Long ago echoes of an instructive, harsh campesino father’s day, one that saved an opportunist’s life
We lay well up on a rising slope, chins on our crossed arms. It was Father’s Day in the United Sates that morning. But at that time in Mexico nobody paid that any attention. Fathers didn’t seem to count. “You see anything?” my companion said. A hawk soared high on still wings noting us as he scanned the mountainside. I nodded at the bird. “There’s nothing to see.”