Mi Califas...

I love when silence is broken by the movement of trees. By the sound of life in the distance – crowds buzzing, cars dashing, kids playing . I love the sound of summer in the winter time – the kind that only California, in her infinite array of beauty can host. I think of my childhood and of how much I miss baseball, bike rides, scraped knees & elbows, Saturday morning cartoons, innocence, grass stains… did I mention baseball?

Today is that day…

I wish it were mid-June and I had the day off with the woman I love. I wish I was at a Dodger game in the left field pavilions next to a bald guy "named" El Shorty, behind an old man nicknamed little Lasorda, in front of a fervent ten-year old Gagne fan named Alejandrita… comfortably numb between the sky and my Los Angeles playground.

I never take this for granted… I never have to remind myself of the luck I drew in so many aspects of my life – so many. In this case, my city – where angels fly, devils play and the rest of us soak in the goodness of an Aztlan paradise. The cool devil winds as the pre-colonized natives would say, originate in the Orange County barrio of Santa Ana courtesy of the Pacific waters. I remember these same winds smacking me in the face while diving for a fly ball in the outfield of dirt cut diamonds in the valley of San Gabriel.

This is where Mexican, white and black kids alike found friendship and trust in each other by attempting to master the movements of a sweaty leather glove, a tight knitted baseball, and aluminum bats. Where boys became little men and faced mite and bite sized fears that fellow mini-Reggie Jacksons perpetuated. Where a walk was as good as a hit and hearts were broken on Saturday afternoons by shouts of, “strike three, you’re out!”

The summer wind is still a few months away, yet I can’t help to stop and reflect on my current and frequent paradise on earth. I hear New York City is a great place to live also. I wonder if New Yorkers are currently basking in rays illuminated by the shared star we call sol?

It’s a bit embarassing, yet I’m somewhat proud that I’ve never touched snow.

- Lucio