My mother is a bit upset because she needs to finish this order! We have over 300 garments that need to be completed this weekend and some more that are still on the cutting table and have not even been counted yet!

Marga is feeling sick today. She was throwing up and today is not a good pregnant day for her. Daniel is out making deliveries and I’ve been at this machine since 3:00, when I got out of school. Marga starts complaining “mom, I’m not feeling well & I think I’m gonna go home.” Sure enough Marga goes to the bathroom & throws up again.

“Go home and lay down, hopefully that would help.” my mother tells her.

Marga heads out the door & a few minutes later comes back in. “What happened?” mom asks.

“I can’t even fit behind the steering wheel to drive myself home!” Marga replies.

“Well there is nobody here to drive you home!” Mom suggests “Can you stay & lay down on the sofa?”

“No mom, I am really sick & need to go home.” Marga replies.

Photo © 2010 Susie of Arabia

“I’ll drive you home!”

See I can’t stand being in the factory & sewing all evening is not what I want for myself tonight. So I will do whatever it takes to get out of here!

“But you don’t even have a license” Marga replies.

“so what! I’ve watch Danny drive the bug. I’m sure I can do it! It’s only three blocks anyway & you can’t very well walk home in your condition.”

See this was a good argument & I think I got both Mom & Marga convinced. Marga did not have a comeback. So off we go! I put it into gear & let go of the clutch. Bam! the car jerks as it stalls. Again I turn it on and Marga instructs me to let go of the clutch slowly. I drove down the street at 10MPH – the car hopping and tires chirping, but I’m heading out.

I don’t think I even made it up into third gear, but we were on our way.

I can see our street from here, so how much trouble can I get into in three short blocks. Sure enough, I turn onto Dawson St & head down towards our house in the middle of the street. I took the turn a little too quick & by this point I’m up to 20MPH.

“slow down, the driveway is coming up…” Marga tells me. We reach the middle of the block. I slow down & start to turn into our driveway. I step on the break and…

And nothing!!! – the car isn’t stopping!!!

“Stop the car!” Marga yells

“I’m trying & nothing is happening! What do I do!!!”

Again Marga yells “Stop the caaaaar!” We are heading right towards the chain link fence & I can see what is next…

My life flashed before my eyes! I don’t want to think about it, but I get the image of the bug parked on top of mom’s garden, the car with it’s ass sticking out of the front wall of the house.

I don’t think mom is gonna like this mess! I closed my eyes, braced for impact and prayed for the best.

Suddenly, I hear the car screech to a halt! In an instant, Marga reaches for the emergency break & yanked it – 1″ from the edge of the fence!!!

PHEW! that was close. We look at each other with this face of amazement. Marga face is pale white & she starts doing her Lamaze breathing technique & me shitting in my pants in total disbelief.

We laughed so hard that my gut was hurting till the next day.

We never spoke of this to mom or anybody, but once in a while mom yells at Danny for the “wild skid marks on the driveway.” She smacks him in the head while he counters with “Mom, I didn’t do that!”

Anyway the secret is out now! and I’m sure glad I learned that, when stopping apply pressure to the clutch as well…

Otherwise you will hit the fence!

She had this dream to get the whole family to the United States and people in her town did not understand why she wanted to leave. They would make fun of her and even call her names.

When we got here, she remained focused. Still worked her fingers-to-the-bone so time to make friends was not a top priority. Looking back, I can see that her tough character & her focus were a way to protect herself from people’s opinions.

Yesterday she had an argument with the wife of a deacon. Mom had been asking around if any of the ladies needed a seamstress to make dresses for Christmas. My mother explained “I’m starting a new business…” and the deacon’s wife interrupted her.

“Why do you consider yourself to be better then the rest of us?” She complained to my mother.

“Isn’t a job at a factory good enough for you?”

But I know a ‘job’ is not enough for my mother. Needless to say mom butt heads with this lady and several other ladies from the church group.

But mom just lets this go…

A few weeks back, this lady was doing a collection of unwanted clothes for the poor & needy. My father committed himself to donate clothes. Over the weeks leading up to Christmas, we had donated several bags of clothes, that we did not use anymore.

At the Wednesday service before Christmas, the ladies’ church group made one last request for more unwanted clothes. “There is a desperate need for these items…” was the last plea. Nobody raised their hands, and at the last minute my father raised his. Once again, he committed the whole family.

Now for Saturday service, we dragged a big bag of clothes with us on the train. We carried it for the 1hr commute to the Adventist Church. There my father handed the bag over to this lady. Danny gave up a green hooded, parka. It’s only problem was that it was old & had holes in the pockets. I gave up my US Navy blue Pea coat. It only had a small tear in the elbow and mom gave up a nice brown coat with a white fur collar. Even though the fur was a little torn and dirty, she liked it. begrudgingly she too gave it up for those more needy…

All because my dad said “the poor do not have clothes to keep them warm this winter and you have several!”

Saturday church service was beautiful and the Christmas theme left us feeling that giving up our items for the benefit of others was a good idea.

It is what a “good Christian” should do – right?
But now walking out of Saturday service, we see a difference in the floor mats the church is using. Stretched out on the floor were my mom’s fur-collar coat; my blue jacket & Danny’s parka there on the floor for people to wipe their feet.

This cut deep, like a knife, straight thru my mother’s heart. She had allowed herself to be vulnerable and allow people in. But now this lady had taken a direct hit at mom. I don’t know why, envy, anger, jealousy…

But again my mother lets this go and just moves on – like always. This time the pain was a little deeper.

A neighbor saw us walking & offered us a ride home. Mom was quiet all the way home and nobody else dare break the silence. All we could do was listen to Delta Dawn playing on the radio. I guess mom being vulnerable is now like a faded rose from days gone by…

When we got home, mom went straight up to her room. I hope we can find a way to cheer her up before Christmas.

After being in the house for only 5 minutes, mom yells at Joe. “What are you doing out in the cold with that pneumonia? Oh my God! your voice is ready to go!!”

“It’s not a pneumonia! It’s only a cold. Don’t worry” Joe replies. But he does not know my mom. She left the room and we went back to hanging out. We’re watching TV and just talking but we are having a good time hanging out with Joe.

I don’t know why all the neighbors don’t like Joe. He is a good guy with a bad reputation – no matter that it’s unearned. My dad does not like him, but my mom does. She says that she sees the kindness in his heart.

“Knock, Knock” my mother says as she opens the door of my room. “Take your shirt off!” She demands of Joe, in her broken English. “What?” Joe replies with a puzzled look.

“Don’t even try to stop her Joe. When she has her mind set, nothing will stop her.” Danny tells Joe. “Just surrender, It’ll be easier!”
MY mom showed up with a container of ‘Mentol Chino’ & a stack of newspapers. She rubs the mentol chino on his chest and on his back. She lays it on thick so that the newspaper will be able to stick to it.

The room has a strong Menthol smell and Joe is complaining of the smell and that the fumes are stinging his eyes.

“Dile que no joda!” My mom yells out. “What did she say?” Joe asks. “Stop complaining and let her continue…” Danny replies, leaving out the curse word.

Now my mother grabs the newspaper. She plasters it on his chest like if she was hanging wallpaper. She rubs it in – almost as if she was trying to rub the newsprint off onto his chest.

She continues with more of the same on his back. “Now put your shit back on!” She instructs Joe. Sure enough, Joe is now doing whatever my mother instructs.

She now leaves the room & Joe is just standing there like an overstuffed scarecrow. He has newspaper spilling out the neck & arms of the T-shirt.

My mother walks back in, this time with a thick wool blanket that we brought over from Ecuador. This blanket is made of Llama wool and is made by the local Indians. I have many memories of how it kept me warm during those cold winter nights in the Bronx. We used to have nights when the heat would not work & this blanket was the only thing that kept us from freezing our ass of. The whole family would sit under this blanket to stay warm & watch TV.

My mother wraps the blanket tightly around Joe. The only thing hanging out the side is his hands and off the top is his head. Joe is now stiff as a scarecrow.

“Now leave!” My mother instructs Joe! “Mi’jo, Go home & sleep wrapped in the blanket. Don’t take the blanket off no matter how hot you get.”

My mother treated Joe just like she would her sons. She was truly concerned for him. Joe does not question nor says anything but gives Danny a look, as if to ask “What should I do now!?”

My Brother replies “GO & sweat your ass off!

The next morning Joe returns the wool blanket & thanks my mother for taking care of him. He does not have a mother & she has made him feel as if she was his mother.

“Thank you” is all he says – his voice no longer hoarse or broken. “I feel much better.”

The rear wheels are wide 60′s racing slicks covered with fender flares that makes the back of the car look super cool! The car has a drastic lean towards the front because of the size of the rear wheels.

Definitely not your usual ’72 Super Beetle. The front wheels are low profile 70′s and they also stand out beyond the edge of the fenders.

Today we are replacing his stereo. It isn’t working well and we are going to replace it with a more powerful system. We take apart the housing to get to the radio. It snaps out but the radio is secured with Flathead screws and we don’t have a screwdriver for it.

The only tools we have are the few that Tio Amable has given Daniel over the years and a few that he has gotten on his own. He is proud of his toolbox, so much so that he won’t let me go near them.

But today is different. “Pass me the screwdriver!” he asks. “there isn’t one in here.” I reply. “Well go inside and get a butter knife we can use that as a Flathead screwdriver.” Sure enough this works! we replace the stereo and put in some nice speakers on the doors.

He was so proud of his Super Beetle and how great the stereo sounded.

So of course we had to show it off! We immediately cleaned up, put the tools away and threw out the trash. I was so excited to go for my first ride in his Bug that I did not want to miss not even a second of it. I tossed the knife on to the rear floorboard and put the floormats back in place – away we went.

Not even 10 minutes into our ride do we attract attention. But not the kind we wanted. This one is the pain-in-the-ass Sargent that has always had something against us. The red lights from his cruiser’s strobe spins around. This one is not like a beacon in the middle of the darkness here to protect us, but as a disruptive flash breaking up the beauty of the sun setting.

“Driver’s License and registration please.” The office asked. My brother complies without saying a word. “Where is your friend tonite?” the officer questions.

“Who are you referring to officer?”

“You know who! That troublemaker you hang out with.” Now the questioning turns into an interrogation. “What kind of trouble are you hoodlums up to tonite?”

“Nothing officer, just cruising around…”

“Don’t give me that shit! You’re sure you were not involved in something?” His tone getting really nasty and stern now. “Step out of the car – NOW!” He yells!

“What’s going on officer?” My brother asks. “What are you guys doing with a knife in the car?”

“We don’t have a knife!” My brother replies, not knowing that I had tossed it back into the car behind his seat. Oh shit! he is going to be pissed! I had no idea that butter knife could get us in trouble…

“Then what is that weapon doing there on the floor?” The officer insisted. My brother turns around and looks. “Oh! we were striping wires to redo the speakers, officer. That’s only a butter knife! We forgot to put it away after working on the car. It can’t hurt anyone – not even slice a tomato!” He replied nervously.

“Don’t get nasty with me!” The officer yelled as he grabbed my brother.

He spun him around and yelled “Spread ‘em on the car!” Holy shit this is getting way too crazy. We have not done anything wrong. Since he associates us with Joe, then we are also suspects in his eyes.

“Officer! What are you doing…” I yelled.

“Shut up kid! Keep your butt on that seat! I don’t want to see you move one inch!” And with that the officer slammed the driver’s side door shut!

I can hear the officer yelling and the walki-talki squealing! “Dispatch, dispatch! Have there been any robberies tonite?” They go back and forth with code-this and code-that. Frustrated the officer calls out “Anything involving a knife?” “Negative!” replies the dispatcher on the walki-talki.

“You are lucky punk! You get off free tonite. Don’t let me catch you with that punk, Joe!”

Boy! That really scared the shit out of me. He was looking for any reason to drag us to jail. I’ve never been that close to being arrested.

As we drove off, Daniel watched every step he made. He drove under the speed limit, used his turn signal at every turn. Just from an association to a neighbor, we are now considered, and looked at, as hoodlums.

From that point forward, I looked over my shoulder – not even the cops are our friends.

Just the idea of holding her soft hand makes my knees buckle.

And being able to stand next to her and smell the sweetness of her skin just warms my soul.

All year long I’ve wanted to say hi to her, but I’ve been too shy and could not even bring myself to walk up to her. Now summer camp is almost over and I still have not gotten the nerve to talk to her.

So imagine! Actually getting to dance with her tonight surely seems unlikely.

Eddie, my best friend, laughs at me. He says all I have to do is ask. “The worst that could happen is that she says no…” But this is what scares me! “What if she does say no?”

“Forget that man! The dance is about to start and we need to check out the hot girls.”

Eddie, a couple of friends & I are are hanging out in front of the dance hall. Checking out every girl that walks by. I do not notice any of them. The only girl I’m looking for is Joan. Sadly, she is nowhere to be found.

“Lets go in. The dance is starting!” Eddie yells out. I hang back to see if maybe Joan is coming around the corner of the building. But no luck.

Half hour into the dance, Eddie comes running up to me. “Joan is here! Are you going to get your nerve up and ask her to dance?” he asks.

“I don’t know if I can do it!” I reply. But deep down inside what I was really thinking is more like “I don’t know if I can – handle the rejection.” I can’t take that chance.

“You know what your problem is? You need to man up!” When he said this, I knew he was right. I’ve never been comfortable in my own skin.

“Go for it!” He eggs me on “She’s standing right over there by the punch bowl. You’ll never know until you try.”

TODAY that has to end! Summer is almost over & I’ve had my head up in the clouds. I may never get another chance.

Eddies strength & courage has given me a surge of courage.

“Eddie, I’m gonna do it! I’ll ask her to dance!”

I walk right over to her – before my injection of courage runs out. As soon as I approach her the dance song ends. I freak out & freeze for a second. But I ask anyway! “Do you want to dance?” and to my surprise she replies

“YES!”

I grab her hand and we walk out towards the dance floor. I’m expecting another fast dance song, but I can’t believe it – they start playing a slow romantic song.

I pause and look her in the eyes, as if asking “still wanted to dance?” – and she tugs my hand towards the dance floor. Waiting for Olivia Newton John to sing the first words, Joan whispers “Why haven’t you asked me before?”

As I’m searching for an answer, Olivia Newton John starts with…

“There was a time when I was…”

Joan steps closer to me. Suddenly the song fades to the background and all I can hear is the beating of my heart. As she tilts her head and leans in towards my shoulder, I feel my heart pounding like a drum. The beating rhythm creates a sense of peace & stillness. I allow myself to be in the moment & enjoy Joan in my arms.

Wow!! This is the greatest moment ever! We danced close together for what felt like a sweet eternity. Dancing cheek to cheek, I keep my eyes closed and savor the moment. Her hair and skin are sweet smelling – almost like roses. Her hands are soft and warm. Her fingertips firmly squeezing my hand.

The 3 1/2 minutes of this song, felt like a sweet eternity. I wanted it to last, but the song finishes with…

“Have you never been happy, just to hear your song…”

Yes, I am happy and a song of fulfillment is now playing in my heart.

Joan’s friends came up to her and swept her away. She turns and as she is pulled away, she looks over her shoulder and smiles at me. Her friends, giggling away, are oblivious to a moment in time that I will never forget.

A few weeks ago I started drawing a highway on a regular sketch paper.

Sure enough I ran out of space on that paper & the highway just ended – going to nowhere. I added another piece and just continued the sketch. I ran out of space again & just added another piece.

This went on for days and even weeks. Alone sketching in my room, letting my mind wonder freely.

This reminds me of this lady, friend of the family, she lives up in NewPaltz, NY. When she used to live with us, she used to tell me…

“Don’t let anything stop you from getting what you want. Let your mind be free.
Nobody will ever take that away from you.”

So like this photograph, my sketches just grow & grow indefinitely. They seem to be random sketches, but taped together, it created a single image out of the many pieces.

Before I knew it – it was 10 pages wide x 10 pages long. I took down some posters from the wall and hung this up. It took the whole wall behind my bed.

That was 85″x110″ of paper with lines that in my imagination represented highways leading to somewhere. All those lines, stretching for miles, set my imagination free.

I was able to go anywhere I wanted and space was no limitation. Once I ran out of places to go all I had to do was add another piece of paper and I was set free again.

Anyway I had a quick breakfast, of milk & cereal, and went off to school feeling like that anyway. The whole day just seemed to drag along. In gym class, we played soccer with the shirts vs. no-shirts. I ended up on the no-shirts team and it was a bit too cool outside. My asthma started acting up and I am having a hard time breathing.

The weather outside was stormy and the gray clouds just loomed overhead like spectators, looking down into the lion’s den at the zoo, waiting for something to happen. Even worse, when I went to take a shower, the hot water refused to flow for me!

What a day!!!!

I’m just glad school is over and I can finally get the school day done now!

So as I drive home, the feeling of dread is still present and getting stronger. It pulsates and causes the veins in my neck to bulge. I don’t know why it’s there nor what is causing it, but it’s just strange.

I guess not strange enough! Because as I turn the corner onto our block, I see exactly what is causing this feeling.

There in the middle of the street, in front of our house, is a growing commotion. The neighbors are standing together as a group frozen in their tracks. The lights are still flashing on the patrol car and the crowd has an expression of disbelief. They’re standing there with their hands clasped over their mouths. All seen to have experienced a horrific moment together. They are sobbing as the rain falls on their shoulders.

Oh God don’t tell me something happened!

As I am parking the car, the girls from upstairs bang on my window. “Open this window!” they scream. “Dammit open it now!”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“Baby Daniel got sick. He was found in the crib and he was not breathing! His little face was blue!” they explained loudly. “Come with us, we will drive you to the hospital!”

“Wait!” I shouted “I haven’t finished parking the car!”

“Dammit, don’t worry about the car! I’ll get my dad to park it! We have to go now!” They shout as they drag me towards their car.

I leave the keys in the car. The door open and the engine running. My lunchbox is open on the front seat and I think I spilled my Coke on the rug from all this commotion. I don’t know why, but I am not even a little worried.

“He’s going to be alright!” I reassure the girls. “Don’t panic. Everything will be OK, You’ll see.”

Looking back, I must have been out of it, since I was not worrying. But as I look at the speedometer, I noticed that she is driving over 50mph on the city streets. Now I am starting to worry and even a little scared!

They pull up to the front door of the Perth Amboy General Hospital’s Emergency Room and the electric doors slide open. We climb out of the car clumsily and almost fell out even before the car was in park.

