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A New Beginning – Part 1

It was Monday morning. I was part way through 3rd grade and had been having struggles in school with bullies. After finally standing up to them, with help from my older brother Armando and my slingshot, I walked back into the classroom at the start of the new week, hoping to finally have a peaceful day at school. (You can read the first part of this story in my posts “First Day of School” and “Finding Strength”). I sat all the way up front and opened my book to finish a little bit of homework.

The “Parque Central” (central park) which I visited when I skipped school.

The bell was a piece of railroad track that the principal would bang with a hammer for school to begin. No sooner had this happened than the teacher walked in, put her books down, and walked straight to where I was sitting. Without saying a word, she grabbed me by the ear and the hair behind my neck, and dragged me to the principal’s office. I was in great pain, she was pulling my ear so hard that I could feel shooting pain under my jaw. Eventually, I couldn’t take it anymore. Forcing her hand off, I managed to get away and ran into the principal’s office with her right behind me.

The boy who I had shot with a slingshot the week before, was there with his mom. When I entered, they stood up and the principal took me by the shirt and shoved me into a chair. As I sat there crying and very scared, I again prayed to God to help me, but again it seemed useless. After being scolded and spanked by the principal I was sent to clean up the bathrooms which were sickeningly dirty. After that, I spent the whole afternoon with my nose to the wall in the principal’s office. As I stood there, I thought of ways to make the situation better but nothing seemed to make sense. When I tried to say something to the principal he would say he didn’t want to hear a word from me.

Finally I was sent home, some thirty minutes after everybody had left school. That night, I woke up in the middle of the night and stayed awake until daybreak thinking about school. Maybe now that the bullies were dealt with and I had paid for what I had done things would be alright. After crying for a while, and praying “Our Father” many times over, I finally fell asleep.

I got up early and washed my pants and shirt which were the only ones I had. I even took a shower and combed my hair (which didn’t happen every day). When I arrived at school, my pants where still damp. My mom had tried to dry them with the iron but it got too late so I wore them like that. The teacher seemed to be in a terrible mood and was yelling at anyone that got in her way. Sitting at her desk, she asked for everyone to turn their homework in, and of course I did not have it done because I had spent the whole day before in the principal’s office. She didn’t want to hear it, and again she let me have it with her ruler. I felt very angry as I sat at my desk trying to fight the tears while biting my lips.

I didn’t want to tell my mom because I knew it would break her heart. At that time we were going through a great financial crisis and I didn’t want to add to her stress. On the bus the next day, I didn’t get off to go to school but kept going and went around the whole loop that made up the bus route until the stop to my house came up. I could not believe I was doing this and felt like a zombie while walking home. When I saw my mom, I quickly told her that there was no school that day and she went on with her chores. Going outside, I felt a great sense of guilt, not so much for skipping school, because somehow I felt justified given the circumstances, but for lying to my mom which was plain wrong. I hated doing that.

The afternoon was long and boring. All my friends were in school and I could not get rid of the guilty feeling. After going back and forth between telling my mom the truth and not telling her, I finally decided I would wait.

Another view of the Parque Central (Central Park).

The next day I didn’t get off the bus again but instead of going back home I got off the bus at the Parque Central (Central Park) which was right in the middle of the city. This became my new pattern. The Parque Central was a very interesting place and was somewhat familiar to me because my dad would take us there from time to time on the weekends. We would go to see “la fuente” (the fountain) which was in the middle of the park and was illuminated with a very nice light show that would change according to the patterns of the water. Many times we sat there eating “tostadas” and “atól de élote” (sweet hot creamy drink made out of corn). I still remember the pleasant feeling of the mist blowing over us while in the background the marimba Chapinlandia would play their concert at the “Concha Acustica” (the acoustical bowl). The “Parque Central” was such a beautiful place that many love birds went there for their Sunday dates and enjoy walking in the cool of the night listening to music and perhaps have some authentic traditional food. The popular national singers would also perform live to the delight of the Guatemalan audience. This became my new home during school hours.

To be continued in part 2…

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The First Day of School – Part 1

When I was nine years old, I went to a school that was about five miles away from home. The school in my neighborhood was full, and my mom eager for me to get a good education signed me up wherever she could. I was going into third grade that year and when the first day of classes came, I was scared sick. The neighborhood where my new school was located was completely foreign to me. To get there meant taking a public bus. I wasn’t sure where to get off and imagined that if I missed my stop I would get lost forever. This would be my first time on the bus alone. My mom showed me a couple of landmarks and told me that I would be alright as she combed my hair and kissed me. Then she gave me ten cents for the bus fare. I could hardly say goodbye to her because my throat was in a knot and I was doing everything in my power to fight back the tears. I didn’t want to disappoint her knowing all that she had gone through to make sure I went to school.

A map of my trip from home to school.

