Our daily routine was to sleep in then go have a big breakfast at the hotel buffet on our way to the beach. We rented an umbrella and spent the day in and out of the water. While he lounged, I went parasailing.
On our walk back in the late afternoons the tourist shops would be open and we’d check them out. There wasn’t much of interest except a one-of-a-kind coiled snake. All the other items in the shops had that genuine, made in Taiwan Mexican feel. The snake had to be local and I wanted it.
The problem was getting it through Customs. At the time it was not quite as pro forma as it is today, agents were very arbitrary and discriminatory. They would have loved nothing more than to nail a couple of gay guys with contraband.
My method back then was to pack any questionable items I might be carrying in my dirtiest, filthiest laundry. I figured if they were freaky enough to go through that stuff then they’d earned the right to confiscate. They didn’t.
Bambi came into my posession in the mid-90’s when I visited the Brimfield Antique Show west of Boston. Dale, David and I had talked about it for years and when we finally did go it was completely overwhelming. Acres and acres of vendors.
For me it was like being in a major museum. There’s so much to see, so much detail, eventually it runs together and you can’t tell what you’re looking at. Maybe that’s just my ADD.
After about 6 hours my friends had purchased a handful of things and I had nothing. They started guilt tripping me, “you mean we’ve come all this way and you aren’t getting anything?” In the blitzkrieg of images roiling in my head I remembered the fawn. I went back and bought it.
I now had a prop to use when I read the Bambi story to the young ones. “Gather round children. I’m going to tell you a story about your Mother getting killed and abandonning you for the rest of your life. We’ll have hot chocolate afterwards.”