We rush into the emergency room and immediately run into the patient’s area. I see my mom, Beth and my baby sister, Patty crying. By the look in their face, I can see that same feeling of dread – only deeper and more painful.

No question had to be asked. My mother’s strong hug told me everything! Beth and Patty also came over to create a group hug in the middle of the hall. While crying, my mother uttered these words: “Little Daniel just died.”

Oh God, Why!!!! How am I going to tell my brother his son is dead!

The terror of the moment just fills me. I wonder how my brother would react to the news. Then my thoughts and wanderings go to Beth. She had been taking a nap and when she woke up, found Little Danny face down in the crib. She had been alone in the house at the time. The terror of finding her son dead must be horrific for her!

She is so far from her home & her family. She finds herself surrounded by a bunch of strangers who now find themselves to serve as her family. This house isn’t her home. Oh My! She is so far from home…

Beth, I know you’re lonely and I hope you’ll be alright…

See every year the gifts we give him end up in the drawer and never gets opened. One year I gave him a pair of pajamas. He now has over 5 sets of pajamas in his drawer.

Another year, my brother gave him a tie for his church suits. His drawer now has several different ties. See having five kids, I guess you can’t wear or use every present you get. And I guess he tried to protect us by hiding this fact from us.

That is until the day my younger sister, Nancy, found the drawer and found the pajama she had given him, the year before. The grey and white stripes on the flannel still pristine wrapped in its original packaging. My mother was pissed and sarcastically jokes with him that he is creating a stock pile for his ‘next’ life back in Ecuador.

This of course caused a big argument between them. They yell at each other & scream that they have had enough of each other. But we all know that, hidden in the sarcasm & dry humor, mom sadly also knew that he will divorce her.

We, deep down inside, knew that dad will return to live in Ecuador and actually have a stock pile to take with him. Our feeling is that he is fulfilling his obligation as a husband & dad until the last one of us is old enough. That day he will move on. Maybe even get himself another wife & possibly even get himself another set of kids.

So anyway, I gave my dad Silly Putty – I love Silly Putty!!! Now I am hearing you say “What the heck…” and yes that’s exactly what he must be thinking. But you know what! He actually spent time playing with me. We molded stuff and even picked up the images off his ‘help wanted’ newsprint.

Just like Silly Putty, children pickup impressions from the environment and from the people in their lives.

How my dad behaved, that day, left a lasting impression on my life! Even though this day turned into an argument, the minute or two, he actually spent it with me stays with me. He’s never really done that before, but on his special day, he gave up those minutes for me.

This I will never forget!

You know kids in the neighborhood doing what kids are supposed to do – being innocent and having fun!

That is… all kids with the exception of little Peter. He is only 4 maybe 6 yrs old and his mom is really protective over him. The only times I see him out is when his mother takes a nap. He sneaks out of the house, not to play with us but to go to the gray house at the corner of Warren and Salem.

He skips and hops his way over to that house.

The gray house is the home of an older couple with no kids. The lady is quiet and goes to work six days a week. The man is gray-haired and seems to have retired early. Because he tends to the garden everyday and is always outside in his yard.

As we walk home from school, he greets us and offer us candy thru the bushes. My father is friends with this guy, but I find him to be very strange. I don’t know why but I am freaked out by him.

But Peter seems to like him enough to go to his house every week. He goes there by himself at least once a week and spends over an hour there.

One day I asked him “what do you do at his house all that time?” He replied, “We play games and eat candy.” But he would look away and not go into detail of what games they play together alone.

One day when he came out crying I asked him what happened. This time he did say that they danced to music and watched a movie that he did not like. The movie made him cry.

Yesterday my dad wanted to go visit the people in the gray house and he says that I have to go with him.

“No!” I replied “I’m not going!” But my dad insisted and we went anyway. My dad was going there to teach him the bible and wanted me to learn how to do it.

The house was dark. The furniture was wooden, stained dark brown, with a brown tweed fabric that even thought it was in good shape, always looked dirty. The walls were wood-panelled in a honey-colored stain. The grain was deep but looked worn from years of usage. The lighting was very dim with only table lamps lighting the immediate area.

I never understood why someone would choose to live in such darkness.

Anyway I asked my dad if I could leave. Finally after nagging him enough, he let me go. I rushed out the door so quickly. Later on my dad catches up to me and asks me “what happened back there?”

I finally broke down and told my dad what I felt. “I don’t like going to that house dad. Peter tells me that he does some weird things, dad! They play alone together and Peter sometimes comes out of that house crying.” My dad replied “What are you talking about?” He continued with “They are nice people, how do you know that Peter is telling the truth. You have to be sure of what you are saying before you judge anyone! You have to love thy neighbors no matter what you opinion of them.”

This is not unusual, dad never takes what I say seriously anyway. I wish I had someone to talk to, but my dad just won’t listen.

So today, I walked home alone and sure enough he was there working in his yard. He stops me by offering me my most favorite candy – a Three Musketeer bar. The words “love thy neighbor” ring in my head and I choose to give up my suspensions of him and accept him for who he is.

It was a mini bar and he said he had plenty more inside. We talked for a bit and he says “come inside & I will give you more Three Musketeers.”

The words “love thy neighbor” ring again so I accept his invitation and went inside.

No judgement!

Inside we played games and ate candy just like Peter said! Then about 45 minutes of playing he says…

“Can I teach it to you?”

He gets serious and says “the game is a secret though! It’s a big kids game – I’m not sure if you’re big enough to play this game…”

“Of course I am!” I insist “let me play!”

I should have notice something was off when he made me promise I wouldn’t tell anyone.

Anyway he gets off the floor puts on a record – I still remember it – it was Boogie Nights by Heatwave. I remember it well! It is my favorite song. It used to be, that is until now. He then comes over and sits right next to me on the sofa.

Instantly things start to feel weird. He speaks softly and moves in slowly now. Almost as if he is deliverate trying to avoid scaring me. He puts his hand, slowly, on my knee and tells me to relax. Now I am really shaking.

Then he says: “Open up your pants and …”

Before he could finish his sentence I was off that sofa and out the door! Sorry, I cannot love this neighbor… I knew what he wanted and I was not going to play those games.

But poor Peter! I just realized that he has played that game before and he is keeping that secret.

I now know why Peter’s attitude had change lately. He did not skip back & forth anymore. He walks there with his head down and his shoulder seem to just droop – like he has lost his spark.

I know he has a hard life at home, with his dad never being home & his mom being controlling. I’m sure he does not have anyone to talk to – even if they did listen – I’m not sure they would hear the secret he’s keeping.

This is enough to stress anybody out! Deep down inside, I know that Peter has changed from the many times he’s gone into the darkness of that gray house.

I know that the one and only time was enough for me. It left a lasting impression on me. Like a nightmare, it lingers in the shadows of secrecy. It is one thing that even though I want to forget, I have not been able to do.

I wonder if Peter has been able to forget.

Last year, we played monopoly all summer long! Playing for a few hours a day & then sliding the board back under the bed before mom came home. This went on for days – even weeks at a time. We would finish one game and then start all over again.

If was fun playing, because it kept us entertained but mostly because we got away with something – we got away by hiding this from mom & dad. Shortly before they got home we would hide the game & then complete our chores.

Getting away with something gave us a new kind of freedom. A freedom I’ve never known before.

Sure enough Daniel & I would have our room cleaned, our beds made and the toys put away.

This summer we started a different game. I don’t know how we started it but by 12noon we had drawn on the wood floor, in chalk, a roadway for our toy cars. It was pretty elaborate with exit ramps and even bridges and tunnels. It started in the kitchen, stretched across the dining room and into the living room.

We even had several boroughs of New York streets with highways to connect them all.

We drew, till our hearts content, of highways and roadways. Of freeways that flow past the confines of this city.

We drew of country roads where dreams peacefully meander under the cover of tall oaks. We drew of byways and crossroads that serve as arteries. Filling our hearts with the blood of adventure. Our minds travel freely and dream of the road trips we will one day make.

Every bit of our imagination and creativity was spread out across the wood floor of our home. Scribbled and measured as if we had engineered where we were going.

Our wings spreading over these byways like eagles souring high above the scenery. Free to go anywhere and free to dream of anything!

We used my collection of baseball cards to make the bridge and tunnels. We would play for a few hours & then the cleanup would start. Mop the floor to get rid of the chalk lines; put the toys away and complete our chores in time for mom & dad to get home. All to allow the dreaming to flow freely over again the next day.

Day after day, we have fun! And day after day, we are free to imagine anything we want. The world is ours and we are free to create it as our own.

Looking out the window, I see a beautiful Sunday morning. The sky is bright and a beautiful shade of blue with only one gray cloud.

Again the loud whirling of the vacuum cleaner wakes me up. I give in and decide to get out of bed and head downstairs for breakfast. The sounds of mom’s Spanish music fills the air as I descend down the staircase.

Loud, upbeat and a happy mood fills my mother’s way of being. I guess she is enjoying Spring cleaning…

“Mom, can I go outside and play?” I ask her excitedly. “Sure, after you clean up your room.” OK that sound fair enough. I can do my part of the Spring cleaning chores. I run back upstairs, make my bed and put the dirty clothes in the hamper. Again I charge down the stairs and I’m heading out the door, when my mom asks… “Did you sweep and mop the floor?”

Oh no! “do I have to do that?” I challenge her. “Just do it! Then you can go out and play.” was her reply.