At the bus stop, I took a moment to look around. I thought this could be the last time I ever saw this familiar scene. The bus came and I signaled it to stop. The driver handed me a ticket and I sat down close to a window. Suddenly it dawned on me that I may never see my mom again. Jumping to my feet I ran for the door to jump off, but the driver had closed the door and the bus was already moving quite fast. Seeing the fear on my face he asked me why I was so scared and I told him that I didn’t know when to get off the bus to go to school. After telling him the name of the school, he said he would stop for me. Wiping the tears from my eyes I sat down feeling a sense of relief but wishing I could just go home. I asked myself, why would anybody want to go to school? I certainly did not care for it!

This is the “Calle De San Juan” as seen today. The bus ran from my house to the school on this main street. On the right is the alley I took from the bus to school.

I got to my classroom early and sat toward the back. As the kids began to come in, they all seemed to know each other. I guessed it was because they were from that neighborhood. They also seemed to have favorite seats. As it turned out, I was sitting at another boy’s favorite desk and he didn’t hesitate to tell me to move. I picked up my books and went to a different seat but before I sat down another boy was demanding that I move again. I moved a second time. Just then an oversized kid walked in, he was about three years older than everybody else, his hair was messy, his fingernails were quite dirty and he was sweating as if he had ran to school. His shoes were too big for him and he kept on pulling his oversized pants up. He walked straight to my desk and shaking it signaled for me to move which made everybody laugh. I told him that this was my desk and that he could sit in the one next to mine because I had just moved twice. Before I knew it he had wiped all my books off the top of my desk and was cursing and swearing at me with his face right up to mine. I could smell the stench of his breath and his sweat was dripping on my face. I pushed him back as hard as I could but he only moved a couple of steps and was ready to tear into me. My fists were clenched but I knew things didn’t look good for me. Just then the teacher walked in, and after she had hit us several times on the head with her yard stick, she made us go to the principal’s office where we got spanked and were sent back to the classroom.

To be continued in part 2…

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Rich Boy – Part 4

My mom as I remember her when I was a boy.

I had found a small fortune on a bus that I was cleaning. However, spending it in secret was hard and I was feeling bad about not telling my mom. Despite my troubles, it was one of those bright sunny days in my beautiful Guatemala. My mom asked me to go with her to the public market to get things to make lunch and as we walked she was sharing ideas of what she would cook. She said that she wanted to make “pulique” ( a delicious kind of beef soup) but then realized she didn’t have enough money to buy the meat. I put my hand in my pocket and squeezed the money very hard. My eyes filled up with tears. I wanted to give her all the money but I was afraid she would want to know where the money had come from and I was going to have to tell her the whole story. It was then that I realized how ashamed I was of having used all that money the way I had. What if I dropped a five Quetazles bill next to her foot when she wasn’t looking? Yes, that would be an easy way to have her find the money. I tried it but she didn’t look down. Instead, she stepped on the bill and walked away. Quickly, I picked it up and when she wasn’t looking I put it in her “delantal” (apron) pocket. My mom had resigned herself to liver for lunch which was the cheapest thing if you wanted meat.

All kinds of street dogs hung around the meat counters in hope of getting the meat scraps the butcher would trim off. Big pieces of meat hung from hooks, and as you ordered he would cut your piece off and brag about how he never gave you any junk saying that he would throw that to the dogs. They would fight over it till one got away with the prize. As we walked to the meat counter, I pretended to distract myself with the fighting dogs. My mom got to the meat counter and counted her money once. Then she counted it again. Then once more. A confused but very very happy look came over her face. She then bought the better meat and headed home in deep thought. She told me over and over again about the bill she had found in her pocket. The “pulique” was delicious. My mom served it with a big smile on her face as she told the story of the mysterious money that had appeared in her pocket. She claimed a miracle! My brother Armando looked into my tear filled eyes and smiled. After lunch he told me he was proud of me. I didn’t answer him but just nodded.

My mom and I many years later on one of my visits back to Guatemala.

It was time for school and we all got two pennies. My mom was rich that day! It wasn’t long before I ran out of money. I placed coins where my younger siblings could find them so that in the end we all enjoyed my overwhelming fortune. I was relieved when the money was gone. It felt really good to have to ask my mom for a penny again. “Pulique” became my favorite dish from that day on. I think my mom was suspicious but never said a thing. Many years later when I would come home to Guatemala from the United States she would offer to make “pulique” for me.  I guess she knew it is my favorite dish.

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El Colocho (Curly hair)

When I was 4 years old, we lived at a place called El Palomar, which translated meant “The Pigeon House”. The pigeon house was a place where poor people or young couples lived. Many were just starting out and could only afford to rent a single room. It was a great big house with many separate rooms that shared a common yard, and a set of two outhouses that sat in the middle of the yard. There was also a set of pilas which were sinks made of concrete. There was a water reservoir in the middle that served as a water supply to all the sinks which had no faucets. Water had to be drawn out of a deep well which was very dangerous for kids.

People would take turns washing their dishes and clothes. Of course there were always those people who would take too long or those who would create conflict. This often resulted in the ladies arguing and sometimes when the husbands got involved, there would be fist fights. Other men would intervene and sometimes it got bad enough that the police would come and take a few men to jail. I remember my dad closing the door and ignoring the trouble. He said it was not smart to get in the middle of that because you could get hurt, end up in jail, or make enemies. He kept a piece of car belt (a long very hard strip of rubber with steel threads) about foot and a half long behind the door to use as a weapon if he ever had to protect himself out there.

