Becoming A Son

by David Labrava

  Life was going just about as good as I could imagine it to be. Working in five tattoo shops all over Miami, riding my chopper everywhere, no helmet law. I was having fun. The only problem was I wasn’t chasing my dream. I knew what I wanted to do, and where I wanted to do it, I just had to get there. I had an empty feeling that something was still missing.

  I hung out every day with my pal Alex and we rode Choppers all over town. Five days a week I tattooed eight hours a day but the rest of the time was mine. It was good for me, a lot of structure.

  Miami is like a live wire and we treated it like that. Every night of the week there was some club having a big party. Being a local we always got right in, even after people have been waiting in line for hours. You could always tell the out of towners. All made up in their silk clothing, all covered in hair grease or mascara, sweating like pigs on the way to slaughter. Locals never looked like that. We knew better, we grew up here. We know how hot and humid it is in Miami.

  The Pre Scarface Miami was the cool one. The Miami where my grandparents would sit on the porch and look at the cars go by on Ocean blvd. There was a Dog Track and fishing pier and everything was quiet. Now it had become a back alley of glitter and house music over run with a whole lot of people that only come there a few months a year and think they own the place.

  I was getting bored. Anxious. It didn’t take long to get into all kinds of drama. It didn’t matter how long I had been gone, soon as I was back I was right in the thick of it all. Home. One of my best friends was Jim Pep. Jimmy was from the beach. Most people thought we were real brothers. I ran around with a whole crew. Jimmy Russell Rey Red Alex Judd Marko Ken to name a few. I could keep on going. There was a special crew of people that grew up on the beach. It gave us a special bond. It’s kind of special growing up in a vacation spot. The whole country was saving up their money to come to where I grew up for a week. And I couldn’t wait to get out. Not like I hated it. On the contrary, I liked it too much.

  Like I said I was getting bored and caught up in drama. Jimmy would get in fights all over the beach. All of us did growing up in Miami. Jimmy got in a fight with some guy from London named Bobby. Some muscle bound jerk who waited tables on Ocean drive in the day and bartended at night. I’m pretty sure it was over baby mama drama. It didn’t matter anyway. If you were in the South Beach crew, like we were, we are ALWAYS right. Especially anything that happened on the beach. We ran that shit.

  Jimmy walked into the tattoo shop. I was just about to get off work.

  “You get it?”

  Jimmy handed me a piece of paper with a number on it then sat down. I picked up the shop phone and dialed the number.

  “Hello.” Bobby said. He had a London accent. “Bobby?”

  “Yes. Who is this?” “This s D.L. Do you know exactly who this is?” Bobby was silent for a moment.”

  “Yes I do.”

  “Good motherfucker. Where you wanna meet?”

  “Why would I want to meet you anywhere?”

  “So I can bash your fuckin’ skull in you piece of shit. I saw what you did to my little brother. Now I’m gonna handle it. Where you wanna meet?”

  “Why not let him fight his own battles?” I could tell Bobby was shaken. He didn’t expect me to be calling him.

  “WHERE YOU WANNA MEET MOTHERFUCKER?” Silence.

  “Hello?” I said. No answer. He hung up the phone.

  “He hung up.” Me and Jimmy started laughing. Truth is he was probably waiting tables less than a few blocks away from the shop I was tattooing in when I made that call.

  That was the beginning of a reign of terror I put on Bobby, calling him all the time, challenging him to fights, till one day I had enough. I was helping a friend paint a house and I took some acid to kind of help me get the job done faster. Instead of getting the job done faster, all I could do was think about Bobby walking around town talking about how he beat up Jimmy. I guess I got myself all worked up. I ended up leaving the job early. The house I was painting was in Kendall which is about an hour from the beach. I got in my paint van dressed in my painter whites and headed straight for the beach. I look back on this moment and these are the things that defined me, made me who I became. Standing up for what is right. This guy was in my town and misbehaving and I wasn’t having it. As far as I was concerned I had let him know I was coming after him. He had gotten fair warning. He should have been on high alert after the first phone call.

  I pulled over the causeway and onto the beach and looked for a parking space. The whole beach was slowly becoming one big parking lot. I wanted to be able to run to my truck after I beat this idiot down. That’s about as far as I had thought this thing through.

  I saw Bobby at least a block before he saw me. He was waiting tables on Ocean drive.

  “HERE I COME BOBBY.” I yelled as I was walking up. Bobby looked like he saw a ghost.

  “I’m working.”

  ”SO WHAT.”

  Bobby picked up a knife off the table and started swinging it at me. All the people eating and the other waiters all froze. Everyone was frozen but me and Bobby. We were the only ones moving. Bobby was swinging that knife but as high as I was he looked like he was moving in slow motion. Every time he got close I smashed him in the face with a right or a left. His nose was bleeding and he looked frustrated. The other waiters were yelling at me to leave. In about a minute two squad cars pulled up, one from both directions and the cops jumped out with their guns drawn. Straight wild west shit.