While I mop, the music filling the air is soft ballads from the old country. They are love songs and patriotic ballads from Ecuador. I thought nothing of it. She would always play sounds from back home. It was music from her youth & her old friends. The ballads sang of hope and heraldry for the love of our country.

About 45 minutes later I am done mopping the floor & cleaning out the bucket so I head downstairs.

“Mom, I’m done! I’m going out to play?” This time there was no reply and she is nowhere to be found. The music changed and now there is a love song on the stereo. It sings of missed opportunities and love that cannot be.

It was melancholic and a bit dramatic.

I guess mom is missing the old days…

Anyway, where’s mom? I start searching for her & realize that she was in the front yard picking tomatoes for lunch. “OK mom, I’ll be back by lunchtime.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” she asks as if she forgot our deal. “out to play…”

“No. Go and clean the upstairs bathroom.” she demanded “But mom, you said I can go out when I was done with my room…”

“Now you need to do the bathroom!” she insisted.

Begrudgingly I went and did it. “Well, If I can go out and play after that, then it won’t be so bad.” I justified that to myself.

Again another 45 minutes passed, but I was done! Now I can go out to play. Heading down the stairs, the music still blaring, I hear my mother crying. This time the music went from melancholic to downright sad. It sang of loves lost & the longing for days gone by. It sang of missing out on what life has to offer.

Oh Boy! She is in her sad mood.

This time I try and sneak out the door. “Where do you think you are going?” mom stops me. “Umm, outside to play…” I reply

“Go to your room!” she yells. “Why mom?”

“Because I said so…” was her reply.

I look out the window & see that the gray cloud has decided to linger. It starts raining and I guess I’m not going anywhere!

I could see that, like that cloud, her mood was also gray. A sadness welts up in her eyes and a single tear rolls down her cheek. Immediately she wipes it off and turns so that I would not see it.

My mother always has to be strong and never allows us to see her vulnerability. But today I did see it and I can understand her pain. She gave up a lot to come to the United States. She gave up her education; her career; her friends and family; her hopes; but most of all she gave up her future & dreams so that we can have ours.

Once in a while she allows herself to feel this. I don’t think its of remorse for giving up her past but out of shear loneliness. Having to bear the burden of bringing up five kids – practically alone – in a new world can be a daunting task.

Carrying a heavy burden is daunting…
but even worse having to do it without much support from dad.

“Daniel, what are those ninja stars for?” I ask him. “they are called Shurikens, They are for throwing at your enemy! You never know when you have to protect yourself.”

Wow! they look pretty dangerous. I have a feeling I know what he needs to protect himself from.

“Forget that! pass me my shirt, I need to iron it.” I reach over for his shirt on the bed and hand it to him. I forgot about the ninja stars & just kept checking out this place. There are no windows down here. Just some weight equipment on the floor & Disco music spinning on the turntable. Tonight, my brother is getting ready to head out to the Disco. Ahh! over there, up agaist the wall is my new bed! That’s where I can put my stuff.

Over in the bathroom, my brother continues getting ready. He is blow drying his hair, applying some cologne & ironing his bell bottom pants. Boy! I am not a fan of disco & that music is blasting!

“We can make it, if we try
we can make it, touch the sky
we can make it, if we try
we can make it, get on high”

As I lay down on my bed, I close my eyes and just imagine Donna Summer’s words just running thru my head. (MP3)

For some reason the lyrics seem to have a calming effect on me.

Suddenly I get the feeling that just by being down here, things will be better. Being with my brother & seeing his space, I feel that yes, we can make it…

“I can always find my way home from here…”

This has always been how I see my sister Nancy. She is a strong willed and independent person. No matter what life throws at her she will always find h-e-r way. My mother and father have always mistaken her uniqueness & independence for misbehaviour & rebellion. I never saw Nancy that way.

One day, back in Ecuador, Nancy took my mother’s shearing scissors and cut up a dress my mother had just finished making. Nancy was only maybe 3-4 yrs old but my mother was very upset and only saw this as her being rebellious. But the part that I don’t think my mother understood was that Nancy was just playing the role of a seamstress.

Also what I saw was that Nancy is crying out for attention. My mother is very focused and driven to excel. She works her fingers to the bone & in doing that, she does not have time to dwell on silly sentiments and childish needs.

Don’t get me wrong! I am not saying my mother was mean or neglected us, but she did the best she could in raising 5 kids. She earned our daily bread, putting clothes on our backs & providing a new life for us. It is just that she sacrificed her own in doing that for us.

She sacrificed her feelings, her needs and desires – all for us to have ours fulfilled.

So the other day Nancy played hooky from school. She took off to Coney Island with a couple of her older friends. Mom was worried for her because she did not arrive at the usual time. She was so upset – no mad! – so mad that she needed to teach Nancy a lesson. Teach her a lesson & scare the rebelliousness right out of her!

Standing at The 41st Precinct police station over on Longwood Ave, we are waiting to see the Sargent. Mom has arranged with a police friend of hers, to have Nancy held in an interrogation room. The police office interrogated her “where did you go? why did you play hooky?” Nancy was scared and very disoriented. Even frightened when the officer told her that she may be put in jail for what she did.

A few hours later she was released to the custody of my mother with the acknowledgement that she will never play hooky again. The trick worked, worked too well, because after this day Nancy changed. She seemed different somehow.

To me, Nancy was always a soul searching for herself. Searching outside of herself for a definition of who she can become. I know Nancy will find herself & I know she will one day realize that it has always been within her to find her way home.

Everyone is involved in the preparation of the traditional Ecuadorian Easter meal of ‘Fanesa‘ (Lenten chowder) for our Good Friday feast. Mom started by soaking the ‘bacalao‘ (Salt Cod) late yesterday and the house now has a strong fishy smell. I did not want any part of the preparations.

This soup is made with squash, Lima beans, fava beans, green beans, anyway 7 beans galore! If that wasn’t enough, mom also adds cabbage, milk, heavy cream, cream cheese, and then even more cheese. Oh I forgot – cheese empanada as a side dish!

Ugh! I’m not a fan of this dish!

My sisters and neighbors help my mother in the preparation of this feast. This is a day long event and I am not crazy for this ritual nor for the smell. Just thinking about this has me feeling overstuffed & out of place. Food to me is just to fill my stomach, nothing to spend so much time, effort & rituals over.

So I sneak out and go for a bike ride.

“Don’t go too far!” mom yells out. “I need you back in time for the feast!”

I ride off to check out the other side of the “hill.” All my friends talk about going to the “hill” on our bikes, but no one dares! They say that on the other side lies the Arthur Kill – the deadliest waterway in Jersey.

It is said that nothing lives in these waters. Nothing can! It is the filthiest body of water in Jersey. So bad that if a sailor falls off a tanker, they just leave him there. He is better off! since the acid in the water will eat you alive and the oil slick will choke you to death before they can even get to you.

Anyway, that is what they say – but I don’t believe them.

None of my friends are around and we’ve been talking about it for so long, that I decide to go by myself. The stories must be exaggerated! it can’t be that bad.

I ride off thru the abandoned, desolate grounds for about 1 mile and what I found on the other side was worse then even the roumors said. This area in loaded with homeless people; bon fires out of 50-gallon drums just to stay warm; a smell of dead fish; and plenty of black grime on the shores of the river.

I ride down the back edge of the hill and ride alongside the baroness of the riverfront. Faces that seemed like they haven’t eaten in a long while, stare back at me as if to say “What are you doing here kid?”

I stopped in front of this old man. He had his hand stretched out. I didn’t even dare climb off my bike & dragged myself over to him. I put in his hands the snack & water that I had brought with me.

“Happy Easter kid! May God bless you.” he said.

I rode back to my house, no longer complaining and ready to partake of the feast. Even if I didn’t like the smell of it, I feel fortunate to have a home, a family & a safe haven where I can grow up a normal life.

We nuzzle close together and put the space heater under the blanket, at our feet. The warmth of the space heater & the closeness of one another feels nice. This is our weekly routine. My baby sister is our remote control. She gets up and changes the channel until she turns the dial to our favorite station. An evening of Mutual of Omaha, Wonderful World of Disney and mom’s favorite show, Bonanza.

I’m not sure why the house heater was not enough, but I guess that does not matter – we’re getting together to enjoy family night.

These nights are the closest our family gets.

came home today!

If only for a few days…. He came back with his wife and their child. He had asked mom if she could care for Beth and the baby for a few months.(MP3)

See he was still working a job on the road and it would be a month or two before they are done. He and the boys travelled a lot and Daniel did not want her to be on the road with a baby. Daniel kissed Beth goodbye and promised to come back so they can start their life together as a family.

Beth moved into my room. My mother helps her setup a crib with a blue mobile of sheep and clouds. The crib, lined with blue sheets and white fluffy pillows, was perfect and seemed almost dream-like. Beth spoke only English and my mom only Spanish.

Beth seemed to feel like an outsider, and spends her days waiting for Daniel to return. She didn’t talk much and pretty much, kept to herself spending most of the day in her room with the baby. Mom tries to communicate with her, but the barrier seems to be more then language.

For a few weeks, mom has stood up late at night, knitting a pair of booties and a hat for the baby. With the hopes that Beth and her can have something in common. Beth was very appreciative of mom’s kindness and started warming up.

