Mexicali Blues

Mexicali Blues

By Jake Farrow

Most of the issues I had with my dad I had already resolved as of two years ago when the this story happened. I had been to three different therapists over many years to forgive him for the divorce and for moving to Mississippi and leaving us. I had forgiven him for being a habitual pot smoker (note I didn’t say drug addict). I had even forgiven him for almost blowing me up with a half stick of dynamite one fourth of July evening. Accidents happen. Especially when it’s dark, there are fireworks involved and you’re high. There was one issue in particular that took me a long time to get over. Why, when I came down to visit him every Summer, did he never hang out with me just the two of us? That is the issue I was going to resolve when he called me two years ago and said he was getting divorced again (4th divorce; 3rd wife) and said he wanted to come here for a visit. This was huge. In the six years I had lived here he had never come out. I asked him to come out all the time but he always said he had a case he was trying or something. He had gone to visit my sister 4 times in Australia. I found it strange he never came to see me seeing as how I live, you know, ON THE WAY TO AUSTRALIA.

So when he called and said he needed to get out of town and get somewhere Sunny and he thought I might like to go to Mexico to do some golfing, I leapt at the chance. We settled on Ensenada. I had been to Ensenada to golf before and it’s awesome. Dad said it sounds great and asked me to have a lid of pot waiting for him when he got here. I was so excited. I called my sister in London. “Dad’s coming! We’re going to hang out! We’re going on vacation together. Just him and me. What’s a lid?!” My sister was excited for me. She knew how much this meant to me. And she also knew a lid was an ounce.

The three hour drive to Mexico with dad was pretty normal – filth, squalor, fifteen year old Mexican army dudes with m-16s, and some pretty decent conversation. It was the vacation with my dad I had dreamed about. Jake and dad. Hanging out. Chattin’ it up. Chat style. But once we got to Mexico things… changed.

As soon as we got in the room Dad fired up one “pre-dinner doob” and then we went to the hotel restaurant. At which point he got really loaded. Like, six scotch/rocks loaded. He started loudly telling me about his latest case. He was representing two guys who were hired by a man to kill his wife. Which they did and then skinned her from the neck up and cut off one of her tits. The people at the next table actually asked to move. But it’s pretty normal dinner conversation in my family actually so I was used to that. I was having a pretty good time. I mean, it’s a little weird to see your dad that loaded but since I never really got to see him I was just trying to enjoy it. After dinner I thought maybe we’d retire to the balcony, have some beers and talk and I’d just lay the guy down to bed. But dad had other ideas.

He said he wanted to go to a titty bar. I don’t care for them, but he’s recently divorced, I figure the guy needs to see some boobs. So we hop in a cab and we’re on our way. I’m asking the cabbie about bars in Ensenada and my dad’s yelling “titty bar” every five seconds. The cabbie says there are two kinds of titty bars in Ensenada. Titty Bars and Dance parlors. A titty bar is what you think it is and a dance parlor might be what you think it is if you think it’s a place to meet whores. I explain this to my dad. He spends the rest of the cab ride yelling dance parlor! Dance parlor! I tell him to chill out and that it’s early and we should start things off at Hussongs – I’m trying to distract him. Hussongs is a pretty nice bar there in Ensenada. But as soon as we get inside dad fires up another doobie. I say chill, this is Ensenda, not Amsterdam. He waves me off and keeps puffing. I’m starting to get kind of “annoyed.” I mean, I’m trying to enjoy his company but I keep having visions of Mexican prisons and crapping through a hole in the middle of a concrete cell. So I say, “Dad, this isn’t that kind of place. You can’t smoke pot in here.” And that’s when Kane from Kung Fu walked out of the back of the bar wearing a pirate shirt and a sash, walks right past my dad, sees the joint, smiles, gives Dad the thumbs up and says, “Niiice.” My dad, too drunk to realize David Carradine just addressed him, looks right at me and says, “He didn’t seem to mind.” Of course he didn’t mind – that was the Grasshopper.

Then he says we should head over to that dance parlor. Come on, let’s go to the dance parlor. Just check it out. I was just happy to get out of Hussongs before we got arrested. I honestly didn’t think anything was going to happen. As soon as we got inside the parlor a friendly guy named Carlos comes up and says, “I have a table for you. Come come.” We sit down, order two beers and nine seconds later Carlos is back. “See those girls over there. They want to meet you.” “That’s okay. We’re just hanging out tonight. Little father son bonding time.” Dad yells, “Send ‘em over!” Okay, so maybe a little whorechasing. I guess. Then Carlos sends over two very young, surprisingly attractive girls. I start talking to the blonde one while my dad, one eye closed, is talking to the other. Carlos comes back and whispers in my ear, “These girls. They want to go home with you.”

Back at the hotel I thought there’s no way dad’s going to have sex with this girl in his condition. Wrong! Off to the bedroom they went. Yet again, my dad had abandoned me for a girl. Not a step-mom or a girlfriend this time. No, I had been abandoned for a whore. And it wasn’t even ten thirty. This truly was the worst vacation of all time.

To cap things off their "love making" was so loud I had to leave and spent the next forty five minutes by the pool getting a $150 Spanish lesson from prostitute #2. Sweet girl, actually. Part time college student. But her friend finally reappeared and they left. Leaving me locked out of my room because dad had passed out. Then after about a half hour of knocking he finally woke up and opened the door. Naked. He was staring at me like he didn’t know who I was. And to tell you the truth I don’t think he did know who I was. He certainly didn’t know that my idea of a nice vacation together didn’t involve drugs and hookers. And he definitely didn’t know that all I wanted was to spend some time with him and talk and connect. I said nothing though, opting to discuss this when he was more sober. Then he turned and walked back to his room squarely hitting the wall on the way making his ample ass shake and wobble. Honestly? Worst site I’ve ever seen.

When Dad woke up late the next day, I told him exactly how I felt. I spelled out how I didn’t want to judge him, that I don’t think any less of him for what happened the night before, But in the future, when we go on vacation I would like to just sit and talk and hang out – no hookers and no drugs. He apologized and said he really was looking forward to this trip too. He really was sorry and he was just going through a hard time and he really appreciated me being there for him.

I felt so bad for him and I hugged him and told him I loved him. He suggested we put this all behind us and today was a new day. “Let’s just go play some golf together.” It was kind of a nice moment. The highlight of the trip so far. Then he said, “You’re gonna have to pay though. That hooker stole my wallet.”