I was just a little guy at the time. Only Chino and Rafa were living with my mother and father. Mama Tula rented another room and lived with Oscar, Marina and Percy. My mom would go out to work, and Mama Tula would take care of all of us. At that time, my father was a taxi driver and would play in a marimba band. My mom was not very fond of the marimba jobs because although my dad made a little money, it also involved drinking and staying out really late.

My Father (far right) playing Marimba c. 1963

Colocho was my cousin from my father’s side of the family and was a couple of years older than I was. His mother was my father’s sister. We called him Colocho because of his curly bushy hair. Sometimes we would play together, but he would pick on me and my mom would call me back into our room. Colocho would just stare at my mom as he walked away.

As a rule, I usually stayed really close to my mom. Sometimes, I would sit on the doorstep and watch the kids playing in the yard. The threshold of our door was made of concrete and had a few cracks. I would sit there and clean the dirt out of the cracks with a little stick. I could not understand how it always got dirty again. Colocho came around one day and sat next to me. He had a hand full of dirt and started filling the cracks up again! That really bothered me, and when I told him not to do that, he stood up, pulled my hair, knocked me down to the ground, and then ran away to his room. My mom came out and comforted me, she went and talked to my aunt about it and she assured my mom that it would not happen again. I was scared and hurt.

A few days later, he came by again with another handful of dirt.  This time, as he walked by, he threw it in my face then he ran away. With dirt in my eyes, I sat there crying. My mom came out and took me inside to wash me up. I could see that my mom was really upset and heard her say under her breath, “What that kid needs is a good whacking!” Of course she meant a spanking. At that age, I guess we are very resilient to situations, so not long after, I went back to playing with Colocho. It still bothered me that he always wanted everything to go his way, and I often retreated into my room with my mom.

  Not long after, sitting on the doorstep, I saw Colocho pick up a hand full of dirt again and start to walk toward me. I pretended not to see him and as he threw the dirt on my face, I turned my face the other way. Suddenly, to his surprise, I grabbed him by the hair and whacked him on the face with my father’s piece of car belt! I was so mad I felt as if I was in a dark tunnel and I could only see him! I hit him again and saw his face bleeding… My mom came running when she heard the screaming!

Colocho was bleeding and had to get some stitches on his eyebrow. I was so scared, I thought I was going to have to go to jail like the people who got in fights in the yard. I remembered having dreams about it, over and over again. It was hard for me to get over it.  My mom told me later that she worried about me because I would not eat, just wanted to be next to her, slept a lot during the day, and cried often. She would have Rafa and Chino take me with them to the fields and fly kites or play soccer so my mind would be on something else. I remember Rafa making a big parachute with the cloth from a large umbrella. He also made a little wooden war tank, with a piece of wood and a pipe. He would load it with two firecrackers. The first firecracker would explode and propelled the second one which in turn would explode in the air! I always thought Rafa was a genius and was proud of him.

Soon after that we moved away from El Palomar. My father got a different job and we rented a house. Mama Tula and the rest of the kids moved in with us. I didn’t see Colocho as much after that but he never bothered me again. Decades have passed. I still see him now and then when I go home to Guatemala. He may still have a slight scar.

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Day Old Bread

My older brother Armando was a real character and was always coming up with ways to get something to eat. When I was seven years old and he was eleven, he came up with the idea of going around the city and asking the owners of restaurants for day old bread. It worked and we usually got some for a snack and some to take home.

Other times, we would get turned down and Armando would make up some type of story to make the restaurant owner feel sorry for us. Often, he would use me as a prop. He would have me lay down on a doorstep and pretend I was asleep. Then without me knowing it, he would tell them I was sick. Bingo! We would get some bread.

However, one day he asked the wrong guy. We went to a restaurant and Armando played his trick. The owner came out to see me and asked me if I was sick. When I said no, he chased us away. What we didn’t know was that he knew us and my father. That was the end of that awesome trick! When we got home we both got spanked and sent to bed.

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My Family (Part 1) – It’s A Boy!

My first professional portrait for my high school ID at age 12 circa 1970.

I was born in Guatemala City in September of 1958. My parents, Tonita and Fernando were not rich or super poor. My father, a husky man who was brought up as a farmer in his native town San Miguel Petapa, worked as a traveling salesman through all of Guatemala and central America (Guatemala, Honduras, Nicaragua, Costa Rica, and Panama). In his spare time, he played for “Chapinlandia” a professional marimba band. He was very strong and handsome. Looking at him always made me feel safe. He was very Affectionate and quick to kiss and play with his kids. He also had a good sense of humor. I thought nothing could hurt me as long as he was around. His boss was Don Daniel, a gentleman that originally came from Spain and had a clothing business. He was also married to my rich aunt Marta.

My mom was the best mom in the world. A young pretty lady with a gorgeous head of raven black hair that hung behind her in a thick ponytail or braid that danced with every step she took. She worked part-time doing house keeping chores for a variety of people, among them a Cuban lady whom I never met. All I remember about her is that she always sent something home for us kids to eat!