt threatening or disrespectful.

But because, just a few days earlier, I’d had a rather alarming conversation with a Nepali neighbor in this same parking lot.

He told me how he’d just witnessed an ICE raid less than five minutes from our complex — where multiple Indian and Nepali men had been rounded up outside an ethnic grocery store… only to be taken away without questioning.

I could see he was shaken by what he’d seen, and I still have a hard time believing shit like that is happening in my own country.

Wanting to warn these guys that danger was recently lurking in the area, I quickly hit the brakes and threw the car in reverse.

As I pulled back beside them, I rolled down the passenger-side window.

The older of the two immediately reached for their tattered Bluetooth speaker and turned the music down.

The conversation that followed was in Spanish, so I’ll translate here where needed.

“¿Qué están haciendo, amigos?” I greeted them. What’s going on, friends?

“Pues nada, estamos tranquilos.” Not much, we’re just relaxing, the older of the two replied suspiciously.

Clearly they’d just wrapped up a full day’s work, as their arms and clothes were splattered in dried paint.

“¿Y tú, qué haces?” And you, what are you up to? The younger one asked.

Without mumbling a word, I held his eye contact and inconspicuously slid my hand over to the lever — then lowering the backseat window.

As soon as Goose popped his head out, any ounce of tension all but disappeared.

Both of their tired, worn-out faces lit up like Christmas trees.

They quickly hopped off the tailgate, dusted their palms, and were already reaching for Goose.

“No mames, guey… ¡qué grande está este perro!” No freakin’ way, man. Look how big this dog is!

I laughed out loud and told them not to worry — yeah, he’s a big boy… but he’s “puro amor.” Pure love.

The older one, who I learned was José, asked if he could take a photo.

“Claro que sí, amigo.” I assured him.

Before I could even finish the sentence, he’d pulled out his phone… but he wasn’t doing so to take any pictures.

He was already on a video call.

And on the other end was a beautiful, brown-eyed baby girl.

I waved and greeted her in Spanish, to which José immediately handed the phone to his counterpart.

“Pásale a tu hermana,” he said. Pass your sister to him.

“Ah, ella es tu hermana?” I asked. Ah, she is your sister?

“Sí. Ella es mi hermana. Y él es mi papá.” Yes. She is my sister. And he is my dad. Pointing to José.

Lo and behold, José and Raúl are father and son.

Working together as day laborers here in Dallas… 10 hours a day, 6 days a week.

The other half of the family, José’s wife and two daughters, are back in Mexico — and all depend on these two men to survive.

I grew up in Texas, and I’m half-Mexican… which means I’ve seen a version of this same story my whole life.

Even still, when you’re face-to-face with a father and son separated from their entire family, so as to carry the weight of that same family… no matter how many times you may’ve seen it — it still has a heavy impact.

Now, suddenly, there were three girls squeezing in on the cracked screen in front of me.

I handed the phone back to José and he quickly held it up once again to show-off Goose.

“Mira, mis hijas… ¡él tiene ojos de dos colores!” Look, my daughters… he’s got two different colored eyes!

In that exact moment, right as their voices started squealing and overlapping with enthusiasm, a black Nissan pulled up behind me and politely tapped its horn.

The lane was too narrow for it to get around, so just like that, the beautiful bubble of a moment we were all sharing… burst.

There was no longer time for me to say what I’d come back to say — but, honestly, maybe it was better that way… especially now, given my warning might be overheard by the wife and daughters.

But I did still give them a gentle, short & sweet reminder:

“Las cosas están locas ahora. Por favor cuídense uno al otro.” Things are crazy around here now. Please take care of each other.

Raúl enthusiastically roped his arm over his dad’s shoulders and grinned.

“Siempre cuido a este viejo.” I’ll always take care of this ol’ man.

The love between this father and son was palpable, and seeing them so warmly embrace pinged at my heart and made me miss my dad.

Despite the hardships these two may be living through, it was crystal clear they were lucky to have each other.

I smiled, gave them a parting salute, and tapped at the horn — thanking the Nissan behind me for its patience.

“¡Cuídate, amigos!” Take care, friends!

“¡Igualmente!” You too! José replied, smiling ear to ear.

Then, I drove away…

Watching the father and son shrink in the rearview.

Yet still stand there…

shoulder to shoulder…

waving me goodbye.

With Gusto,

Adrian

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For every encounter like this… there’s another that ends a little different. Here’s one of those which I wrote not too long ago: