Our first summer with an exchange student was not my idea, but here was this 17-year-old Italian boy from Spain holding a suitcase in the foyer of our new house, introducing himself to my almost 7YO daughter.
(I wasn’t concerned until my stepfather-in-law asked me if I was concerned, and then I remembered the talk I had had with stepfather-in-law a couple years before, after my 5YO daughter told me she didn’t like to go on walks alone with Papa because “he touches me funny.” I made a mental note to watch both closely.)
That summer, we bought an extra seat in our subscription to the summer Shakespeare festival at the Old Globe in San Diego. One Saturday, we went down early to have dinner before theater at our favorite restaurant in Seaport Village. It was called Papagayo’s at the time; it was at the location now occupied by Edgewater Grill, with a stunning view across the bay at the North Island Naval Air Station on Coronado Island.
Exchange Student (ES) ordered Seafood Fra Diavolo, which I had never heard of, much less considered. I have since learned, well, I like my seafood tangy, not peppery.
ES began squinting out the restaurant window across the bay.
I thought he was looking at the aircraft carrier “Roosevelt”. I certainly tried to steal a look every time I thought I wasn’t being watched.
After a while, ES tapped my daughter and said, “That’s America!”
He pointed across the Bay.
I started to explain to him how America was much more than aircraft carriers and naval bases.
ES pointed out the window and said, “No, the sailboat! America!”
I had heard of America3 and knew it was from San Diego Yacht Club. And this was San Diego Harbor, where they kept ocean-going boats. ES might be right.
Our meals came quickly. I had grilled salmon with lemon sauce and capers with rice pilaf and broccoli and a glass of Chablis, which is what we drank in those days when we wanted white wine. (Burgundy for red.)
When we were finished with dinner, we still had 90 minutes before curtain (I don’t like to be late), and only a 10-minute walk and drive. I said, “Why don’t we go have a look at America?” I am spontaneous like that.
My first time on the Coronado Bridge, and I loved it. They can’t make it any wider, so they have movable K-rails down the middle so they can add lanes in the direction of rush hour traffic. I longed to see the equipment that adjusts the lanes, but alas! it was Saturday. I wondered if they had added the k-rail system after the bridge was built, and then wondered how many traffic-jammed drivers’ curses had been uttered during K-rail system construction, and 2 miles later we were on the other side.
I had marked out from Papagayo’s approximately how many blocks America was north of the bridge’s west terminus. We found the boat easily.
America had 12-foot high dust fences around her, but we found a seam where we could pull the canvas apart to steal a look. ES told me they were trying to hide the keel design. He got a pretty good look before the security guard came around and told us to beat it.
ES took a long time to close the gap in the dust fence. He turned around and said to us, “Someday, I’m going to be in the America’s Cup.”
14 years later, he was on the crew of the Italian entry in the 32nd Cup.
The play that night was “The Tempest,” which, as you know, opens with a fierce storm and a shipwreck.
Never heard a complaint about inappropriate touching the entire school year.
The Billy Pulpit 