  “FREEZE.” The cop said. They had stopped traffic with both of their cars in the middle of the street. Ocean drive is only two lanes. We both stopped moving. The cops approached us both and through us in handcuffs.

  “What’s the problem here?” The cop said.

  “I’m the problem. I put extra gas in my tank, took the day off early cuz this piece of shit needs an ass beating and I’m the person who’s going to give it to him.” I took another swing at Bobby he ducked.

  “He calls me all the time. He’s terrorizing me. Make him stop.” Bobby sounded like he was going to cry. The cops did everything they could to not laugh. I was as high as could be so I thought everything was pretty funny. These same two cops had arrested me at least once or twice growing up. Miami beach is a small town. They walked Bobby off to the side and talked to him for a few minutes, then they went in the restaurant for a few minutes, then they came and talked to me.

  “They’re not going to press charges.”

  “That’s good.”

  “If you leave him alone.” The first cop said.

  “You are going to leave him alone, right?” The second cop asked.

  “Yeah. I’ll leave him alone.” I thought the whole thing was amusing. The cops uncuffed me and I turned and took off in the other direction.

  I knew it was time to split. I had waited long enough. I had gotten complacent, too comfortable. Once the cops have a lock on you, especially in a small town like Miami Beach, you know you are going to be harassed every where you go. And when your whole world is ten blocks wide and twenty one blocks long, there is not a lot of places to go that you won’t be seen. The cops didn’t really bother me, not more than they bothered everyone else. It was just another reason to get on with my journey.

  I knew my mom was not going to be too happy about me moving across an ocean so I went in my glass shop and made her a wine glass. It took three days to make that wine glass. I put everything I had into it. I wanted to give her something tangible before I left. Something she could put on the shelf next to all the glass art and perfume bottles I had made her over the years. I met my Mom on Lincoln road for dinner a few days before I left to break the news to her that I was leaving. We had a really nice dinner and she loved the wine glass. We took a walk up Lincoln road after we ate.

  “That was a nice dinner.” My mom said. We sat on a bench.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where to this time?”
I had left so many times in my life she wasn’t surprised.

  “Holland.”

  “Holland as in Amsterdam?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s kind of far. Why?”

  “It’s just something I have to do.”

  “What do you have to?” I didn’t know how to answer that one.

  “I just want to go ride around Europe for a while.”

  “What with your motorcycle buddies?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why can’t you do that here?”

  “It’s just not the same.” She thought about that for a moment.

  “For how long.”

  “I don’t know. Actually I do know. Forever.”

  “Forever is a long time.” She started to cry and I hugged her. Some businessman saw us and started to come over. He looked at my mom.

  “You ok lady? Is he bothering you?” Before I could answer my mom said through her tears,

  “It’s my son. He is leaving me.” I looked at the businessman with a look that said back up or get knocked out and he left.

  Me and my mom were always close. Still are. One thing for sure she knew if I had made my mind up this is what is going to happen. No matter what trouble I ever got in, she never let me go. She always supported me and encouraged me, no matter what.

  I walked her to her car and we hugged like it might be the last time. As I watched her drive away I knew I was embarking on a whole new journey that I did not know the outcome. I just knew if I didn’t go chase my dreams now they might get away from me and I would never have known if what I wanted is what was going to happen.

  The next few days me, Alex, Judd and Marko built two crates. One for my chopper and one for all my tools and stuff. We took it down to the port and put them on a ship to Holland. To say I was excited is an understatement. There is no excitement like chasing your dreams. The worst day chasing your dreams is better than the best day doing anything else.

  We had a quiet party at the warehouse, just a few friends to say goodbye. Within two days I was on a flight to Schipol airport in Amsterdam Holland.

  59

  Holland was cold when I first got there. Winter was coming. It was early September when I arrived. I was about to turn 37 years old in October. Over ten years had past since I had a bad dope habit and I was comfortable that part of my life was in my rear view mirror. I never spoke about it, thought about it. It was as if it had never even happened. Like I was never exposed, which is how I handled it. I have a great imagination.

  I knew where I was going and why, which is a very cool feeling. Good to have direction. My friends lived in a small town called Ijmuiden, which is about 36 miles from Amsterdam. Which if you have never been there, it is absolutely one of the coolest places in the world.

  Ijmuiden is a small fishing village sitting on the edge of the North Sea. Big sea going ships would come and go through a series of locks, which let the water rise around the ship so they can make it in to the channel. My friends had a house across from one of the bars in the city and across the street from one of the two coffee shops in town and they all hung out there. Between folks drinking in the bar and people buying weed and hash from the coffee shop across the street it made for a pretty busy corner. I sat many a day on the bench in front of the picture window looking out at the North Sea at the ships coming in after months out on the open ocean.

  I got to my friends house where I would stay until I got my own place. I landed with enough money to get started. I also brought all my motorcycle mechanic tools, my tattooing and glass blowing equipment, so I was confident I could make money. I had no plan ‘B’. Only a plan ‘A’. I was going to see my dream through.

