I don't think of traffic, or smog, or Hollywood or the vain and vapid people who make the city intolerable at times.
I think of the mountains and the desert and the orange trees of the San Gabriel Valley and the way they blossom and fill the night air with a magically sweet smell.
I think of what it must have been like in 1920 when my great grandparents came here from Oklahoma and Indiana. Or what it was like when my Mom moved to El Monte in the late 50's from Minnesota and before that from the Philippines. I imagine my Dad with his chin length hair seeing the Doors play in West Covina, driving around with his windows rolled down blasting rock and roll when it was in it's prime.
I think of a town of limitless opportunities and unparalleled diversity. I think of home and the people that inspire with their suffering and their success. Los Angeles isn't a town for the soft-palmed and fearful. It's a place that awards the confident and adventurous. The outside world might look at us and see wannabes and coteries but I see hardworking people. People who have to push themselves everyday.
|Me and my friend Bando in Apple Valley|
|That's my Dad second from the right (What a stud), |
with my Uncle Richard, Aunt Debby and Uncle Danny at the Grand Canyon.