All my life, every time the family got together for a reunion or birthday party or whatever, I had to sit through the story of why I never made it Tijuana, Mexico. It was baseball season in San Diego, where Daddy pitched for the Padres. From time to time our house would fill up with relatives from Louisiana. With eight siblings on my dad’s side and seven on my mom’s along with a passel of cousins, we had a lot of company.
Some Hebert cousins were visiting, and a fun trip across the border was planned for the group. I don’t remember the incident at all, so I couldn’t have been over three or four years of age. All I have is older cousins’ remembrances over the years. Everyone was ready to leave—except me.
It seems that Linda Fay had acted up and was banned from the trip. Believe me when I say I do not remember ever being so bad I had to stay home while everyone else got to go. Nobody else could ever tell me what I had done, either. They relished telling all and sundry of me standing on the porch screaming, red-faced, “I wanna go to Tijuana,” while they waved as they drove away.
They always got a kick out of telling everyone how I never made it to Tijuana. Well, guess what? They’re wrong, wrong, wrong about that. I did so make it to Tijuana. Take a look at the photo. The two adults are Preacher and Bobbie Hebert. And who is that sitting on the donkey in front of her mother? Linda Fay Hebert, about one year of age.
I found this picture while cleaning out a desk a couple of days ago. I love it because it vindicates me. But more so because it’s a great reminder of my parents, even though my dad looks like he could have fought alongside Pancho Villa.
How about you all? How many of you have a cringe-worthy family story you have to sit through when the relatives get together?