AKA Johnny Lopes

Warning: This post is not meant to offend anyone. This is my life and I don't apologize for it.

When I was in 9th grade I fell in love. He was incredible--older, tall, dark, handsome and best of all he thought I rocked! Did I mention he had a job and a car? How I met him is a story for another post.

My parents had been divorced for years at this point. My mom, Cita, met Johnny and liked him. Well, as much as Cita can like anyone. Johnny and I were inseperable. Every minute we could be together we were. One thing I loved about Johnny was his family. He had a "normal" family. His parents had been married forever. He had two brothers and a sister. His family spent time together. His mother cooked dinner every night and they sat down and ate and talked about their day. It was awesome.

They loved me and treated me like one of their own. Our relationship progressed over a summer and into the fall of the next year. It was time. Yep, you read it right. It was time to take the next step. It was time to let Johnny into the fold. It was time to introduce him to my dad, Fred.

Okay, to say I was scared was an understatement. I was horrified. Here's the deal. Johnny's last name was Lopez. He was hispanic. Not a big deal right? It wasn't to me. But, my family is originally from San Antonio, TX. My dad grew up in a different time. It is what it is. When he grew up in San Antonio whites and hispanics did not date. His views had not changed much over the the years.

But, I had a plan!!! I had read or seen somewhere that there was a baseball player who pronounced his last name Lopez as Lopes! There you have it. I told my dad Johnny's last name was LOPES. He would never know. Perfect. Disaster averted. Woohoo!

I was at my dad and stepmom's for the weekend. Johnny was coming over. I was nervous and scared. I loved Johnny. I wanted to marry Johnny. I wanted to be a part of HIS family. I wanted out of mine. The grass was greener over there. I wanted over there. Everything was riding on this meeting.

Johnny arrived. Red flag 1: We heard his car before we heard him. Red flag 2: He parked on the lawn (my dad lived in an older neighborhood with no sidewalks and he also grew up in an era where your lawn defined you). Red flag 3: He drove a purple Chevelle all souped up. Red flag 4: He was wearing overalls and a wife-beater. My perception is totally different. The sound of loud muffler calmed me. I loved purple. He looks darn good in those overalls and wife-beater.

My dad and I are standing in the front window waiting. Johnny pulls up, parks, gets out and starts walking up to the door and dad says, "Jesus Christ, Dawn, he drives a taco wagon!"

My bubble is burst. My ticket to ride is revoked.