Years ago when I was younger and restlesser, I decided to take a drive down to Mexico with a friend of mine for a little break. It was the 1st time I ever left the United States, the first time I ever ate an $8 lobster, and the 1st (and last) time I ever ran for my life.
While heading back to the U.S., we drove through a small town near Tijuana, and noticed on one particular street, about a mile of tall fences on each side of the road. It turned out the town was celebrating, Pamplonada. If you're not familiar with the "Running of the Bulls", it's an annual event held in Spain and Mexico, where a multitude of ferocious bulls are set free in the streets to maul over anyone and anything stupid enough to stand in their way. I remember when my friend, Gary and I decided to give it a whirl...I first HAD to say farewell to my beloved mom back in Miami. I found a phone booth in the middle of town and gave her a quick call as I just KNEW she would understand and ultimately, support whatever I decided to bequeath her. I know. I know. My bad.
A few weeks later, I received this letter:
I told Nan about the bulls in Mexico-She said she saw people get maimed that way when she was in Tijuana! She got so upset & hysterical-she said she would have called the Border Patrol and I got so angry with her-we had a fight-! Anyhow-I told her you're safe now. She pictured you being caught by that bull.
Just thought I'd tell you-you can't tell her anything! But-in the future-Don't do anything so silly-because if you had slipped & fallen-you could have been run over by those bulls! And I was so sick that afternoon-not knowing what happened-Please don't do foolish things like that again. It isn't funny!
The Sunburned Country
1 week ago