Midwest

Midwest

After completing his four-year tour in the Navy, Dad flew his young family from Honolulu to Dallas.  He took up a job as a security guard that provided a meager income while he attended studies at Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).  My parents and my brother lived in a rather run-down apartment complex that was undergoing renovation.  The buildings were two stories tall and shaped into a horseshoe surrounding a grassy courtyard.  Four large trees provided shade during the hot, humid Texas summers and my brother would go out and play among them in what he called “the forest.”  A group of gypsies were squatting in several of the apartments across the courtyard of the complex.  The manager, who was also a student at DTS and a former bar bouncer, asked my parents to pray while he confronted them and asked them to vacate.  When it came time, my parents watched and prayed from the porch as the manager knocked on the door.  The leader of the group, a wizened older man appeared. He scowled at the manager’s request to leave and it looked for a moment as if a fight might break out.  But suddenly, the old man’s visage changed; he shook his head and agreed to go.  My parents watched in amazement as the group began to pile bags, chickens and even a rocking chair into their cars.  Only later did my parents discover the cause of their hasty departure.  A Mexican mariachi player living above their apartment had overheard their conversation with the manager, and decided to help. Leaning against the balcony, his rifle pointed in the direction of the confrontation, he assured the gypsy that it was time to move on.  Mom said “God, it seems, works in many ways.”   Continue reading “Midwest”