  I was unpacking my stuff and two of the brothers walked in.

  “We have to talk to you about something.” I looked at them and I knew it was serious. We all sat down at the table.

  “You can not say ‘Bro’ to one of the brothers, not from any country.” One of them said.

  “We understand this is the slang from your country but you have to earn that here. And a foreign brother won’t know you as well or as long as we do so he might not take that right.” The other brother said.

  “You have to change that to ‘Dude’ or something else. And we are going to give you the time to change it because we know it won’t be easy.”

  I started saying ‘Man’ instead of ‘Bro’. I absolutely understood where they were coming from. I did my best to change it quickly, which was no easy trick.

  The Brothers have a love bigger than any I had ever seen. They greeted each other every day like they just picked their brother up from the airport, and they hadn’t seen each other in a year. EVERY DAY. The love of this family is so overwhelming that it made me want to be a part of it. I cleaned the house and then fell asleep on the couch in front of the T.V.

  I woke up early the next day and went down stairs to the bar for a cup of coffee. My friend joined me for a cup.

  “So. How’s it feel being so far from home?”

  “Exciting.”

  “Give it time.” He said with a smile.

  “First things first you have to go check in with the foreign police.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Because you are a foreigner. You plan on working and staying here. You need to check in and get registered. You have to pay taxes. This is a socialist government. You want to be part of it you have to check in. You also have to get a drivers license. That’s very important.”

  He could see I was not too happy about checking with the foreign police.

  “It’s not as heavy as you think.” He handed me a piece of paper with an address on it.

  “Get your passport and I will drop you off at the boat that you will ride into town on.”

  “Boat?”

  “Yes. There is a hydrofoil boat to the central station. It’s like a bus on the water. Holds about forty people. It costs five guilders. Takes about 30 minutes. Come on. Get a move on. Be at my car in fifteen minutes.” And with that he walked out. I sat there realizing how big a trick this is going to be to turn, to make a complete life in this far away land. But I was determined to make it happen.

  For five guilders it was a hell of a ride. The Euro hadn’t been invented yet and the Dutch currency was guilders. We called them ‘gliders’. The Hydrofoil boat was new to me but commonplace to everyone from town. This was the commute to the city for work for everyone. For me it was like a carnival ride.

  I got out at the central station and walked for what seemed like an eternity until I found the foreign police office.

  I walked into the office and every seat was taken it there was standing room only. The room was full of people from everywhere, all over Africa, Morocco, even all over Europe. I was the only American in the place. I took a number and sat down. I knew it was going to be a long wait. I always carried this little book that I wrote in with me. I was writing down every Dutch word that I knew and all the ones I learned. I also had that to write ideas for stories. I still wrote my monthly column for the magazine, so I always had a pen and a notebook with me.

  After about three hours my number was called. I stepped up to the counter.

  “Can I help you?” A real tall police officer asked me.

  “Yes I would like to register, I just got here.”

  “Register to stay in Holland for how long?”

  “Forever.” I said with a smile.

  “Everyone wants to stay in Holland as you can see. Have you a love interest here?”

  “I got married to a Dutch girl about seventeen or eighteen years ago. It’s been about that long since I have seen her.”

  The cop looked at me like I was insane.

  “A love interest is about the easiest way to stay. Other than that it’s very difficult. Can you bring her in with you?”

  “I said I haven’t seen her in about eighteen years.”

  “Then you are divorced?”

  “No. I just haven’t seen her. Even if
I did I don’t think she would come in here with me.”

  “In which country did you marry?”

  “In the United States.”

  “You will have to produce that wedding certificate with your wife.”

  “But I just said I haven’t seen her.” I was getting g pissed off. It doesn’t matter what country the cops are from they are still cops. I never did work well with authority.

  “Or you must produce divorce papers from the country in which you were married in. You have an appointment in six months.” He handed me some forms to fill out and a card with my appointment date. Six months away. I got back to Ijmuiden and my friend asked me about it.

  “So how did it go with the foreign police? You get it handled?”

  “I have an appointment in six months.”

  “Don’t miss it.” I got real busy after that and the appointment day came and went I didn’t even notice. Neither did anyone else.

  60

  The life lessons started coming at me non stop. The lessons are actually always coming at you in some form or another it’s up to you to get them. It also helps when you have some friends pointing them out to you along the way.

  The first Saturday night there was a big party in the local bar called the Second Room. I learned later this raging party was every Saturday night. Also Thursday night. And sometimes on Wednesday night. Of course always on Sunday night. Come to think of it Monday was the only night there wasn’t a big party in the local bar. The bar was closed on Mondays.

  It was Saturday night and the bar was packed to capacity and raging. Like everyone is drunk and all singing together when a song comes on that they know. And everybody knows almost every song. The ones they don’t know they fake. The brothers didn’t sing in the bar, they just found it all amusing.