5:55 PM. It's a Tuesday. January 2023. Francisco’s Mexican Restaurant. Minden, Nevada.
I can't find a single place to park, except for one solitary spot way out past Timbuktu next to a zoo.
We parked and started walking a distance that the Trail of Tears barely paled in comparison too. If Pocahontas were still here with us on God’s green earth to render us her trailblazing services, there is no doubt in my mind, I would feel inclined to inquire about them.
Somewhere in the range of thirty minutes to an hour ago, I picked the boy up from school after a long day of work.
I’ll admit, I am awfully spent.
But not a moment after he buckled his seatbelt in, he hits me with his first question since earlier this morning.
It is a fully loaded question on a somewhat touchy subject.
There’s only one slight problem though. I am not in any way, shape, or form, near educated, nor wise enough to answer such a loaded question at the moment.
And this may come as a surprise to some of you, or probably not, but I’m really not that intelligent of a guy.
I am just a guy that’s decent at putting words where I think they belong, next to each other, and written well enough to get their point across.
So with that taken into the context of the reader’s consideration, I’m not much qualified to answer every question pertaining to such a touchy feely issue.
Which does not, in any way mean, that I am not going to try.
And while I'm being honest here, know that it’s taken me, a fully grown man mind you, just over forty-five years to almost figure out how to spell his own damn name.
Let's get back to that fully loaded question.
His inquisitivity from out of nowhere a little bit ago, caught me completely off guard, and there stands a solid chance, it will you too.
His question was this:
"Dad, is there anything left in this world that will save humanity?”
It is unfortunate for me that I carry no such ability to answer his question right off the bat.
My one salvation, or my only way around it at least, was to pivot his attention span to that of dinner.
Taco's at Francisco's to be exact.
"That’s a really good question kid. Before I can answer it though, we should treat ourselves to some tacos?"
"Dad, you know how much I love Francisco’s.”
Now here we are standing in line, waiting to get a table after making the trek all the way over from Timbuktu’s one last solitary parking spot, and I can’t stop chewing on his question.
Is there anything left in this world that will save humanity?
Just to the left of us sitting on a bench, waiting for a table, are a couple of cops. One is built like a brick shit house that could easily fold the both of us up like half a cheese quesadilla, dip us in some salsa and guacamole, then wash us down with a virgin blackberry margarita. The other is a woman, a lot prettier, and probably much tougher than him too.
They’re both dressed in black and blue. Their bulletproof vests mounted with a few Smith & Wesson’s that could put holes in the moon. They’re here to protect and to serve and to consume tacos I would assume.
“Pardon me officers,” I begin by gently interrupting their conversation. "Might I politely bother you two with a bit of a personal question?”
“Absolutely,” they said simultaneously.
"My kid here is wondering if there is anything left in this world that will save humanity?”
"How many sir?” The busy hostess asked the question my direction in broken english, interrupting our conversation.
“Two, por favor. The name is love.”
“I’m listening.” I said to the cops with nothing but eye contact.
The male officer offers up half a frown, “Save what…what the hell do you mean man?”
The female officer laughs, interrupting him.
“What he means Cap, is if there is anything left in this world that will save us all? And you know what? I think there probably is. I think if we would just treat each other with the utmost respect no matter our outlook on things, and if we all realize that this life is a gift, a blessing to us, we'd be a lot less likely to be so selfish.
I shake their hands, thank them for everything, and say thanks with a nod. I borrow a napkin and a pen from the hostess stand and give them to the kid.
“Here, write all that down quick.”
He does, as fast as he can.
"Two. Amor." The hostess waves her hand with the rhythm of a melody from a lightly rowdy Mexican band.
"Yes ma’am. That’s us.”
The hostess is a young Latina girl. Not much older than an adult. Her hair is jet black and pulled back in a sacred geometrically shaped ponytail. Her apron has a shift's worth of grease stains from salty chips all over it. Her name is Lupe according to her name tag. I assume it’s Guadalupe at length.
She sits us down at a booth with chips and salsa and a distant smile.
“Two aguas?”
"Si. Gracias.”
And off she goes with the winds of a super busy night at her back.
The kid and I inhale the freshly made, crunchy, salty, tangy, and spicy goodness she just put in front of us.
Upon her quick return with water in tow, and another basket of chips in hand, I asked her.
"So tell me Guadalupe, is there is anything left in this world that will save humanity?”
"Lo siento, mi no habla inglés, amor. More chip?" she answers with caring confusion.
“Por favor."
Low and behold though, our waitress is right behind her. She’s from Winnemucca. Her name rhymes with the place she's from, and she overheard the question. She politely translates it without us asking her to, and is sweet enough to interpretate Lupe's answer.
