The Miscast Case of Mistaken Identity

“I’m sorry, I thought you were someone else,” often said when completely mistaking someone else for a person you “think” you know. Usually, subconsciously, blurting outwardly, followed up with a “you remind me …”, or my favorite, “you look just like …” (Insert, willfully, opinion, command, or defamatory remark here, there, online everywhere) As if, I “need” to know! Like, I have wandered the Earth, “green” (double jeopardy and double entendre intended), and like the Hulk, oblivious to “what I look like”. Conjecture over, or just getting started. Pertaining to the matter or pleading the case of the miscast of mistaken identity, Your Honor, the meaning or legal definition; “A time when someone wrongly believes that one person is another person.” Que the dramatic, courtroom/danceroom overture.

This story, “June”, is in this year and time, on a no-mistaking gorgeous, overcast, sun peeking through the clouds, jean shorts, California, kinda weekend. Tunes rocking the wi-fi airwaves, coffee brewed, kitty meowing, empty stomach while chopping strawberries, and a story blowing through the wind. However, the idiom originated in the mid 1800’s and “no one” knows by whom.

Hypocritically, I’m assuming stale, staunch, stiff and stuffy legal setting and amongst trials by fire of horrendous mistakes in identities. And if we guess, the identity will only be eluded, locked behind bars, disbarred, forgotten in time, dismissed, and for no good reason. More smoke, fires, and mirrors. No concrete evidence stacked upon another layer of brick, stone, and mortar, and likely no justice. “It means more or less what you would think it means. Mistake refers to a wrong assumption, and identity refers to who a person is.” “This” seems to be happening more often, as of late, or keeps happening.

We’re at a fork in the road, right will take us on a scenic breathtaking pathway of hilarious cases of mistaken identity or mispronunciations of ones identifying name. Told you, hearing impaired since birth or “selective hearing,” called out by my brother (Opposing side-view). Yours truly, has been mistaken for Christina Applegate (Thank you), Stevie Nicks (Awesome, but old enough to be my mom), and Sebastian Bach (A dude! but incredible voice for Skid Row). Oh, those are just some of the good ones. We could veer, but you don’t want to go down that back road alley of horror stories, defamation, crudeness, impersonation, slander, and blatant criticism of epic proportions. If we take a left on the bumpy terrain of identity theft, gossip, plagiarism, mail fraud, freaky Fridays, and expulsions, my tires we’ll surely bust. I didn’t pay for the extended warranty, but I do know a good lawyer who did. Nah, we’ll stay straight, and I’ve heard there’s an excellent breakfast spot, up ahead, we can enjoy. Waffles sound so good right about now.

I’m the youngest in my Titan family and you know what rolls downhill, along with rumors, chores, devilish snares, witnesses, whereabouts, testimony, and mistaken siblings along with their rivalry. “I swear, it wasn’t me, Officer, mom, or authoritative figure!” I wonder, how many times that is said? Luckily, we’re not in the time period of pointing death sentences into existence without any evidence, or are we? I’m just looking to get out of a speeding ticket, “grounding”, work, or address the elephant in the room. “Objection, No offense”! Do you know how fast you were going? Let’s adjourn to a better suited case study subject and one from a literary best. “Overruled, and I’ll allow”! Also, the inspiration behind this story’s main “character”, more ways than one. There always is …

We’d all love the notion of a twin, out there, that has the world’s riches, yet inexplicably and magically wants to trade places with us! “For example, The Prince and the Pauper by Mark Twain. A prince and a pauper both live in the same city, and one is, of course, very poor, whereas the other is, of course, very rich. However, they look exactly the same (Twinzies). The prince longs for the freedom of the pauper, and the pauper longs for the riches of the prince. They decide to switch places, and everyone falls for it.” (Source writingexplained.org and a good summer read with pink lemonade on a veranda, Bougainvillea draping, and hummingbirds buzzing by and an ukulele to pluck the day away) I have great, spooky, Gemini, twin stories, but that’s another day of writing pool side, bi-polar, bi-coastal, bilingual, biologically, and bicultural.