Over the weeks they started to understand each other’s circumstances and started to accept one another. They even started communicating through some kind of sign language & Spanglish. Beth even came out and started to spent the evenings in the living room watching TV with us.

All I know is that I have a new sister-in-law, a new nephew, little Daniel, and…

my brother is back!

We moved in a hurry to a rented house over in Perth Amboy. “Just a layover till you finish High School next year,” mom says. MY parents sold their house on Warren Street and moved on. For some reason though, we left a few things behind. Lots of boxes, my bike, my baseball card collection and my records. Mom called them unnecessary items. Oddly enough, with those unwanted boxes we also left my father behind.

This new house is nice with lots of windows. The living room has a bay window that looks out, over the lawn, to the tree-lined street.

The window of my room faces out to the side driveway and every morning I see the landlord and her husband leave for work. The backyard is large with lots of trees and an above-ground swimming pool. Every weekend I hear the neighbors laughing and splashing in it. Unfortunately it is off-limits for us.

The neighborhood is urban, but quiet. Too quiet compared to the house on Warren Street. No kids outside playing just lots of cars going by. The road is very wide but doesn’t have too much traffic. Wide enough for two lanes of traffic each way and an isle of parking on each side of the street. It seems like they were expecting this to be a major roadway.

On the second floor, above us, lives the landlord and her family. They are a traditional family and nice neighbors also. The landlord, her husband and two daughters are extremely quiet. The only sound we ever hear from them is the shuffling of the dining room chairs. The deep bass-y sound is backed up by the 6pm chime of their grandfather clock. Almost like a beautiful Aria, I hear the sounds of them sit down together for dinner as a family.

I can only imagine the dad saying “pass me the butter” and the mother happily doing so with a soft reply “here you go dear.” At that moment, almost as if waking me up from a dream, my mom yells out “turn off the TV and take out the trash!” I can’t believe it – I’m missing my favorite episode of Leave it to Beaver. This is a rerun and they will never play this episode again!

It is a 1972 Kermit-the-frog green Chevelle with a blue driver side door and a red bench seat in the front. It is a straight six with some basic rims – I love this car!

It is all mine and I love it! The car my new wheels and my symbol of freedom. In the morning I told my mom to go to work without me. I will be there a little late.

I spent the whole morning washing the car and polishing it like if it was brand new!

This morning is turning out to be great! My mother is in a good mood and my brother is already outside shoveling the snow. All of Warren Street seems to be unified under a pure, clean blanket of snow.

The beauty of the white winter’s morning is disrupted only by the red glow of the police car lights. It seems that our next door neighbors were robbed last night. All their Christmas presents are gone – nothing left for tonight’s celebrations.

The police officer & my neighbors comes out of the house and are now following the footprints in the snow. They lead from the rear of the house, where the sliding door was pried opened, across the yard; to the parking lot and seem to be cutoff at the edge of the street. The cars driving by have obliterated the ‘evidence.’ Across the street, a similar set of footsteps seems to start up again. Oddly enough they seem to lead to Joe Pigney’s house. The police (under the urging of the neighbors) put two & two together and go knock on Joe’s door. Joe’s father answers the door not with a look of surprise, but with an expression of disgust. They are very familiar with the police officer’s distinctive knock.

The neighbors immediately start accusing Joe & demand that Joe come out. See a few months back their prized 1965 blue Thunderbird Convertible was keyed. Joe was nearby when they discovered it & started accusing him of causing the damage. They still believe that Joe was responsible. So now Joe shows up to the door in his boxers & immediately says “Hey, I didn’t do anything!” This is Joe’s instant reaction when seeing a police officer at his door. The image that Joe & his brother’s have is that they are criminals and we are friends with those “criminals.” The neighbors have always questioned my mother “why do you let your kids be friends with criminals?” My mother always replies “I don’t have any evidence that they are bad people.”

Joe does have one brother that has done time & in a small suburban town, once a criminal always a criminal. Needless to say, the police walk out of Joe’s house with his older brother in cuffs. They put him in the police car & drive off creating a trail of slush that uncaringly splashes over the driveway that my brother had just finished shovelling clean.

Daniel is 18 years old & I guess he needs to grow on his own. He says that it is time for him to develop his manhood.

If that is what he wants, then I can’t stop him. But I am dreading the moment when he is no longer in our room. I am going to miss him teaching me Karate in the basement. Him insisting “do that last sit-up! hurry up or do you want to stay a sissy all your life.” I’m going to miss the Disco music he used to play as he gets ready to go out dancing on Saturday nights.

I am going to miss the brawls we used to get into. You know all the typical stuff brothers are supposed to do.

He is going off to work with our brother-in-law in the paving business. They are going to travel thru out the U.S. laying brick pavers and making money. He says he wants to experience the freedom of the road.

But last night Daniel and my dad got into a very big argument. The biggest I can ever remember. Deep down inside I get the feeling that he’s leaving not of his own free will.

Daniel, my brother, you are older then me! Do you still feel pain of the scars that won’t heal…”

I am missing you already.

I’ve driven many times and have even been spotted by the cops driving without a license. I don’t want to take the chance of getting caught. So today I asked her again. “I can’t take several hours from work to take you there!” She yells. I am so pissed off. I am sitting outside and I guess I must have looked pissed off, because Joe comes up to me and asks me “why are you mad?” As I am explaining how I am never going to get my license, how my mother does not have time to take me and how I am never going to get what I want, I can see his face getting a strange look. “Why?” he asks. “what! haven’t you heard what I’m saying?” I yell at him. Again he gives me a puzzled look. “I don’t see your problem. If you want to get your license, let’s go!”

He gave me a new possibility that I would have never considered. “lets go” was totally not expected. See Joe is described by my dad as a “bad seed” an “irresponsible hoodlum” is how the neighbors describe him, but I knew different. I like him & he is not that scary to me. He is my brother’s best friend and he pays attention to me. The fact that the Carteret cops lump him together with his older brother as a criminal, does not convince me that he is all bad. I am doubting my instincts, though. I’m not sure if I should trust him. “What’s the matter? Don’t you want to go?” he urges me.

So going the six miles to Rahway all of a sudden is not that far fetched. We get on the bus & sit all the way in the back. I’m a little worried since I’m going to another county with somebody the cops consider a criminal. “Don’t worry” he assures me “I will get you there.” For some reason, those words were extremely reassuring. No matter what anybody thinks of him, I know he is a good guy.

We are sitting there quietly for a few bus stops when all of a sudden Joe breaks the silence & says “Hey you gotta pass a test to get your license.” So I reply “Sure, I’ve studied for it…” when Joe cuts me off. “No way man, not that kind of test! You need to pass the ‘Being a man’ test.” He asks me two questions (which I answer almost immediately) & he asks me: “Do you think you are a man, yet?” He thinks for a while & then he tells “OK, you’ve passed the test! Now I have a surprise for you.”

Sitting there in the back of the bus, he reaches into the breast pocket of his coat and pulls out a magazine. He hands me the January 1979, 25th Anniversary Edition of Playboy magazine, and says “this is a special issue.”

“It has your favorite girl from Love Boat & Fantasy Island – Barbi Benton.” This is a WOW moment. Not only because I am holding my first Playboy magazine, nor because I am getting my driver’s license. But because I am gaining a new found freedom,

Joe did for me what my father could not do. My father showed me love & showed me faith but Joe showed me how to assert my independence & to trust. He showed me to follow my instincts, to trust myself and to go for what I want in life no matter what people make you out to be.

That day I got my license, but the biggest lesson I learned is not to judge another solely on people’s opinions.

Even when we lived in the Bronx, I remember mom and him getting into fights over his job. For years, he would work Spring, Summer and Fall and without fail he would be out of work all Winter.

I remember that when he was not working, he would spend the day in his pajamas, stuck in his bedroom reading the bible, not interacting with anyone. And the months when he did work he would be gone for a long part of the day. Saturdays were taken up by church activities & services. Sundays were the only days we were all home together. Together but separate. Over the years, I’ve given up expecting to spend fun times with my dad. Little by little, I’ve detached myself from him and expected less and less. No longer do I ask him to play with me and even less to sit with me and read a book.

It has gotten to a point where I have a hard time even dealing with him. Everything he is and says revolves around religion. It makes me sad that this is the way it goes, but it beat getting my heart broken every time he says ‘no, not today.’

So why is today any different? This morning I woke up early & heard my father preparing for work. It is 5:30 and he needs to catch the 6:05 bus to Manhattan in order to make it to work by 8:00 am. He works a full day, has only a half-hour for lunch and then works till 5:00. At the end of the day he walks to the Port Authority bus terminal to catch the 6:15 bus.

Normally he would be home by 7:45 – 8:00pm, but today he is very late. He called home “I fell asleep on the bus…” he says. He overslept and ended up at the end of the line- at the bus terminal in Woodbridge. Mom is so pissed that he did that and that she had to drive out to pick him up. That night, when he got home, I paid attention not only to the clock, which reads 10:00 pm, but to his face. He is worn out, tired and almost seems to be beaten by the drudgery of his long and tiring daily routine.

No wonder he does not have time to play with me. Even if he wanted to…

I realized that maybe he was just too physically worn out to even try. So I ask myself what makes him want to – or – need to go thru this?

This is when I realized that my dad was doing this for us. Sure, he had given up his spare time to earn money – was the easy answer. But really why put yourself thru that? When I looked deeper, I saw his struggle. He came to the U.S. at the age of 51. He lives this life (giving up his dreams of Ecuador) so that me and siblings can have our dreams come true.

