Today is for good stories, took care of heavy yesterday. When I turned 15 I lived in Tian Mu, Taiwan, (we spelled it, Tien Mou, back then). We lived in normal American housing which was situated in the local economy. We didn’t have base housing there. So we had binjo ditches, taxis, pedi-trucks, bicycles, and pedestrians everywhere. And water buffalo by the gagillion pulling carts in the streets and plows in the fields. They were always accompanied by a skinny Chinese man and a thousand flies.

I was a typical fifteen-year-old kid, full of it and smart-mouthed as I could be. My mom asked me what I wanted for my birthday one night at supper and without even thinking came up with the most ridiculous answer I could, “A water buffalo.” No one said anything and we all laughed. I should have been watching my old man’s face, I’m sure I would have seen the evil that must have been in his eyes, but I didn’t.

My birthday was still weeks away and my girlfriend set up a birthday get together for me at our house. She invited a couple of my best friends for a little party in the afternoon after school. We were sitting inside the house, I’d gotten some cards and a few presents and we were eating cake and, I assume, ice cream and my dad called us from out in the front of the house and told us to get out there for a special surprise. I knew it couldn’t be a car and a new guitar would have been an inside gift. So I was really curious.

Right outside the wall around our yard was a young Chinese guy holding his inevitable rope wrapped around his water buffalo’s neck and my girlfriend was holding a big sign that said, “Happy Birthday!” And the flies came with them. My very own water buffalo for a minute. I have a picture somewhere, let me look.