I can’t recall the day I first met my husband. I had seen him at work for a few weeks, and I was beyond intimidated. He strutted around the production floor of the food manufacturing plant where we both worked. He was a supervisor with a reputation for being hard and demanding, but his crew was loyal. He had a long goatee and even longer curly dark hair, which when not in a bun, fell past his waist. His hair had orange stripes from a hair bleaching gone wrong. When combined with his massive tattoo covered biceps, he seemed completely unapproachable; and he was Tongan. He was not a man to be messed with and I needed him, literally. I needed to earn some extra money for an upcoming vacation. The only way to get extra hours was to stay after my shift, and work on his crew, and the only way to work on his crew was to ask him directly.
After my initial unease around him wore off, I began to appreciate the friendship Sipa was trying to create with me. He was kind, caring and flirted relentlessly. I was warned about him, I was told he was a ladies man, and all about his bad boy attitude. This didn’t come as a surprise though; I could already see the long hair, the tattoos, and the trips to the “Butt Hut,” a covered area outside where the smokers took smoke breaks. I knew he flirted with me, but I wasn’t concerned, I was dating someone else. As the weeks wore on we exchanged phone numbers and talked for hours on the phone. Cody, the boy I was dating paled in comparison, but he was my good excuse to not actually go on a date with the man who was quickly becoming one of my closest friends.
After some very persistent asking, and my constant declining, I finally agreed to go out on one date with him, on the condition he not ask me again. I cancelled our date. Sipa was good natured about it, but since I hadn’t actually gone on the date with him, he continued to ask me out…repeatedly. We went on our first date sometime in April to Dairy Queen, with his daughter. He broke a tooth on our date eating a peanut parfait, and he declared a do-over. We went out again a week later, and I haven’t looked back.
We each come from big families. I am one of six children, and he is one of twelve. As he described his family to me, I envisioned a wonderful, upstanding family, living in a modest home in a nice neighborhood. His dad had been the bishop; he and his brothers had been in sports, his sisters involved in dance and music. I had been introduced to his only sister living in Utah and loved her, we were very similar both loving music and shopping! Sipa and I took a quick trip to Los Angeles before we were married so I could meet more of his family. I can only describe this now as a calculated move, introducing me only to certain members of the family so I wouldn’t really know what I was getting myself into.
It was at our wedding reception I began to catch a glimpse of my new family. My in-laws were friendly and kind and sat at a back table, wearing mostly black. Near the end of the reception I noticed one of my new brothers-in-law, carrying a couple of center pieces to his car. They were bowls we were supposed to return; he looked at me and said words I’ve come to know well, “Five finger discounts!”
We spent more time in Los Angeles after our honeymoon. As I walked into a Taco Bell, complete with bullet proof glass, I felt a little like Dorothy from “The Wizard of Oz,” I wasn’t in my little comfort zone anymore. Far from the nice neighborhood I had envisioned, I was in Hawthorne, CA and it was the scariest place I’d ever been in my life. I couldn’t believe I would be spending holidays and vacations down there, fearing for my life, and wondering when we had children how I would ever let them near this inner-city madness!
After grilling my new husband for the real details, not my fairy tale, I learned “we” were Crips. Tongan Crip Gangsters to be exact and his older brother had actually started the gang. My husband, although never really apart of the gang, had a gang name, “Spade.” I felt like I had married into a twisted version of “The Godfather.” I learned about colors- blue is good, red is not. I learned where it was safe to go- east of 102nd, but not west. I also learned that most of these gang members at some point in their lives had been relatively active members of the Church, and we were related to almost all of them. These gang members were my new brothers in law, nephews and cousins! These were definitely not going to be the family gatherings I had imagined, but I have learned to love them just the same.
Over the last 14 years, these “boys” have surprised me in more ways than one. I have seen these men with tattoos; saggy pants and dark blue bandanas get on their knees playing games with little kids. I’ve seen them play dominos at tables with the old men in the park; I’ve had them help me with my kids when my arms are full, I kid and joke with them now. One of the most touching moments I have ever witnesses occurred this past August, at my brother in law’s funeral. These “boys” pooled together their money to give my sister-in-law $1000 to help with the funeral costs, and whatever else she might need. They carried the casket; they stood strong, wept, and celebrated his life with another beer.
My life did not go the way I planned when I first laid eyes on my husband. It has been better. I have learned more about people and life in ways I never would have otherwise. I was quite content to live in my picket fence bubble, not the bullet proof glass I married into. I am grateful to have had my eyes opened to the way others live and love, and I am grateful to be a part of it. My children are exposed to aspects of life I had only seen on tv, but my children have learned to be kind and loving to all. They’ve had the best example in their dad.