There are a few similarities (hearsay) between this fictional story’s character of humble, God-fearing beginnings and the book; “The lesson both boys learn over the course of their adventures is that poverty and royalty each come with their own advantages and disadvantages. Though they both originally envy the life of the other, they come to appreciate the things in their own life that they have taken for granted. Another “take away” from the novel is that people’s merit is not reflected by their class. In some societies, there is a view that the lower one’s class, the less one’s value as a person. However, Twain points out the fallacy in this assumption by presenting characters of every class that demonstrate kindness and generosity.” (Source enotes.com and summer school, sipping lemonade, way back in the day, with a southern accent, and breathtaking Sierra Mountain view)

No time, like the present, on with a flash, and let me introduce to you a very important, proudly influential, kingly, and heavenly guided, ghost-dad-in-law, legally named David. There’s always something to a name, just don’t ask me why or how I know. David was a man who “knew” “everything” and “everyone”, all walks of life, walked on sunshine, and could “walk-the-walk” type of guy. He too, like me, hearing impaired, but more colorful, spirited, beloved, believed, and outlandish as they come! Many a blue moon ago, a young David worked in the United States Coast Guard and long before his son, my husband, was ever ushered or birthed into this world. Definitely not a prince or a pauper, more likely a combination of them both, but we’ll call him by his mistaken name, “Matches”.

Stepping out in style, stance, masculinity, machismo, and confidence from the “big lean green machine”, aptly a 1977 Chevy G20 van conversion, sporting 475,000 miles when the odometer stopped twenty years prior to his actual passing, but still roams the roads to this day. Looking like a “ringer” for Burt Reynolds in his younger days and a better-looking version of Tommy Lee Jones in his distinguished years. (Imagine same, uncanny, humor, and sarcastic voice too boot) And was much like the man in black, even dawning a perfect black cowboy hat.

A haggard tune for the road again and again always blaring a good ol’ country tune, down home-music, and mariachi “blasting” as loud and as often as possible. My father-in-law was a formidable force and was raised in Woodland California by his grandparents, till they “could take no more,” and he ended up running away. His blazed history already an out-of-control, raging inferno, so keep it moving, a motto, a safekeep. Better than a chain shackled to keep him contained. This genetic component would take “Matches” everywhere you could imagine and well into the next generations to come.

A long distant “calling” ancestor of the Mayans and walked through Tikal, the jungles of Atzlan, sacred temples, “Kalima” (no actual eyewitness reporting), time, jaguars, ancient history, Mexico, and every ranchero in between; might even be a long lost relative of Pancho Via’s right hand, chief of police, loyal legal assistant, or trusted bestie. Shh, you never heard this from me. (*Inside voice*) He scaffolded through the Union, repairs, along with managed “crews” on both the Bay Bridge and Golden Gate Bridge. Master builder and masterful with life, his liberties, and liberation (a lot of libations consumed).

Avid golfer, sports enthusiast and fanatic (The Sacramento Kings), fisherman, camper, hiker, and all things dad and grandfatherly, as best he could. His voice booming but had to be in order to be heard. That’s just the way he talks, so don’t take offense, but I promise, you will. He knows everyone, and anyone who is anyone knows him. I like to name-drop when needed and forgive my partiality. I am biased! Always a crowd pleaser, three cheers, and throw back a teaser, although whiskey his preferred drink chased with a Mountain dew, however, I do not recommend this brew, liver damage a painful way too live. Hope you aren’t afraid of heights, cursing, or life and death situations!

Standing upon the very tip top at 200 feet, grand and heavenly fathered tour, after climbing a dark, winding, really spooky and cold, not-so-safe or sturdy iron stairwell, and holding my breath the entire way, is The Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament. “The Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament is one of the largest cathedrals west of the Mississippi River. The interior dome of the cathedral, which stands 110 feet (34 m) high, was rebuilt, some 70 years after the original one was blocked from view. The dove in the oculus, with a wingspan of 7 ft (2.1 m), is “a dramatic reminder of the Holy Spirit’s presence in the life of the church”. The church has been updated for modern use, but designers tried to keep the church in the original style.”

“Traditionally, cathedrals are built with the main altar on the east end, to reflect “Jesus coming like the rising sun in the east.” “While the exterior of the cathedral is Italian Renaissance, the interior was fashioned after the Victorian style of the day. Much of the decor was painted in a style called trompe l’oeil, a visual illusion in art, used to trick the eye into perceiving a painted detail as a three-dimensional object.” (Source cathedralsacramento.org) And there’s no denying, what an amazing, otherworldly, heavenly view.

Back to no-mistaking this project manager, guardsman, independent contractor, plaintiff, or awesome father-in-law’s story and early seventies out in the vast and turbulent Pacific Ocean, government vessel, guppy, “green”, newbie on board. That is aboard the United States Coast Guard, “Command Master Chief, Captain, Sir, yes Sir”. Misheard or mishap due to seasickness or lack of attention, but a name was called, and it wasn’t his. “Matches!” “Matches!” No answer escaped my fathers-in-law’s lips, and punishment an instant affliction, commencement. Mop the entire vessels floor with a toothbrush (Truth), but it won’t matter, because he’ll be hanging on for dear life when a massive storm catapulted on them.

