This sweet bus stop custom lasted until she was age six when her father died after being hit by a train. As my mother tells the story he was tired from days of searching for his oldest daughter who had been “kidnapped” by her boyfriend a week before. My grandfather had probably also taken his girlfriend in the same manner. I guess he was not ready for his first born to leave the house. Despondent and tired he was sitting on the tracks talking to his coworkers at the train depot. His coworkers, including his twin brother realized too late that he was not going to move as the train approached. He died on the operating table the next day. We have an old family photo his open casket with the family gathered around. My six year old mother is standing right, front a beyond stoic look, gazing directly at the camera. I was born 24 years later, on January 4th.
Art made in the Mission District
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