The LOOK!

I’m treading on shaky ground with my wife. There’s a party for one of her friends this weekend and I’ve been warned in no uncertain terms to be friendly to the friend’s husband.

“Don’t give him the look,” she says.

I chuckle and plead ignorance, but I know what she’s talking about. Those of you who know me well probably have trouble picturing me being mean to anyone. At the height of my boxing prowess, when I was knocking out other amateur heavyweights, a female friend told me that I looked like a big skinny teddy bear. The years have taken care of the skinny part…, but something of the teddy bear image remains. Even my friend Louie, who has known me since the college days, says that he can’t quite picture me mad.

Still, there are times, when the teddy bear turns into a little bit of a grizzly bear. This is when the look comes into play. What is the Look? It’s something that goes back to the primitive side of male machismo, common in the streets and assorted correctional facilities of our community. It’s simple in action, just a direct, narrow stare that you hold for longer than normal. If done correctly, it signals to the other guy that he’s in danger of physical harm if he keeps…say…eating all the nachos. If done incorrectly, it might result in an unwanted date..

I find that the look is an old bear’s way of dealing with problems. Where before I might have had to take some action, now I find that just a general warning is enough. Especially if you are dealing with a guy much smaller than you! I gave the friend’s husband a warning with a look when he tried to take the seat next to my wife. In younger days, I might have thrown him out of the seat.

At least that’s what I tell my wife when I defend my behavior: “Hey, at least, I saved the guy some hospital bills!” My wife just rolls her eyes and looks at me.

Now that’s an intimidating Look!

Politics!

Once upon a time, I was pretty active in politics. Blame it on my environment maybe. I was a student at UC Berkeley and got caught up in some of the idealism. I became president of my housing association, became involved in a number of clubs, ran for local office and served on a few boards and commissions. A local paper called me the "dynamic voice" of the student community. Sometimes being a student felt like my side job!

Fast forward several years into my post college life and there’s very little politics in my life. There are no campaign posters with my face on them. I no longer walk precincts for my favorite candidates. The most controversial group I belong to is my local Kiwanis club, which is about as controversial as stopping at a red light. Some would argue that my work is political, but they’d be wrong. I may beat the system from time to time, but it’s on behalf of a single person’s rights- my client at the time. My cases aren’t crusades. They are about protecting my client’s rights in the face of whatever opposition, be it the DA’s office, Immigration…or just an unreasonable ex-spouse!

And, yet, sometimes I miss working for the larger cause. I wish I could find time to picket against something or walk a precinct. One of my favorite politicians, Mary Salas- whose first campaign I volunteered for when I was a student, lost her race by a handful of votes. I know that I could have made a difference in her campaign- if only by marshaling my many contacts in Imperial County to turn out her support. A good volunteer is worth a swing of a few hundred votes. I felt a twinge of guilt when she lost, but I told myself that I was honestly too busy with building my law practice to give a good effort on her behalf.

Life always seems to get in the way of my politics. The other day I almost went to meeting to organize against the Arizona immigration action, but I ended up at the gym instead. Leading the fight against my expanding waistline! And I mean to contribute money to help out someday, but most of pennies seem to have bills waiting for them.

I honestly don’t know when I’ll get involved again, but I admire and appreciate people like my niece Gloria (who fought against the closure of the Chula Vista nature center) and my cousin Cecilia (who is a big time activist in LA). Who knows, maybe someday soon I’ll be walking the picket line with them.

Viva la Causa! Just let me know which one…

A dizzy moment

I felt dizzy this morning. It brought the mind the feeling that I felt once when I was punched in the side of the head. A sort of instinct takes over. In the fight, strategy went out the window. I raised my guard, shuffled my feet and bought time for my head to clear. While my feet danced me around the boxing ring, my slow brain wondered what had happened. It took a moment to snap back to reality. That’s the way I felt this morning as I drove from a meeting to my office. I took a deep breath at a stop light and thought about pulling over, but then I drove on to the work that was waiting for me at my office. I took out my kit to measure my blood sugar, but in preparing for client meetings and working on cases, I didn’t actually test my blood until the afternoon. The blood sugar was normal by then and the crisis had passed.

But sometimes I think life is a lot like boxing. You sometimes don’t have a lot of time to sit back and reflect on what is happening. We are in the ring with our challenges and sometimes we get hit. Just take a quick breath and hit back. I won the boxing match years ago. Life remains a constant and happy battle.

Hair Dye!

I dyed my hair the other day.

I’ve spent much of my professional life wishing that I looked older, but now that the curse of the Estolano grey has set in, my thoughts are rapidly changing. The hell with looking older!

Outside of my hair, relatively little has changed in my life over the last couple decades. The scenery is different, but many of the players are still the same. The same couple buddies that I used to hit the gym with are still among my closest friends. We got together for a carne asada just the other week. We look different- a few pounds (or maybe more than a few!), dress clothes instead of sweats and a few grey hairs. We do different things- as "grown ups", the three students are now a lawyer, a bus driver, and a teacher.

But, the humor with which we view the changes in our lives is still the same. My friend Louie is still instant fun, seeing the world in an often enthusiastic way that gets Jose and I smiling so widely that our faces can barely hold the good humor. My friend Jose is still the “natural food” nut, trying to convince us to avoid processed food, while he downs yet another beer that I suppose came from a beer tree.

And as for me? I’m still the same easy going, slightly irreverent person that I always was. I have worries and obligations like everyone else, but I try to get through every day with at least a few laughs- the most recent laugh at the black, shiny haired guy that is staring back at me in the mirror.

Washington DC

I hit Washington DC for a training with one of my best friends. We had a great time. It really is something to be in a place where so much history has happened and will happen. When we were sitting in the actual courtroom where the Supreme Court met, I almost felt a tear escape from my admittedly too macho eyes. I wondered what it would feel like to be justice Estolano deciding on the great issues of the day. It will likely never happen, but there's a good chance that I may get to argue a case before the court some day. If so, I'll pay the courtroom sketchers some extra money to drop a few pounds from my sketch!

B-day celebration

A few of the guys and I went out to celebrate my friend Ruben's b-day yesterday. It was a good time. Sometimes there's nothing like hanging out with friends that have known you for a long time. We shared stories that we had all heard many times before, drank margaritas and had a great time.

Nothing really notable happened (well the waiter apparently did try to rip us off)- just good conversation. Often that's more than enough.

A brief eulogy of sorts

My aunt Sophia passed away last night. I wasn't as close to her as many others in my family, but I remember her as an intelligent and kind lady. She took primary care of my grandmother while she was alive, was a professor in Mexico and dabbled in stone statues that my father sold for her at his tool shop. I saw her often as a child, but much less as I grew older and saw my Tijuana extended family less and less often. I'd talk to her every few years at family gatherings or when she came to visit my father.

I remember my parent's offering to give me a stone picnic table that Sophia had made- it was beautifully decorated with ceramic tiles, but wobbled unevenly. I think it had been sitting unsold at their store for several months. I thought it might be a good table for people that had too much to drink at carne asadas, but my wife and I decided to pass on it. I kind of wish I had that table now.

Another time, I remember our garage being full of stone animals for about a year, until my mother freed them to roam in different placements among our yard. It made the yard look almost like a zoo. I don't know if Sophia ever made much money with the statues, but they were always pretty.

I never got around to seeing Sophia before she died- part of me felt like I wasn't close enough to offer her much comfort and another part of me has trouble dealing with cancer, even some ten years after I survived it. But, I know that she was surrounded by family that loved her. Her siblings, including my father, went to see her frequently.

I wish her the best and hope she has that peace in heaven that she deserves.