Crying on the beach

It's happened to me twice, now. Same place. And for essentially the same reasons.

Old men made me cry.

When we were here year before last, Zig and I were sitting on the beach. I happened to notice a woman a bit older than myself assisting an extremely thin, very frail looking old gentleman down from the cabins. He was stumbling and tottering and on the verge of going down, so I walked up to help her with him.

She gratefully accepted my offer to help, so I got on the other side of him and had him take my arm. In a shaky, weak voice, he explained to me that he wanted to visit this place, in particular, because he'd helped build it back in the 40's. She looked at me with sad eyes and in a quiet voice, said that he was her father and that this would be their "last road trip" through the Keys.

After I helped her get him down to the beach and get seated on a bench, I went back to Ziggy and told him the little story....and started bawling like a baby.

Yesterday, a very nice family pulled in...a grandma and grandpa, their three sons and wives and two grandchildren. The old gentleman, "Manny", sat with us for a few minutes yesterday and chatted. Though I didn't ask then, I assumed they were Cuban. He had a lovely Hispanic accent, but it sounded a bit different than what I usually hear...softer...more melodic.

Today, he walked over to where we were sitting, sat down and stayed a lot longer. He talked about lots of things...his "secret" spices he uses on pork. How he retired from a big grocery chain at age 62, but went back because he was "bored". He told us about cooking a hog in a caja china. And he talked about fighting with his wife over kitchen priveleges. hehe

After listening to him for while, I finally just came right out and asked him if he was from Cuba, hoping that he wouldn't be offended. I got far more story than I bargained for.

Yes, he was Cuban, he explained. He'd been here in the US for thirty five years and was now 70, "believe it or not". hehe (We did, bless his heart) He went on to tell us pretty much the story of his life and his escape from Cuba. He told us about the "Pig Bay Invasion". He told us how he had been imprisoned twice in Cuba for "suspicious activity", which consisted of speaking out against Castro. He was sent to what was essentially a concentration camp, and proudly added, "But I made it out!" He told us of family members that had been arrested, as well, and how he hid from the police for several weeks when he found out they were looking for him.

He told us a long story about how he finally managed to escape with his family on the "Freedom Flights". (I'm gonna hafta look that up...I'm not familiar with it and didn't interrupt him to ask.)

As he told that particular story, I couldn't help but notice the terror in his voice...what he and his wife and his five year old son must've went through those last few hours just before and during the flight...the anxiety and tension. That's what made me cry. He went on to tell of his relief when he finally realized that the plane was over international waters.

"When we get here, they give us a little box of Kentucky Fried Chicken...and a REAL Coke! I never forget that...REAL Coke!"

He told us about how they separated the family when they got to...wherever it was here in Florida...to question them, do all the immigration papers and have them get chest x-rays...and his anxiousness to be reunited with them.

"Someone from the Gillette company handed out little kits with razors and shaving cream. I tell them, I no need a shave...I just need to see my family!" he added, laughing.

He finally decided that he'd better get back to his pork chops on the grill, which smelled pretty damned fantastic by that time. His "secret spices" played a big part in that, I'm sure.

Quite honestly, I could have listened to him for hours...and I'm pretty sure he would have talked that long, had it not been for those dang chops.