He has given up more then just his free time. He has given up himself so that we can have a better life then he would ever dream of having. He has given up his passion so that we can have ours.

As the car turns right on E 156th Street I turn around to get one last glimpse of our three-story brownstone. The house fades out of view and my mind drifts away. A feeling of loneliness sets in and I can’t help but feel sad. This is where I learned to survive. Where the battles of the street toughened up my character and where I grew up in a hurry.

See my usual, daily routines will never be the same. Walking down the streets and cutting thru the middle of a group of Savage Skulls, without them beating me up, will no longer be normal. Hearing the sounds of their gang fights on a hot summer night will no longer be the reason to interrupt my dreams. What about walking down to Westchester Ave and hangout at the library? I can’t do that anymore. I will have to find a new way to fill my afternoons.

Up ahead is the George Washington Bridge, I can see New Jersey on the other side. I closed my eyes, so as not to feel it and before I knew it we were in New Jersey. I must have fallen asleep in the car and missed the whole crossing because this place definitely looks different. We got off the Turnpike at exit 12 – The sign reads Carteret, New Jersey. This town is so small and surprisingly lined with a lot of trees.

Almost like Leave it to Beaver’s neighborhood – trees and white picket fences everywhere! The town even has a park – Central Park. – with a lake at its center.

We stop to get directions to the house at a corner gas station. “It freezes over in the winter, you know” the gas attendant yells out as he sees me staring at the lake. “We have a Winter festival there every year. Its great skating on the ice!” he adds. All of a sudden I felt a sense of peace come over me. I have not felt that in years. I would always see this type of town on the Beaver’s reruns but I never thought that I would ever see it in person for myself.

As we continue over to our house I breath in the air. It is not musty or smokey. Strangely enough, it smells refreshingly clean and fresh. To my right is the park, kids are playing baseball and on the left are detached homes with front porches just like in Leave it to Braver.

As we pull up to our new house, mom yells out “here it is!” Wow! the house even looks like Beaver’s Pine Street house, except ours are a row of townhouses. It has a front yard for the vegetable garden that mom always wanted!

Mom has always had big dreams – many people looked at them as unattainable. But her biggest dream – getting us out of the Bronx and finding a quiet place to call home – is now fulfilled!

We did it – my mom has realized her dream!

I walk outside and the streets are full of life. People everywhere and cars roll by non-stop. As I stand on my front stoop, I see Michael Giles walk out of his apartment building. Oh boy! here we go. “Hey Mike! what’s up?” Mike looks up at me and says “wanna play caps?” Immediately I run down the steps and we go across the way to the rubbles that once was an apartment building. We walk around looking for bottle caps. “Here’s one!” mike yells out. We walk over behind a large mound that would conceal our activities from the street and Mike pulls out a couple of matches and some wax. We melt the wax into the caps to give them some weight.

We spent the afternoon playing and flicking caps. At approximately six pm my mom yells out “Pablo, time to come in an eat!” so I say good by to Mike and throw in “Oh, by the way I am moving away forever on Friday. See you later.” As I run off Mike yells out “Excellent, I can come and visit you in Jersey during the summer break!”

Wow! this landed like a tons of bricks. I was not expecting “visit you in Jersey during Summer break.” I don’t know why but that did not sit well with me. How am I going to do a clean break if he is coming to visit? I don’t know why I needed a clean break. Maybe it’s the excitement of starting anew – OR – it just me not wanting to hurt every time I leave a friend behind. See I felt as a piece of me has been cut off and it hurts so bad. I didn’t want to hurt again.

See we’ve moved a few times. When we left Ecuador I left friends and family behind. When we moved here from Queens, I left friends behind. Or maybe it has something to do with leaving my two youngest sisters is Ecuador and we came here for a better life. Why can’t they have a ‘better life’ as well? I know I cried a lot when that happened. I felt as I have lost my sisters for ever. At the time I did not know that we would be seeing them again.

It’s so funny to watch him – He does not speak a word of English & when he tries, he has a heavy accent. But at parties when he’s drunk, he is so eloquent and the accent is gone! Talk about letting go of his inhibitions.

My other uncle, Tio Amable is the sad type of drunk. He cries and laments days gone by. Beside him, everybody seem to be having fun, and just enjoying life.

All in all we had a great time. My brother and I head up to the rooftop. We just stare out to the horizon. We are making believe that the cold breath coming out of our mouths is us smoking – we are so cool!

But deep down inside I look out to the horizon & wonder which building is my sister living in and what is she feeling this New Year’s eve.

As she opened the door, the light outside casts her shadow up the stairs. It trails up each riser and almost seems to touch my shoe. The light, glistening off the metal strap on the suitcase, catches my eye. As I turned away to avoid the glare, she disappeared into the anonymity of the street.

Only a note left for him and mom, gave an indication of where she was going. “It is time.” she said. Time for her to be free, time for her to grow. Time for her to trust in herself. Her marriage to Manny, at the ripe age of twenty, was a way to obtain freedom.

Freedom from mom’s control and freedom from life in the Bronx.

But in her running, she ran into murkier waters. Now she needs to get away from everything! From him, from mom and from the church’s opinions. Divorce is not an option, so running away, to recreate herself seems to be the only way.

As the door closed, away she went to find herself.

My mother frantically searches for her. Days go by and all her friends do not know where she could be. Nobody knew. She asks me and I pretended that I did not know what happened. “No mom, I do not know where she went!” I reply. But deep down inside, I really do not want her to be found. This was a clean breakaway. That’s how she felt she needed it to be.

Months have passed and mom continues to cry every day.

Today, the phone rings. It is her! I am so glad to finally hear from her. She is calling to say that she is doing fine and living in Manhattan. She has a new job that is paying her more money and now she can afford to live in a home for young women.

She would not reveal any other clues to her whereabouts – in fear that my mother would turn her over to him again. So she trusts no one and reveals nothing…

- only that she will be fine now.

All he ever wanted was to play ball in the rubble piles that once stood as an old Brown-stone – proud of its heritage. He just wanted to fetch and have fun and just be with me. He was my dog smart or not.

But now I am happier then ever, because today he came back! A year later, to the day, he came back smarter than ever. Its almost as if he went off to boot camp to learn a few tricks! He came back fully trained and able to do tricks. Tricks like chasing after Frisbees and catching them in the air. He is now sure of himself and chased that tom cat up a light pole. Truly an amazing transformation! I would love that.

This was the extent of our encounters. We dare not venture off outside of our territory. Once in a while, I would take a risk and venture to another part of town. Maybe it was to see what I was missing or just being adventurous, but it was usually for a valid reason. I would go to the novelty shop or to the public library. I would test the waters and if my parents find out, they would be very upset.

My parents are very strict. Dinner is served at six and we have to be at the table no matter what. Sunset on Fridays is the same – at the house, in the living room before the sun kisses the horizon. Are they strict because of the SDA religion; strict because they are just protecting us from the savagery of the gang-ridden streets; or because of their fears? Whatever the reason, they just do not want us to be outside.

Mother kept us busy. Inventing tasks, games & constantly giving us chores to do. Anything to keep us busy. It was specially tough during the summer months when there was no way to prevent us from hitting the streets. My mother was always worried about our safety – so much so that whenever school lets out she worried even more.

So now for winter break, she got my 13-year old brother a job in Manhattan. He loves to take things apart and then puts them back together again. He would boast that he would make the machines more efficient and that the parts leftover were… Um, just redundant. He was proud that he has eliminated excess. He got very proficient at solving problems, that he would work in the basement, fixing all my mother’s sewing machines.

What better way to keep him busy and give him a trade, while keeping him out of trouble. My mother asked for a favor from her boss down at the factory. He agreed to allow my brother to go to work with my mother. Today, two sewing machines broke down and the repair guy was not around. My brother jumps in, tinkers on the machines and actually fixed it – no spare parts!

My brother did such a good job fixing the machines, that the boss actually told my mother that he has a job on his days off from school. And he promised that for the summers a position would be open for him.

He was a member of the SDA church, son of church committee members and an active youth group leader.

He used to be so nice! He would serenade my sister with her favorite Elvis song.
(MP3)

See, he looked, sang and danced exactly like Elvis. He even had that Elvis-the-pelvis action that drove the girls crazy.

He would sing a lullaby…
(MP3)

so my two-year old sister would fall asleep. He was even super nice to my brother and I. Every Tuesday night he would take us to see a Karate movie. I saw ‘Fist of Fury’, ‘The Chinese Connection’ and even ‘Enter the Dragon’. He would tell the usher that I was his son, so they would let me in. Strange though, I don’t recall any interaction with him and my seven-year old sister – I wonder why.

He really cared for us and everything was great – or so we thought.

My sister would always complain about Manny being too agressive, but we never saw it. That is until the other day. He got into another fight with my sister, this time while everyone was home. My parents ran upstairs to see what the banging was all about. He would not open the door, so my father charged into their apt and saw him holding my sister by a choke hold, with her neck high up against the wall. My father attacked him and they fought together – all the way down the stairs.

At the base of the stairs, the whole family was on top of him. My brother pounding at his back; my mother beating him with the broomstick over his head; me biting his ankles; and my two younger sisters screaming franticly. We all got him good – no one dares lay a hand on my sister!

