Then I dropped the bombshell. “Mi hijo! No!” my mom said. “That’s a great idea, Mihito!” my father admitted. The eruption of objections and enthusiasm interrupt the silent Mexican cantina and in moments such as this you can only reach into the basket strategically placed in the middle of the table, choose at random a rigid prize, and indulge in another scoop of the deep ruby hot sauce. It’s easy to fill your stomach with the smoky flavored salsa.
Sitting at dinner, I explained to mom and dad how interesting it would be to visit other countries and teach for a year. My mother wasn't a fan of the idea, but my dad was supportive. Despite the combined objections and encouragements, I continued to casually explain the challenge bringing my dog, Molly Jane, along for the ride. It would be taxing enough to part ways with my car.
Before dinner, I was already day dreaming a hair brained scheme on how to make it happen, fully knowing nothing worthwhile goes according to plan. My father’s curiosity broke first.
"Where did you get this idea?"
"Well" I started "I’ve been reading this book for class called A Moveable Feast about Hemingway's life in Paris living content although somewhat in poverty..."
"Oh hell..." My mom interrupts "He was probably on drugs or drunk the whole time, you know!"
"Yes, Mom. Probably."
"And besides, you don't want to live in poverty. You’ve never had to and couldn’t manage without central air. And you wouldn’t want to!"
"I didn't say I wanted to live in poverty, but I could live comfortably. If I wasn't okay with living comfortably, I wouldn’t have been a teacher in this state."
