Lunch with my Homegirls

Yesterday I had lunch with Meg and Jackie. I hadn't seen Meg since my 50th birthday party. I saw Jackie at her daughter's Bat Mitzvah a few weeks ago, but prior to that, it had been years. The photo here is from the early 90's, when our friendship was already over 10 years old. The photo was taken at Peg's house - but Peg moved to Ohio and I see her even less frequently.

Once again, it was a sweetly strange experience for me because seeing these two wonderful friends had me reliving a fat Rolodex full of memories. I began my adult life with these women and it is truly moving to see them again. Of course, menopause only heightens the sentimentality of it all and I actually got very teary at the table but there isn't anything I can do about hormones gone wild.

We did a lot of catching up - mostly on our kids - nearly all of them are now in college. We were there for each other's bridal showers, weddings, baby showers, birthdays, anniversaries. And now, there is something so wonderful about looking into the faces of old friends, ones that have aged (well I might add) and still see the girl. It is a lovely phenomenon, one of the good things about growing older. I have said it before. We will always be young with old friends.

Meg initiated this lunch. Meg grew up in Los Angeles, one of eight children in an Irish-Catholic family. Her mother went to Mass every day. Her license plate read 10HLMRYS or something like that. Translated, it said: "10 Hail Mary's" because Meg's mom always said the Rosary prayers before a family trip in the car. Her dad owned a dairy business and together her parents had a wonderful love affair. Her dad asked for her mother's pillow when he was hospitalized shortly before his death. I thought that was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard.

They lived in such a lovely, warm home with a big rounded porch in the front yard and a beautiful back yard; Meg and Pat held their wedding reception there. I remember that whenever I was there, I would wonder what it must have been like to grow up in that house. I think it must have been crowded but loving with an emphasis on compassion and understanding. Meg told me that her mother had a rule: if a boy asked Meg or her sisters out, they had to agree to a date at least once. Her reasoning was that if the boy had mustered up enough courage to ask for a date, he deserved to be said yes to at least one time. The girls didn't have to agree to a second date if they didn't want to, but I remember even in my early twenties being moved by the incredible kindness of that rule and I am sure there are many boys who remember a pleasant date with one of the Boyle girls. They were raised well - everyone of the brothers and sisters are grand people. In fact, one of them grew up to be Father Greg Boyle.

If you have not heard of Father Greg, please google him. He is one of those people who prove that one person can make a huge difference in the world. He has devoted his life to working with and ministering to the gangs of East Los Angeles. He has saved and built lives. His vision produced "Homeboy Industries". Part of the complex houses a restaurant called Homegirl Cafe - and this is where Meg asked us to meet her for lunch.

I'll be the first to tell you that I had never been to this part of downtown Los Angeles before and I was a little intimated - lots of tattoos and piercings; physical markings we have come to, frankly, fear, as gang identification. But you quickly forget that. Our waitress was charming (in spite of what looked like a painful lip piercing) and the food was out of this world (especially the mango salsa). Their "uniforms" are t-shirts that say: "Homeboy Industries - Jobs Not Jail".

After lunch we were treated to a tour of the impressive facility. There is a bakery where former gang members work and make breads and pastries and are growing their contracted business. Upstairs there is drug counseling, personal and spiritual counseling, two medical rooms where local doctors donate their time to remove gang tattoos (using state of the art medical technology that has been donated). It is a gruesome process so those who endure it are dedicated to changing their lives. All this is free. They also house a charter school where those who work there can continue their education and get their diploma. They are held accountable. If the don't do their school work, they don't get clocked in. They offer "Daddy and Me" classes for single fathers. They offer job training and computer training and they run and staff a bakery, a restaurant and a gift shop.

Our tour guide was a soft spoken and respectful former gang member who told us of a life I could not fathom. His arms and neck were covered in tattoos - and while he had had some removed from his face, they were still distracting. He was a drug dealer at 14 and soon became his own "best customer". He robbed people for his addictions and went to prison where he was traumatized. After getting out, he tried to go straight but relapsed. He accepted that he was a drug addict and resigned himself to a life of misery. But his "brothers" from Homeboy Industries found him, picked him up and refused to give up on him. He is now clean for over a year. We have often heard the phrase : "What would Jesus do?" Let me tell you. He would do this.

So of course the economy has not been kind to them and they are in need of money. And unemployment to these people is not at all the same as unemployment for me. They need help. If you want to be a blessing to someone, please go to http://www.homeboy-industries.org/ and participate in their effort to raise money to keep operating by contributing to their "virtual car wash". This is important work. And if you get a chance, go down and visit. Have the whitefish tacos - they're delicious!!

Meg, Jackie, and I walked back to the parking lot and promised to get together more frequently, something we promise to do every time we see each other - about once every 5 years or so. I sincerely hope that we do this time. But if we don't, I will wait patiently until I am 57, and be so glad to see these women who will always be my friends. And I have no doubt that I will look in their faces and see girls again.