Suddenly all he could do is to try to get away. He punched my dad, pushed my mother and brother away and kicked me across the hall into the wall. I lost conscienceness for a few seconds because when I came to, everybody was gathered over me – including him. I was gasping for air and could not breath.

You could see the rage bulging from his soft, blue eyes. All of a sudden a frown of sorrow struck his forehead when he realized what he had done. He stands up and bolts out the door into the dark of the night. That was the last time I saw him.

But it was also the first time that I realized that we are one as a family. No matter what the murky waters of the Bronx would throw our way, one thing was crystal clear – No one would stand between us. Our family is one.

At least the knife leaves a mark of war – a mark of courage. This leaves a mark on the inside that no one sees. No courage in feelings!

I started wondering what we were doing here in the first place. We left Ecuador running away from something, looking for a place to hide from our fears. We came to the U.S. to have a better life. An opportunity for a better education, a place that offers the ladder of possibility. The Bronx is a place of a million such immigrant stories, this is just one of them. All the stories are the same, all with hope and possibilities, all but a dream to be fulfilled.

The problem that I see is that we are treated as misfits, and in the South Bronx we are awashed in a sea of misfits. What a perfect place to hide.

I hear my parents argue, that the point of coming to the U.S. was to find a better place. What is the point if it means having to live here.

In Spanish ‘qual es el punto’ can refer to the intent, the place or the time. What is the point? Is Hunts Point the highpoint of all this? Is it the point of breakthrough or breakdown. Or is it a point in time when I get initiated into the Savage Skulls, and time can never be turned back.

So when I got into a fight yesterday, simply because I was instigated by a gang member, I can start to see my parents concerns.

There has to be a better place. I heard my mother and father speak with such urgency of such a place, so I know that we will see it soon.

When we left Ecuador, my mother was saddened that we only received four visas. My mother had applied for six visas to bring us all together to the United States, but that was not the case. So a tear fell from her face when confronted with a rock & a hard place. What kind of choice is this!

But a choice my mother had to make. She decided to leave the youngest two behind. They will prevent her from working as hard as possible to obtain the American Dream & to reunite us.

They were only 1 & 4 years old, so they would not notice – was the thought – they would stay with my aunt & her kids so that they would not miss us. But we missed them.

One year later, while my parents reapplied for their visas, was an eternity. But here they are!

We went to the store to buy them winter coats. One was a cute pink coat with a fur collar. The other was a tweed coat with more formality. My baby sister got the cute coat & my other sister got the tweed coat. At Kennedy Airport, we greeted them with their new Christmas presents. Their smiles and our joy could melt the snow accumulating on the road.

We arrived at our apartment on Simpson Street and surprised them with a Christmas party for their new arrival. This year we will truly have a wonderful Christmas.

… All is calm, all is bright…

My school organized a performance in front of some very important people on Park Avenue. We have been practicing many holiday songs and some typical New York songs like “New York, New York, it’s a wonderful town!” So today is the day – the day to breakout from this shell. I get dressed in my best, blue suit and tie. My brother walks me down 156 Street, west towards Prospect Ave and over to the school. At the school, we all board the sunshine, yellow school bus and make the ride over to Manhattan.

Waiting backstage, we prepare for them to lead us onto the performance platform. We all just chit-chat about the latest toys we have and the possibility of greatness.

As we get ready to enter the stage, I become aware of how big & how important this day really is. The teacher tells us that the U.S Ambassador to China, and Henry Kissinger are in the audience.

This would have been the opportunity to get out. I wish my parents would have been here to see Mr. Kissinger. I know my mom would love to meet him, since she is always talking politics.

She would be so excited to tell him the ‘few words’ she always wants to say to him. And I know they would have been proud of me, up on stage singing like a bird who has found a new joy in life. The door is opened & I am ready to fly.

I wish my parents could be here to see me soar!

But I cannot say the same for his creation, man. How can we be totally so much the opposite!? We live life like it does not matter – Like a human life has no value at all and some people are willing to steal a life in a New York second.

But I now know God has a plan for us all.

Today, I cut class and was hanging out at the Prospect Ave EL train station. Just hanging & talking to the toll collector. “Kid, why are you not in school?” he asks. I’m just waiting for the next train to arrive.

See everybody in PS-32 is talking about SUPER KOOL 223′s new tag. He painted it on the side of one of those new #5 train cars. The cops are really after him for what they call ‘graffiti.’ But this tag is supposed to be like no other tag riding the rails and I’m dying to see it!
I waited for, what felt like hours and still no tag. I’m getting tired! But as I’m getting ready to leave, the strangest thing happens!

This guy, tall skinny non-descript kind of guy – don’t know why I noticed him anyway – is standing at the edge of the platform. His toes are hanging off the edge.

Behind him is this strange dude. A short guy with dark eyes and shiny, almost oily, hair. You know the type that stands out on any train platform. I noticed that he was casing out the tall dude. Sure enough – as the tall, skinny guy leans out to see the train as it approaches, the short dude steals his wallet and – almost as if to say ‘gotcha’, leaves his mark by pushing the tall dude in front of the rushing train.

Wooosh!!!! Ratta tata tata!!! wooosh!!!

Holly shit! That was way too fast!

The train is an express, heading downtown, and it just barrels right thru the platform, non-stop as if it was running late for something. We all run out to the yellow-stripped, steel edge of the platform to see what’s left of him.

As we lean over, much to our amazement – the guy is just laying there face down! I can’t believe my eyes! Nothing happened to him! He landed in a deep, dirty pocket between the tracks, where all the wind-swept trash accumulates.

He stands up and just dusts the dirt off – as if nothing happened.

Today is truly an amazing day! Holy Fu%&! ‘didn’t get him!’
He has something to be thankful about – Today was not his day to die!

It is a story of a kid who is not understood at home and runs off to a land where he is king of his kind – the “Wild Things.”

There’s nobody home anyway so what’s the use of hurrying home to be alone.

I walk down 156th Street on my usual path and normally I don’t run into any trouble, but today is different. A few blocks from the school, past Prospect Ave, there’s a store where I usually stop to get some candy. The owner is really nice. He talks with me not to me. Always concerned for me being alone.

“Do your parents know that you are out here alone?” he questions me. “Sure they know. They let me go to the library.” I reply, with my tough guy voice, so that he won’t know that I am telling him a lie. No matter what I tell him, he always treats me nice. One time when I did not have any money, he gave me candy for free.

As I approach the store, a bunch of Savage Skulls come charging out the door and bump into me. “What the hell kid! Why did you bump into me? His friend says “Yeah! what the hell kid!” He grabs me by the chest and lifts me off the ground. At that moment the owner of the store runs out and yells “Get out of here you bunch of animals! You wild things!!”

They all ignore him and continue as if they were the kings of this domain – nobody can touch them. They ignored the screaming lady and ignore me as I yell for him to let me down.

As I’m dangling, another guy grabs my feet and pulls them up. “Nice Keds kid!”

He pulls out a knife and reaches down to cut the laces in order to take them off my feet, when Max – the leader of the ‘wild things’ walks out the door. “Put him down! Lets get out of here before the pigs come! Lets go!”

Boy that is the closest I’ve come to loosing my… Well, I can’t draw myself to say it.

The owner takes me inside and gives me a glass of water and some free ice cream. Wow! I know that life is challenging here, but I never thought this would happen. Needless to say I did not make it to the library for my book.

I just went home to where my warm supper must be waiting for me.

When I get there I feel the humid and stale smelling air that surrounds the playground. The bum laying next to the gate stopped me from entering, not physically, but just from his presence. What’s the point anyway – I convince myself – no one to play with.

So I decided to head over to the Prospect Ave train station. I walked several long, dark blocks just wondering around. Walking under the shadow of the Westchester Ave EL staring to the top of the buildings, to see which one actually had it’s top up in the light. The dark, chaotic street with the blaring banners, that provided the only lights; and the blaring horns, that provide the life of the street; had a few scattered buildings that survive the chaos. These blocks,with the broken-brick facades, broke up the long blocks where tumbled-down building and empty lots loomed.

The dark streets do not get a ray of sun cutting thru. The only ray of sunshine is my destination. The tiny, red-bricked hole-in-the-wall novelty shop with the screaming yellow sign. This shop, where even just two persons standing makes the place look packed, was craving for attention. They changed the merchandise to see who will respond, who will keep them alive.

Lucky for me, they started carrying those new miniature, hot wheel toy cars with the bright red paint job, crazy header pipes and the big, exaggerated rear wheels.

I spent the afternoon hiding out there, living a new found dream.

By night the streetwalkers of the Point come out to work; the Homeless come out looking for a dark corner to call home; and the johns come looking for comfort. Each doing their own thing, none looking for trouble.

Maybe because of its anonymity or maybe because of the I-don’t-have-time-to-give-a-shit atmosphere, this place is not threatening to me.

Or maybe because it is the one place where my brother and I can go fishing. The other day we were there while a guy caught an eel. He kept yelling “I caught an eeeeeel!” I saw an innocence in his eyes – as if it was the first time he’s caught anything.

Usually while my mother does her early morning “Farmer’s Market” shopping, we go to the dock. As we are waiting for the fish to bite, we talk about nothing and everything. We watch the waves crash against the pilings and the sound it makes is the most soothing sound I’ve ever heard. The water of the Hudson is filthy and has a terrible stench. We would not dare keep the fish we caught – we knew better – but there is something about fishing on the pier that gives me hope…

Maybe we are just normal kids in spite of our circumstances.

