party fun with the enemy

i'm recalling the time that my immediate family (mother, father, sister, brother, wife, kid) went to the first communion of my mother's godchild's daughter (got that?).

so there we were, my side and my mother's godchild's side made up of mostly costa rican and cuban immigrants and the side of the husband (of my mother's godchild) made up of a extended family of vietnamese immigrants.

a couple of my dad's old work buddies are at hand (part of the reason the happy communion parents met was through the labyrinth of immigrant aerospace work) and they, of course, are discussing old times.

all in the lovely east valley of los angeles (somewhere near dante's 5th or 6th circle) and the temperature is 100 degrees.

everyone is getting along fine...barbecue, broken english, tiptoes around the various alcohol problems, melting cake, fighting for shade, odd cultural confusions...

when suddenly, the usual police copter buzzes overhead, stopping all conversations.

i note a couple of the older vietnamese look about nervously.

as the copter gets further away i hear my dad commenting on the type of rotor assembly he spied.

suddenly, my knees go all wobbly and my stomach lurches.

(flashback)

i had always been a bit proud of my dad's work in the aerospace industry in the '60s '70s and '80s...he had helped build apollo parts, after all...

for a short time in the early '70s, he was also part of the workforce for apache helicopters. the birds used all over the formerly lovely bits of southeastern asia during that lovely 'police action' that the french had let slip to us...napalm, genocide, forrest gump...you know, fricken dennis hopper, maaaan...

and as a result of that war, thousands of war refugees came to southern california to leave behind the home that we had helped trash.

(flashforward)

so, the party was quickly getting back to normal but all i could do was think:

half of this group would not be here had it not been for the other half that was currently sharing food and drink. i look over at my wife and siblings, but no sign that we are in some kind of psychic bond about my helicopter epiphany.

my appetite's gone. i feel discouraged and vaguely guilty.

my father is still talking about the 'bird' and it's to the proud papa of my mother's godchild's kid.

the vietnamese papa.

i then note that by this time, they are both drunk, and the irony is lost to them.

i grab a piece of cake.