Tony

On 22nd Street
The Mission
Thursday afternoon

***

Grandma Marie bought Grandpa Gary a ring on 24^th Street in the late 1940s, when they were dating. They got married, moved to Albion Street, between 16^th and 17^th Street and gave birth to Dad in 1950.

Grandma Elizabeth and Grandpa Tor left Norway for Trinidad where Mom was born. They relocated to Treat Street in 1953.

Years later, Mom and Dad got frisky with each other. Nine months later I was born. They ended up on the peninsula where I grew up.

The Mission District called me home. When I was a suburban teenager, I would come up to San Francisco and act like an idiot. My friends were up from Millbrae and looking for a good time and San Francisco was our Disneyland. People rolled their eyes at us as we skateboarded around town and pathetically wooed girls.

The Mission District called and I hung up on it and moved to the Western Addition in 1994. The dot com came and spat me out into the East Bay, needing lower rent and waiting for my chance to move back into San Francisco.

I love the East Bay, but San Francisco is my soul. If Grandma didn’t give Grandpa a ring and get frisky in 1949, there would be no Dad who got frisky with Mom and there would be no Me.

I ached to come back to the Mission District. The diversity, the music, the chance interactions with strangers…some who become friends, some who should have taken their medication.

The Mission District called and I answered and I now live back where it all started, with my family getting frisky.

Grandma Marie and Grandpa Gary were divorced in the late 1950s. It wasn’t a friendly divorce. Grandma remarried Grandpa Barney, an amazing man who I’ll always remember as my Grandpa, even though their friskiness didn’t have any result into my existence today.

Grandpa Gary still wore Grandma Marie’s ring, the one she bought for him at a jeweler on 24^th Street. Until the day he died he wore that ring and said, “This is when Marie loved me.”

I inherited that ruby and gold ring. It fits on my middle finger. It lives on 23^rd Street, one block from where it was purchased over ½ a century ago. I wear it everywhere. Even though Grandpa Gary was bad at relationships and his definition of love was a little fucked up, the ring represents undying love to me. The ring represents the DuShane family. The ring will be buried with me later this century and will finally fall off my finger as I decompose.

I wrote my debut novel all around San Francisco. At cafes and bars and laundromats. I wrote my guts out at Socha, The Nervous Dog and Café la Boheme. I wrote while washing my clothes and Spanish TV was cranked to compensate for the noise of the washers and dryers so the women kept up with their telenovelas.

I wrote notes on bar napkins, on my hands and in my notebook on characters and story arcs.

Soft Skull Press published the book in February and it’s called Confessions of a Teenage Jesus Jerk. It’s a dark comedy loosely based on my experience growing up a Jehovah’s Witness in Millbrae.

Leaving the Mission District, even if it’s to go to North Beach or Burlingame or Los Angeles, is hard for me. I know the separation is temporary, but the Mission gives me those puppy dog eyes when I leave, and wags its tail when I re-enter its boundaries.

But, I always wear my ruby ring on my middle finger. The ring that represents my existence. The ring that got the DuShanes frisky in the Mission and gave me the chance to spend time on this planet and live in my favorite place on this earth.

***

You can see a slideshow of Tony’s photo shoot here.

Tony’s reading at City Lights is Wednesday, March 3: http://tonydushane.com/events.html

Recent article in the San Francisco Chronicle: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2010/03/01/DDOM1C7CBU.DTL

You can also find him here: