Thank you, Erik Estrada

When people ask me the question, "So, how did you guys end up in Austin?" there are two answers I can give. I usually size up both the audience and the venue, before deciding which answer is most appropriate.

Basically, there is a short version, and then there's the long version, and the latter involves the hunky man on the left, Mr. Frank "Ponch" Ponciarello himself, Erik Estrada.

First, let me give you the short version: If the audience appears to be someone looking for a "serious" conversation, or if the venue is a place that is staid and/or formal, I'll go with this one. "Well, you know, we had a small apartment in Brooklyn and two boys that were getting bigger every day. We were basically priced out of homes the size we needed, so we just moved farther and farther out, and we ended up in Texas." I usually accompany the comment with a wry smile (not unlike the one Erik is flashing in the photo), and that's the end of that.

If I feel we have a little more time, however, and if the mood is right, I'll say, "You mean I haven't told you the story?" And then I'll launch into it.

One day, just before Labor Day in 2007, Jeanette decided to stay home from work due to a nasty hangover. Our kids were in the care of their grandparents in Santo Domingo at the time, so we were feeling carefree and in full "summer mode," which probably explains Jeanette's state that day.

In order to amuse herself, my bride surfed through the cable channels, when suddenly, there he was, the man of her pre-adolescent dreams. Ponch.

"We're so certain you'll love our properties in Horseshoe Bay, Texas, we will pay for you and a loved one to fly to Austin and stay in a three-star hotel."

She began writing down phone numbers and before long she was on the line with a very nice man. "What's the fine print?" she asked. "What's the obligation?" "No obligation, ma'am. I'll just take down your information, and you'll receive your tickets via email. Our properties sell themselves."

Once she was convinced that we wouldn't be taken for a ride, she called me and instructed me to let my boss know that we'd be taking an extra long weekend. I did as I was told.

They picked us up at Bergstrom airport and transported us in a van, with a few other couples who had apparently been reeled in by Estrada, to the Double Tree Hotel on 15th and Guadalupe. We had a great room with a nice view of the UT campus, and just to give you a sense of how little I knew about Austin at that time, I actually looked out the window and said to Jeanette, "Hey look, honey, everyone's wearing the same color shirt as me!" Burnt orange. Everywhere. I had no idea.

I also had no idea just how close my high school friends Alice and Mignon lived. When I contacted them, they let me know that they were less than a half hour away and that they would be there soon to meet up with us.

We were able to have a good time with my old friends, which went a long way to allowing me to entertain the idea of moving nearly 2000 miles from Brooklyn, the city I'd called my home longer than any other place in the world. Yes, we had to sit through an annoying sales pitch with a cowboy who smelled of cigarettes, in a community we were about 30 years too young for, but we braved the storm and I connected the dots of the professional network I'd created during my 16 years in public education and met a few influential people in the Austin community who were able to open some doors for me on the work front. Less than a year after Jeanette's fateful sick day, we found ourselves living in Austin, Texas.

And here we are, almost 3 years later. Life is good, despite how much we miss certain people (and the ability to buy fresh sushi at all hours of the day or night), and we have one person to thank for it.

Thank you, Ponch. I knew there was a reason I had that poster of you in my bedroom in 9th grade. (And no, it wasn't for the reason everyone thought it was at the time...)