Rebel Mother: My Childhood Chasing the Revolution by Peter Andreas

Author:Peter Andreas
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2017-04-03T16:00:00+00:00

V.

RETURN TO PERU

Called Peter a couple of days ago and he says he’ll be waiting for me on Wednesday, but was mixed up on what day is Wednesday. He’s just barely old enough to pull this off—maybe!

—Carol Andreas, Detroit, December 1975

Kidnapped

THE WARRANT FOR my mother’s arrest was issued by the sheriff’s department a few hours after my teachers at Meadowbrook Elementary School reported me missing from the playground. The official charge was “enticing away child under 14 years of age.” An all-points bulletin with our descriptions was sent out by the police to authorities at airports, train stations, and bus stations. But it was too late. We had already crossed the border. I know exactly what I was wearing that day because it was recorded in the sheriff’s incident report: “Peter was last dressed in brown cowboy boots, blue jeans, a beige turtleneck shirt, gray sweater with a white stripe on the midriff, and a green ski coat with a fur-trimmed hood.” These were my only clothes until we reached Peru a few weeks later. My father contacted the FBI and the State Department, but they told him that no extradition would be granted from Peru.

I had finally agreed, however reluctantly, to collude in my own kidnapping, which took place at noon on Wednesday, December 10, 1975. Early that morning in my father’s house outside of Detroit, I ate my Frosted Flakes at the breakfast table as if it were any other day. Holding back tears, I said good-bye to my father and Rosalind as casually as possible. “See you later,” I called back as I headed toward the door to catch the school bus.

“Have a good day at school,” my father hollered after me, taking a sip from his coffee cup and momentarily lifting his head from reading the Detroit Free Press. He was the picture of a 1975 working dad—dark corduroy slacks, Harris Tweed sport jacket, brown sweater-vest, and a fat, striped tie—and was about to start his forty-five-minute commute into the city.

“Maybe we can play canasta again after dinner tonight,” Rosalind added as she took a last bite of her breakfast.

“Sure,” I said, trying to sound calm. I glanced back at the two of them sitting there at the table. I paused and took a deep breath. The faint clean smell of my father’s aftershave and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air.

I shut the front door behind me and was gone.

I had been extra careful this time with my mother’s kidnapping plan. As my father and Rosalind sat nearby in the living room, my mother and I had gone over it on the phone in Spanish. I’d screwed it up the first time, a couple of weeks earlier before school one day, when I had asked my father for my allowance in advance.

My father was puzzled. “You know you always get your allowance at the beginning of the week. What’s the rush?”

I fidgeted and stared at the floor.

“Peter? Is there something wrong?”

I hesitated and then said, “It’s just that, well, I’ll need it.

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