Opinion: That time I took Mom to Mexico

Last time I saw my mom was in a dream a few days after she died.

I was walking with her to a bus station.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

“Montreal. I’ve never been,” she said.

I got to show my mom around The Great American Southwest, even Mexico, while she was living.

My mom came to see me a few times back in the ’90s.

In 1992 she flew to Albuquerque from back east.

I picked up her luggage and we moseyed on out to the parking lot.

We stopped at my pickup truck.

“This isn’t yours,” she said, standing back from the pickup.

“Yeah it is, Mom,” I pulled out my keys and unlocked the door.

“You shouldn’t bother other people’s vehicles,” she said.

“Mom, it’s my truck,” I laughed.

“Oh, all right,” and I helped her up into the passenger side.

“You don’t like my truck?” I asked as we drove away.

“It just seems impractical,” she said.

I laughed about what she considered impractical and what I considered impractical.

It was a cool truck, not a BMW.

A couple of years later Mom came to Phoenix to visit one spring.

Early mornings she sat out on the patio reading and having a cup of coffee.

“You look very relaxed, Mom,” I said one morning.

She put her book down and turned to me.

“I like it here. It reminds me of when we lived in Hawai’i,” she said.

“Well, in a couple of months, it’ll be way hotter,” I said.

The last time Mom came to see me was when I lived in the groovy little hippie burg of Bisbee, Ariz.

Bisbee is just a few miles this side of the Mexican border.

Before the Sept. 11 attacks, crossing the border was no big deal.

I had crossed the border numerous times, patronizing businesses just on the other side of the line in Naco, Sonora: A supermarket where they sold green coffee beans you could roast at home, the liquor store with its pet javelina and a mighty fine seafood restaurant where $5 got you a big pile of seafood on your plate.

Mom didn’t flinch at all when one afternoon I suggested we go have a seafood dinner in Mexico.

We hopped in my old pickup – well, I had to help her in -- and we crossed the border and headed on to the little seafood restaurant on the south side of town.

Mom had fish and oysters and I had a big pile of shrimp.

We made it out of there for just under $15.

We were driving back through Naco, headed to the U.S. side, when Mom said something that surprised me.

“Don’t bring me back here, son. This is depressing,” she said.

I thought Mom was adventuresome, not judgmental.

“Well, I like it, Mom. I’ve found the people friendly and the country full of heritage and culture. I had a good conversation with a Federale here one time. I mean I know it’s a bit run down but…” I said.

“I’m glad you like it,” she said, laughing. “But I’m too old to go adventuring.”

“Mom, you’re just 77,” I said.

Mom laughed.

It made me a bit sad.

So, while Mom may not have appreciated Mexico as much as I did, I hope she enjoyed Montreal.

I’ve always wanted to visit there myself.

Grant McGee writes for The Eastern New Mexico News. Contact him:

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