Be the change you want to see.

I must have been 18 years old at least, one of my dad's clients who was also a friend, had been dealing with a long-standing lawsuit against the California banking commission. Deno Evangelista, my adopted Uncle, used to run a student loan business for colleges and he got done dirty by the CBC, which was a regulatory commission, probably still is.

One of the things they did to him was and I don't remember exactly how this fell out or what was the thing that they were accusing him of doing but they sent authorities of some flavor, to his office and they confiscated all of his s*** like all of it: like his own art his own personal possessions the furniture the files everything. In a lot of ways Deno went from being a really rich man to being a man fighting for his own dignity. He was representing himself with my dad's assistance and he did pay my dad for the collaboration/consultation time. But my dad had been working with him for years by the time I was 18. Comes a day when Deno has to actually serve some paperwork on the CBC. And the reason why I know that I was 18 is you have to be a legal adult in order to serve legal paperwork on somebody.

I know he must have driven from Sacramento to San Francisco to do the thing. I don't remember the drive very much, but I expected that he was funny and entertaining, he was always kind and generous and funniest hell, full of stories about being Italian in America and coming over on the boat with his mom. He was probably in his late 60's when I knew him and I discovered later he was dealing with skin cancer the whole time I knew him and when it metastasized he died I think only a couple of years after my dad. My dad died in 1994.

Anyway we went Into in San Francisco. I have this packet of paperwork. I went up to the office (I remember the office pretty distinctly) and I remember the people in the office, largely because once I mentioned that I was there to serve papers it was like... Did you ever move a rock and suddenly you've uncovered an ant hill and everything on the floor is squirming and moving and running away? Because that's basically the impression I had of all of the people in the office. It was as though I, instead of walked in and said I have papers, had walked in and said Oh, I have a bomb.

I have never felt so much like a pariah as that moment.

People were legitimately afraid not of me but what I was holding. Of course I didn't understand the ramifications of what I was doing and I didn't understand the way that people work together in an office and the kind of ways people try to shrug off the responsibility for something even when it is theirs.

I remember saying multiple times I need to give this to somebody. And at one point saying I'm just going to set this on the counter and being told no. And the people they were really afraid! I remember that they told me that I needed to leave it outside the door of the office, which in retrospect is some kind of bullshit and I'm sat here rolling my eyes 32 years later.

The law is powerful. It should be used to go after wrongdoers, it should be used to fix injustices, it should be used to make people do right. I grew up with my dad a lawyer, and I think I always had a sense of he had this ability to shape the world with his words and his actions. And then here's my Uncle Deno, this one person, who doesn't even have the legal training, but who is trying to stand up for himself and for being disenfranchised, and like I said I didn't know it at the time but he did that on top of being pretty sick as well.

The law should be used to set things right. To protect people. And if it's scary to you and you haven't done anything wrong then I feel somebody's using the law unethically. Or else the laws are wrong or unethical, which also has happened frequently through history.

I don't know: I just suddenly thought of that moment and that feeling last night, late last night, remembering Deno. He had this crazy shock of white hair and a bulbous nose and glasses and a big grin and just a big way of talking and storytelling and a booming laugh. He was a good guy and they did him dirty.

I don't think I have a moral for this story, just that I got a chance to be part of something important before I understood what I was actually part of. But sometimes that's part of learning to understand.

I had to be reminded that today is September 11.
(headdesk)

I'm okay with that, but via dakini_grl I was reminded to go here to yarnaddict's journal and I thought I had something to say about that.

Thanks, Jeff (my cousin) for serving in the US army.
Thanks, Bill (his brother) for serving in the US army.
Thanks, Rob (my cousin on another side) for serving 4 years submarine duty in the US navy.
Thanks, Ethan S. for serving in the reserves, for going to Bosnia and to Iraq, and for going to divinity school afterward.
Thanks, Melinda (another cousin, Rob's sister) for serving, (I think she's still in the reserves, I've fallen out of touch).
Thanks, tigman for serving. I'm glad you are happy where you are and more glad for your wife and two babies and that you still manage to get on Livejournal from time to time and keep us updated.

Thanks to any of my other friends who I'm not remembering if they served; thanks to their dads or moms or sisters or brothers or other family members who served; thanks to the people who make those fabric or paper Flanders Field poppies;

thanks for your dedication, your sacrifice of time, life, health, ...

I'm not being very coherent.

I'll leave this here. If anyone wants to comment with thanks to other veterans or loved ones, feel welcome.