Next morning, I head outside for some air. Sitting on the front stoop waiting for what – I don’t know – just staring off into space. My mother comes out a few minutes later sees me sitting there. What’s the matter? The sounds last night kept me up. Don’t worry, that was far away – it won’t affect you, she comforts me. With these words, I forget about the Skull’s battle last night.

The day goes by so quickly, my mind drifting. I don’t even remember what I did that day.

Sunday morning my mom quickly loads us kids into the Kermit-the-Frog green 1972 Chevy Station Wagon.

Every third Sunday of the month, always at six am, we would head down to Hunts Point market. The point, as it’s reputation precedes it, was an unusual sigh of relief from this war zone. It was full of activity and life, unlike this neighborhood.

As we pull away from the house & round the corner, the sights of the South Bronx come into view. Along Southern Blvd I see building after building burned to the ground. The unlucky ones that did not burn or collapse, stood like hollowed out skeletons with an empty stare. This created a field of ruble, among empty shells of the past, that my older brother and I would use as our playground.

We were one of the lucky ones. Our block, on Dawson Street, was one of the few that were not destroyed from the usual fires.

Each of the houses on our block were owned by normal folks and as such did not suffer the demise of the ones owned by the slumlords. One of my friends, that lived on 163 St, lost his home this way.

Finally going under the Bruckner Expressway overpass, we entered the Hunt’s Point section of the Bronx. Proceeding along Hunt’s Point Ave, we arrive at the Point.

I love this place! Here I see my mother’s true ability of negotiation. Her strongest virtue is her ability to haggle with the vendors to buy cases of carrots, oranges and tomatoes. She would work them down to the point where the guys would say, lady! I give up – I can’t go that low. At that instant, she would say, OK kids lets move on! She would take a small step forward and start walking away. Sure enough, the vendors would stop her and a strange thing would happen. Her eyes would light up and she would get this look on her face, she knew she’s got them. As she turns around, she would add, I will only take it, if you throw in two pint of strawberries. Sure enough she would get it and we would be satisfied for the rest of the day of shopping.

Eating berries and playing safe, innocent kids games on the loading dock of the Point.

Safety among the chaos of the city.

Here staring out into the clear night sky, we ponder the beauty of a New York City night and the full 360 degrees of possibilities for our future that could be out there.

Looking out to the east, we see the pending storm rolling in, that will surely create a rainy morning tomorrow.

But for now we just enjoy the beauty of the moment.

My brother shows me the new jeans that he wants to modify to fit in with his gang friends. He is hanging out with some guys that worry me. My friends tell me that those guys are gang members, but my brother says that they are just “cool” to hang out with.

Anyway, we take the razor blades and start to slice thru the bulge of the side seams. By opening them up, we are creating fringes that will flare out and ultimately create a white, vertical stripe standing up over the field of blue.

White, blue and blood red are the colors of his friend’s insignia.

Our most favorite thing to do in the hot days of summer is to play stickball. Stickball, as the inner-city equivalent of baseball is played with what was available to us. A broomstick without the head and a blue racketball ball – stolen from the YMCA that one of the guys works in during the summer.

The sewer manhole is our home plate. First and third base are the door handle of parked cars. Second base is a flattened Coke can that must be stepped on in order to be safe. Our playing field, not manicured in grass, is paved in asphalt – which is sweltering hot in the summer. The playing field is narrow, in our case two car lanes wide, but is long in order to get a good run. What passes as a foul ball is if the ball lands on the sidewalk on the opposite side of the parked cars. The only time-out that we ever called was when cars double park and blocked our playing field.

I began my career when I finally got picked to be on the team. Up until that day I was the small kid who was never considered for the pick. I just hung around and was sent chasing that blue ball down, when it got away. I have moved up! Now I have gained a new life experience. I learned the joy of being picked early but also the humiliation of being the last guy picked. Either way I got to play ball – and boy do I enjoy the game.

I am a member of a team. I now have a dream to excel at something I like. Maybe one day I may play baseball at Yankee Stadium.

I see what the dog sensed. This strange, lanky guy with long greasy hair that covered his eyes was walking in my direction. He starts to cross the street at midblock and the cars approaching honk at him – he just responds with the finger. Nothing phases him, nothing matters! As he steps up onto my sidewalk, the air gets this strange chill. Even the people walking on the sidewalk feel the tension and step aside. I keep staring at him and he continues his approach towards me. I am frozen, like a deer – stopped dead in its track by the headlights approaching. I could not react and could not move. The only movement on my body are the salty sweat droplets running off my forehead.

As he comes closer to the front of my brownstone, he makes direct eye contact with me. I cannot turn my gaze away and we keep the eye contact as he approaches. Whaz the matta kid? – Whacha lookin’ at? I didn’t know what to say and just uttered the first words that spilled out of my open mouth. I asked him why is he wearing a trenchcoat in the middle of summer. He does not say a word and just stops in front of me. He turns to face me as I stand up. All the while we continue the chicken stare. Who is going to give in first – who is going to look away? At the instant, he gestures with his eyes down to his side and allows me to break formation. I take this chance and turn my gaze away, taking only a quick glance.

That is the first time I have ever seen a 12-gauge Model 88 shotgun.

The kids wanting to get into a gang talk about it all the time! But I’ve never physically seen a sawed-off shotgun, even less – one that is sawed-off at both the barrel and stock.

Perfect size for easy concealment. The black steel barrels glisten from the sun shining on it. The wood handle, chipped and worn, looks as if this gun has seen pleanty of action. Instantly he tucks the gun down to his side, closes his coat and gestures with the index finger up against his lips. Then he extends his thumb out and signals as slicing across his throat. He did not make a sound – did not need to – I heard clearly every word!

As he turns and walks away, I am clear that his future is set for him. We are no longer foes. His gesture and poise was of warning me not of threathening me. With his back towards me now, I cannot help but stare at the Savage Skull insignia on the back of his long coat.

Years from now, when I’m a teenager, I guess I will realize that I should have been scared shitless, but I hate to admit that I was in awe! He commands attention. That gun and insignia gives him power – he’s a tough guy (MOV – video link) and the world knows it!

But deep down inside, that gesture gave me the feeling that he was telling me to stay away – or his future will become mine. I respect that.

My birthday was back in May, but my parents could not afford to get me what I wanted – that is until today. I got a great surprise!

A Chopper bike! It was nice! The sissy bar; the ape-hanger handlebars; the shifter; the tiny wheel upfront; the lean-and-mean slope it had; even the Kermit-the-frog green to match the family car. This bike was moving – even standing still!

The first thing my brother and I did was modify it. We leaned those ape-hangers as far forward as I could possibly reach. I barely had my butt on the edge of the seat, but I was hanging – out at the outskirts of my dreams!

It really was cool! My parents planned the whole day. We went to the park for a picnic by Indian Pond. The sky was a beautiful shade of azure with those little puffy clouds that slide into place every once in a while just to give us a burst of shade. I had all the hot dogs I could eat and spent the whole day riding. Everything was incredible and this was the best day of my life.

I even learned to ride a bike today. My brother, running out of patience in teaching me, wanted to ride it more often and would not let me have a turn riding my bike. “They got it for US!” was his reply, but I know it was mine – right? They didn’t get me anything for my birthday so this must be a way to make up for it – isn’t it?

At about 5pm, my brother and I got into a fight. He would not give up the bike and I ended pushing him off. My parents have had enough and loaded us back into the family wagon “the green machine” for the trip back home.

When we got home everybody was tired and all my brother and I did was argue – like brothers are supposed to do. We pull into the perfect parking space right in front of our brownstone – right in front of our basement gate.

We unload the car but my brother and I argue over who will put the bike away. In the morning we woke up all excited about how wonderful our 4th-of-July had been. I run down to the basement just to feel the bike – after all, it could have been only a dream. I get there and no bike. Was it really a dream?

At the moment my brother comes up behind me and says – where’s the bike!? Didn’t you bring it in, fool? We look at each other with that little-kid-in-trouble look of – ooh-ooohh!

Running outside in our pajamas, we are struck by the glaring heat of a July morning in New York. Our eyes, adjusting to the brightness, start to focus on the green machine. Only to realize that the side-rear window, of the wagon, was shattered – like my dreams – into small bits, all splattered out on to the sidewalk.

I should have just put the bike away, but I guess it does not matter, at some point someone would have stolen it anyway.

I like the field trips to the ballpark much better than trips to the community pool. Last year, several bullies would hang around the pool and pick on the smaller kids. I hope they outgrow that this year.

Last year, they held my head under the water for what seemed like an eternity. I tried to hold my breath as long as I could. They were not going to get me!! I kicked as hard as I could! I was proud of myself – it was the longest I have ever held my breath. But I could not do it anymore, I started swallowing water with the taste of chlorine. It burned on the way down and it started to weigh me down. Fortunately for them, the lifeguard stopped them before I could work my way free. At least I assume it was the lifeguard, because when I came to, it was him that was giving me mouth-to-mouth at the edge of the pool.

But not this year! We are going to the home of Mickey Mantel, Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio, Yogi Berra and Roger Maris. The home of the world famous New York Yankees, to see a new star outfielder, Reggie Jackson. Maybe the Yankees can win the World Series this year.