“The United States Coast Guard (USCG) is the maritime security, search and rescue, and law enforcement service branch of the United States Armed Forces and one of the country’s eight uniformed services. The service is a maritime, military, multi-mission service unique among the United States military branches for having a maritime law enforcement mission with jurisdiction in both domestic and international waters and a federal regulatory agency mission as part of its duties. It is the largest and most powerful coast guard in the world, rivaling the capabilities and size of most navies.”

“The U.S. Coast Guard is a humanitarian and security service. It protects the United States’ borders and economic and security interests abroad; and defends its sovereignty by safeguarding sea lines of communication and commerce across vast territorial waters spanning 95,000 miles of coastline and its Exclusive Economic Zone. With national and economic security depending upon open global trade and a rules-based international order, and with ever-expanding risk imposed by transnational threats through the maritime and cyber domains, the U.S. Coast Guard is at any given time deployed to and operating on all seven continents and in cyberspace to save lives; enforce laws; ensure safe and secure commerce; and protect the environment.” (Source Wikipedia, today is World Environment Day, and reverence for my dear late-great pappy-in-law)

Swinging from the sails, artic, salt blasted, wind whipping through the air, gasping for air, side-to-side, port and starboard, star bound, pelted wave after wave of unrelenting sea clung a young man to life, “limb” and contemplation. Told us about five death-defying hours through and endured one wrath of a “perfect storm”, Poseidon instigated, praying he would live through this horrific ordeal. I can’t imagine the dark, watery, suffocatingly, drowning grave alternative. A wave of clairvoyance, realization, God, and divine intervention; re-coordinated, recalibrated, steered, channeled the young man to shore and safer lands of plenty to explore. Save your breath, we’re in the homestretch.

My father-in-law was the first family member to accept me, and I am honored to carry his name. Actually, called him Dad, you’d think an earthquake happened. But he felt like my dad, and I gained respect for him, each passing year, trial by fire, and moments shared. Matches has three daughters and, yours truly, as his only daughter-in-law. He was the first gladiator I ever got to know in person and took us everywhere. Translated harrowing experiences and parlayed knowledge, secrets, spiritual quests, and exquisite hidden “treasures”. Magical forests, crazy “characters” (friends) in low and high places, enchanting, ethereal and surreal golf courses (won a car with a hole in one, not the only time), the ocean, the edge of Earth, and places on Earth, I never knew existed. Amazing and out-of-this-world stories by the campfire, ghost ships, chorizo egg burritos, a few hair-raising adventures narrowly escaping Poseidon, madmen, the insane in the membranes, whales of tales, sharks, and fishing with harebrains (Me).

Just like a shooting star, David “rocketed” back to Heaven, departing this world, celestial coordinates and compass set “heaven bound”, while holding his son’s hand, many moons ago, New Year’s Day. Always left a lasting impression. Surrounded by loving and adoring family who deeply cherished and miss him still. Both my better-half and I lost our fathers young. Wouldn’t change a thing, they were both born the same year and larger than life father figures. Gave us all they had, a world of hope, a wealth of knowledge, and a million chances. My husband inherited his genetics, ambition, uber rigid fishing tactics, love for life and this planet, and a Godly purpose. Leave it better than you found it! Family name inherited and carried, married, and a myriad of memorable, loveable, fantastical memories to share. Not our only ghost-dad-writers in the sky. I have step-ghost-dad’s story to tell while coasting along and with the glorious, haunting, California Highway Patrol. I’ll turn my sirens on for that post!

Although Silver Wings reminds me of my father-in-law, I will conclude this presentation sorda story with Merle Haggard’s lyrics … “and the good times, ain’t over for good”, but this story by cowboy boot surely is, or I’m just a divinely sent snowball headed out from hell. If you live on pudding street or your nickname is puddin’, this piece of work or disclaimer, grandfathered from me to you, is live a life to the fullest, live like a King, love mightily, and have faith that can move anything (mountains).

Thank you for visiting this fictious courtroom slash movie theatre, sailing vessel of appeals and disapprovals of miscast and mistaken names, identities, mishaps, and “light” mayhem. Next time we’ll pick up some speed on the green and golf cart at warp speed for some unforgettable, out-of-this-world, hole in ones, on Highway 1. What are the odds? Speaking of odds, may the odds be ever in your favor! Till then, “Mates”, Godspeed …