What's Your Passion?

We all enjoy life a little better if there’s time to pursue your passions. For me they’re simple: spending time with family and friends, being in the water and taking pictures. Without having specific photographic assignments, it’s been fun to capture landscapes and birds. But that’s a lonely pursuit and I’d rather do editorial work with people.

A few times this summer, I rode my bike to Dog Beach in Coronado. In the late afternoons the ocean water was warm and the light was glowing. A perfect time to cool off.

Every time I came, I noticed the same fisherman. His set up on the beach seem very precise: there was a plastic cylinder set in the sand where the fishing pole rested; a pair of angler scissors hanging around his neck; a white bucket for fish; a piece of wood just big enough to rest across the bucket, and a knife for scaling. He hooked his bait expertly and efficiently cast the line out to the sea.

I started asking him a lot of questions. We talked about the virtues of fishing, patience, and blessings. I admitted that I had no patience for fishing. It’s boring! I told him I loved the ocean and I loved photography.

He showed me his perch and corbina and told me that the ceviche he could make would be better than anything I could eat in a restaurant. Whatever he didn’t eat he gave away to his family and his friends. He spoke with an accent and asked me if I knew the Goldsberry’s of San Diego. I had to admit I didn’t live here full time and was there something I needed to know about that name?

He replied, “Well, my father was Jewish and my Mom was Mexican. I was born here in San Diego and returned to Tijuana with my family after that.”

Well, I was hooked, pun intended. I vowed to come back with my camera, take pictures and ask more questions. I’m an experienced photographer, but a budding journalist, so I figured as long as I was transparent about my own life, he could honestly tell me about his.

About a week later, I came by and talked more with Jerry who was with Pastor Didier Noriega Rivas from his church, The San Ysidro Spanish Church. Jerry is a passionate Seventh-Day Adventist and although I’m Jewish, he wants me to feel the spirit and goodness of Jesus Christ. Especially since I’m a two-time cancer survivor.

Jerry was born in 1963, the same year as me. His father, Jerry Sr, was in the Navy and his mother was from Tijuana. His mom already had nine kids and like many Mexican women in the 60s, they hung out in the nightclubs where American servicemen would go and hoped to attract one to marry. Jerry says his Mom was gorgeous and could see how she would attract men, but probably didn’t tell his Dad she already had nine children. Soon after they met she and his Dad married and had six more kids. He remembers that his Dad singled him out among the kids and would punish him. His Mom thought because Jerry resembled him so much he endured the most physical abuse. On the weekends he’d get beat up and sent to his room. He listened to the TV in the living room by putting his ear to the wall.

In 1973 they moved to South San Diego with just the six kids and after about a month, his father left them for good. His Mom had a heart attack from the stress and was in the hospital for 45 days. Jerry and his five siblings were left alone in the apartment and starving. His older brother Carlo was 14 and tried to feed them based on who was the hungriest but it was getting impossible. Soon a neighbor came over and made huge pots of food and called the apartment manager to get social services over there and give them food stamps. Jerry said school was difficult too: he was beat up by the black kids who didn’t like Mexicans.

I asked him, whatever happened to your Dad? How could he have left you all so desperate and hungry? Jerry thought his Mom and Dad just didn’t know each other that well and the stress was too much to bear. In 1995, federal agents visited his mother and questioned her about her marriage to Jerry Goldsberry Sr. He said they had good news and bad news. The bad news was that her husband had died at the age of 55 from emphysema. They never divorced because she never found him. The good news was that inside their briefcase was a check for his pension and she would receive it every month for the rest her life until her death in 2002.

Jerry eventually married and has three adult children and lives in San Ysidro with his wife. He worked as a mason and retired because of a bad back. Unfortunately his wife was in a horrible car accident in 2004. It’s a miracle she’s alive, but she’s suffered a lot of brain damage. Jerry has spent years teaching her how to talk and how to walk but she’s still not the same. Being near the border is convenient so his wife can see her family and connect with her memories.

I watched Jerry pull on his fishing pole and got excited. He and Didier hadn’t caught any fish that evening and I wanted to see some action. He figured it would be a baby leopard shark and he was right. Had to throw that one back. Soon Didier felt a pull—it was a striped bass and that made us all happy. This one he could keep. I sensed Jerry wanted Didier to be as passionate about fishing as they both are about Jesus Christ. Right before complete darkness set in, Jerry caught a perch, but it was too small. We all watched it struggle to get back to the sea. I held my breath as it sat still in the shallow water. The waves came in and it finally flopped back to life. I let out a breath of relief. If that fish had died, a part of me would have gone with it.

Jerry’s difficult childhood and the struggle to help his wife belies the sense of peace he feels when he’s fishing. As he says, “I’ve been to Coronado for five years. It’s a hot spot, or maybe I just get lucky there. Fishing is my passion. Since I preach the gospel I hope that you and your family are blessed throughout.”

I still don’t have the patience to fish and I still don’t believe in Jesus Christ. But after two bouts of lymphoma and getting a bone marrow transplant last March, I feel baptized from the warm and salty ocean water and the soft breeze that hits my skin. I am energized by the snap, snap of my camera shutter as I try to capture the fading light and the soulfulness of my subjects. Mostly, though, I’m enlivened by my conversations with strangers while we share the simplest of pleasures.