Dad Yelling Crosswalk Dec 2006

I was yelling at this lady for backing into me in the crosswalk (well, the car really just tapped me, but I yelled anyway.

Before that I was yelling at someone at work for being too loud.

I'm becoming my father. He yelled.

I wish Dad were still alive. I'd ask him: Did you ever feel bad ten minutes later, after you'd yelled at someone?

It was not her fault she was being incautious. Even if she killed you it wouldn't be her fault, as far as the squirrels and the trees were concerned. Supposing I died, would my wife be angry with her, then find a way to forgive her? Is there a reason to wonder these things? Did the people who died in the concentration camps look back from their afterlife and find a way to feel forgiveness for the Nazis, as Vonnegut envisioned in Happy Birthday, Wanda June?

What about the lady in the car, who almost backed over me? Did she imagine herself in my shoes, and she in mine, and wonder to herself, whether she would have yelled at me the way I yelled at her? I hope so!

My blustery behavior notwithstanding, I believe I think the best of most people, and I want them to think the best of people as well. How can this be so? In practice I'm a boor like all the other boors.

Headed to Buenos Aires, 1996

We're headed to Buenos Aires. Don't be nervous. don't assume. Don't go crazy. don't spend too much time, too much money. Why are you coming here? Where are you going next? How do you intend to get along? Breathe deeply. Build a sort of foundation of experience to make this happen smoothly. What questions need to be asked each time. How much do you charge? How long will this take? Which bus goes there? Don't be in a hurry if you can manage it. 10 years of some kind of waiting ends today so your heart is beating wildly. In the end you'll smile about it, and you'll thank yourself for getting over all the fear that's held you back.

I want to see the beauty of the place, feeling the combination of history, nature, culture, anger, happiness, fear, inspiration that carved its name into the continent in boldest of letters. The hearts of Borges, Cortázar, and countless other creators are beating here if you put your ear to the right street lamp.