He was asleep in a short time and he dreamed of Africa when he was a boy and the long golden beaches and the white beaches, so white they hurt your eyes, and the high capes and the great brown mountains. He lived along that coast now every night and in his dreams he heard the surf roar and saw the native boats come riding through it. He smelled the tar and oakum of the deck as he slept and he smelled the smell of Africa that the land breeze brought at morning.
Usually when he smelled the land breeze he woke up and dressed to go and wake the boy. But tonight the smell of the land breeze came very early and he knew it was too early in his dream and went on dreaming to see the white peaks of the Islands rising from the sea and then he dreamed of the different harbours and roadsteads of the Canary Islands.
He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife. He only dreamed of places now and of the lions on the beach. They played like young cats in the dusk and he loved them as he loved the boy. He never dreamed about the boy. He simply woke, looked out the open door at the moon and unrolled his trousers and put them on. He urinated outside the shack and then went up the road to wake the boy. He was shivering with the morning cold. But he knew he would shiver himself warm and that soon he would be rowing.
Santiago dreams of Africa and lions on a beach. Things from his youth.
This evening was a night of dreams. My son's eighth grade graduation. It has been a long road to this night. Lots of struggles along the way for him. School has always been a challenge, from the time he was in Head Start. When he left his Head Start, however, he seemed to be on the right course. But from kindergarten on has been another story. I can honestly say that he's only had one really good year. It was first grade, and his teacher got him. Loved him. And he loved school that year. That means, out of 11 years of education, he's had nine good months.
Graduations are filled with hopes and dreams. Starry-eyed students who think that they own the world. And, for the most part, that's what tonight was. Lots of happy, proud parents. Lots of inappropriately loud teens, embarrassed to be the center of so much attention.
It has been a rough three years for these kids. Halfway through their fifth grade, they were hit with a global pandemic. Life, and their educations, ground to a halt. There were wars over facemasks. A crazy President of the United States who thought COVID would simply vanish if he ignored it. Death, death, and more death. Rampant mental illness. And, a little over a month ago, one of their seventh-grade classmates killed himself with a gun in the school bathroom.
So, my son, who has been seriously struggling for almost all of his school life, was thrown into a tailspin that I don't think he's fully recovered from yet. Add into that mix these last five or so months of bullying and teasing, and it's a wonder he walked across that gym floor and received his certificate at all.
I have dreams for my son. Every parent has dreams for their children. I'm not sure my son has dreams for himself yet beyond playing a video game with his older sister. That makes me really sad. On more than one occasion, he's told me that he knows he's a bad kid. Of course, when he's said that, I've made him tell me all the things about himself that he likes.
So, tonight, we threw a party for my son. Had a huge group of family and friends at the house. Bought four pizzas. Played games. Gave him cards and gifts. And I think he felt loved and celebrated.
Saint Marty hopes his son finds his dreams soon.