“She thinks that kindness, gratitude, smiling at everyone, and forever spreading love and joy around the world are a few things that will save humanity,"
And happily continued:
"I cannot help myself but agree with her. Well that, and maybe pursuing your long lost dreams sir. Although good tippers make the world a much better place too.” She says with a wink.
I look over at the kid writing down what she said with focus and authority.
"So what will you two handsome gentlemen be enjoying this evening?"
“Tacos. All the tacos in the world,” the kid blurts out.
“We’ll have three carnitas tacos, three pollo tacos, and three asada tacos, pretty please.” I say with the tone of an exhausted dad.
"Would you like some rice and beans to go along with those tacos?"
“I don’t know if we really need the beans if you know what I mean, but sure, might as well. Please and thank you ma'am."
"Would Dad like a blackberry margarita this evening, or an ice cold cerveza to wet his whistle with?”
“No ma’am. Thank you though. I’m happy enough as it is.”
"Perfect. It'll be right out. See you soon."
And off she went.
Moments later our food shows up.
All childish banter persists and the shoveling of tacos into our mouths commence.
Everything hits the perfect spot, and is so damn delicious. The culturally tasteful joy of it all is just enough to make two boys smile with wide open delight and forget that things like napkins even exist.
There is a woman just as hungry as us across the way at an adjacent table with a stack of to-go boxes that reach for the stars. She is wearing purple nurse’s scrubs. Her hair is disheveled. She looks as tired as me, but holds herself together much better.
She mentions that she just got off a fourteen hour shift. She also says that after she wraps up wolfing down her tacos in a rare moment of peace and quiet, she has to hurry home to feed three and a half really hungry mouths, and hopefully their homework and the housework will be done, so she can finally sleep for a whole eight hours tonight.
I ask her the same question I have been asking everyone else this evening.
Is there anything left in this world that will save humanity?
She thinks with a slight roll of her eyes about the question, while delicately finagling a taco through a saline sea of salsa verde and a mud bath of sour cream.
“Sorry, I might’ve been gently eavesdropping when you asked the young lady earlier,” she said.
“But ultimately," she continued. "I think that’s up to you and me, and every stranger in between. I think people genuinely being really damn sweet to each other would go a very long way towards a better day. I think there is something to be said for just being real and, well I mean, I don’t really know? You may not believe it, but there are a lot of people out there in this world who could use someone that makes them think about things like your question does, and needs someone who speaks up for them, and maybe that person who speaks up, needs someone who listens to them."
"That’s the best answer yet,” the kid spoke for the first time since our treasure trove of tacos showed up. I'll let the salsa stains upon his chin just below his taco triggered grin speak for itself.
"Thanks, you little heartbreaker in the making.” She stood up, handed him a napkin, then went about corralling her tower of to-go boxes together in a couple of takeout bags. “I have to be on my merry way, but hopefully I'll see you two cutie pies around sometime.”
We finish up our meal, pay the bill, leave a rather healthy tip, and write this sweet little thank you note to the helpful waitress.
I'm so stuffed I wish I had a wheelchair to carry me back to the car out past Timbuktu.
It’s probably better that we walk this one off though.
There we were, walking through the dark, me spinning a key around one finger, his little hand wrapped around the same finger on my other hand, chit-chatting back and forth about the notes he took this evening and all about the day.
I started thinking about was why it was so difficult for me to answer his one simple question earlier.
I mean, I know the answer. I always have.
I guess it's true that sometimes the eloquence of simplicity has a way of escaping me.
Walking through the parking lot towards our car, we see an elderly man talking to the sky beneath a streetlight, struggling to get out of the passenger side of a pickup with all his might.
A younger man, which I assume to be his son, is coming over to help him.
The younger man wrestles something out of the bed of the truck, then places his elder in a wheelchair as if he were as light as a feather.
"My old man adores this place,” he tells me without me asking as we approach our car.
“I have to get him out of the zoo of his mind every once in awhile. That way he won't go batshit crazy. So I bring him here. It's well worth it, even though we have to park all the way out here past Timbuktu as his crazy ass calls it.”
"Tell me young man, can you think of anything else left in this world that will save humanity?” I ask him.
He is taken completely off guard by my question. So I ask the question again. He looks awfully confused, and I am starting to feel crazy for asking everyone such a silly question.
Yet my salvation was salvaged, when the elder from way back in his ivory tower of a wheelchair chimes in.
“I know one thing left that will save all of us!” He says at the top of his lungs.
"And what is that kind sir?” I ask.
He holds up his right index finger, then his left index finger, pushing them down and together, while his thumbs point downward and meet well below them.
"One word. Four letters. And it's bigger than the whole dang universe.” His crazy ass smiling from ear to ear with his hands holding a symbol way above his head.
He continued. "It's a word kid. One little word. That's all it is. It's really that damn simple."
I just look at the boy and can only laugh as we climb back in the car to head on home.
"Well kid, there you have it."
It’s a taco;)
Love,
Dad
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