Let's see, where was I? oh yeah, Chevy's. The days of being a happy dishwasher, heh.
At that time I lived with my grandmother and her sister, and her two sons (my so called cousins). I slept in the livingroom on the floor, wasn't too bad.
Technically she was my great-aunt, or something like that, not sure where she fit in the family tree cause I never bothered much with that sort of thing. I caller her aunt even tho she was my grandma's sister. She was kind, but it didn't take me long to notice her sons controlled her, specially financially. The old lady would work, just as my grandma did in a factory.
Then all I could see were latinos working in small basement factories in Brooklyn or in larger ones in Manhattan.
After a year (I think) Chevy's closed down, my cousin got another job somewhere else, don't remember where. I ended up in a few factories, and I was terrible at it, I didn't last long anywhere I went.
Finally I started working in restaurants, as a dishwasher of course. I was fast, sometimes I would help the cook when needed.
It was early on when I realized that my lack of english was a serious problem, not only for communication, but I couldn't get a better job because of it.
I could hear the broken english within my family, who had been here for decades. I wanted to fit in. So...I made a logical decision...stop speaking spanish (except to my grandma and her sister cause they were elderly and did not understand english too well) for a whole year.
I became the target of jokes by my 'cousins', was called arrogant, that I was wasting my time. Well, at the end of that year, my english was improved so much that my pronounciation was better than theirs, and I was very happy about that.
My reading skills had also improved, I was able to read and comprehend newspapers, magazines and most of the text on TV.
Grandma was very proud of me, however if was after that year that I pretty much separated myself from the family emotionally even who we were living together.
I guess that is enough for today.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
A good day
I just came from a play where two young actors blew the audience away!
Well..maybe I'm exagerating a little bit since both actors are related to me, heh.
For the past 6 weeks my little nephew and niece have been taking acting classes and today was the completion of the course with a special play featuring disney songs which was very nice.
The kids were great, Jonathan was a bit nervous, probably because today is also his birthday (he is 11 now). He is a bit slow, to me he is special; to society he is mentally challenged...I can't see it that way.
Their mother was there, and I noticed she took more pictures of Erika than Jonathan, it's well known in the family that she and her family preffer to spend more time with my niece rather than my nephew. It sickens me. Divorce sometimes is the right thing for a couple and this time it was the right thing however when kids are involved...they end up paying emotionally.
Well, back to the show.
My little 6yr old niece did pretty good, until the end when she was looking more toward her teacher behind the curtains on the side of the stage instead of looking ahead toward the audience. She will improve with time, their father has decided to enroll them again.
I had the honor of taking pictures of the show with my digital camera. I may post some here.
The production also included Jennifer, the daughter of Barry who is one of my wife's closest friends.
Afterwards everyone was supposed to go out to eat but I was not comfortable with the kids' mother so I said I didn't feel good and was driven home.
This was planned ahead of time, everyone in our house (and Barry's family) except the kids of course knew I would not be going.
But, I had a good day.
Well..maybe I'm exagerating a little bit since both actors are related to me, heh.
For the past 6 weeks my little nephew and niece have been taking acting classes and today was the completion of the course with a special play featuring disney songs which was very nice.
The kids were great, Jonathan was a bit nervous, probably because today is also his birthday (he is 11 now). He is a bit slow, to me he is special; to society he is mentally challenged...I can't see it that way.
Their mother was there, and I noticed she took more pictures of Erika than Jonathan, it's well known in the family that she and her family preffer to spend more time with my niece rather than my nephew. It sickens me. Divorce sometimes is the right thing for a couple and this time it was the right thing however when kids are involved...they end up paying emotionally.
Well, back to the show.
My little 6yr old niece did pretty good, until the end when she was looking more toward her teacher behind the curtains on the side of the stage instead of looking ahead toward the audience. She will improve with time, their father has decided to enroll them again.
I had the honor of taking pictures of the show with my digital camera. I may post some here.
The production also included Jennifer, the daughter of Barry who is one of my wife's closest friends.
Afterwards everyone was supposed to go out to eat but I was not comfortable with the kids' mother so I said I didn't feel good and was driven home.
This was planned ahead of time, everyone in our house (and Barry's family) except the kids of course knew I would not be going.
But, I had a good day.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Back to my history
Well, my little brother was born. I loved him and hated him at the same time. He was my blood, yet he was the reason Manolo was part of the family again in my eyes.
I think I dropped him too many times, and now I'm not sure if it was accidental out of inexperience handling a baby or out of anger.
I changed diapers and did my part I think, most it seems like a blur now. At one point my father convinced my mother to let him take me for weekends. My guess is that she knew I would never see Manolo as a father and that I needed to reconnect with my real father.
Let me explain something first. In the states and other countries like the USA corruption in law enforcement is the exception. In third world countries like Peru, it's not the exception but it seems like a rule. If you have a badge...you can make more money if you look away, help (or not help) certain people. There is almost no hand you can't "grease" to get whatever you want.
My father was a detective of the PIP (Police of Investigations of Peru) and from what I saw, he was living above his pay grade.
Once he took me to his job, a precint and I saw a few times
people asking "favors" of him, I looked away because that is what was probably expected of me.
If you have the right connections, you can even avoid the military draft. My godfather was in the navy, he was an officer and engineer. All I had to do was decide, join the navy and get a good start or join the army, air force or...not join at all. I decided the armed forces was not for me, I was scared back then. It was all arranged, I went, filled some papers and I was somehow ineligible for duty.
My father had another 2 sons with his wife (who was the woman my father left my mother for). I hated those guys and decided to use them to pay back my father for abandoning me and my mother. Yeah...avenge a mother who also betrayed me, doesn't make sense now, but it did then.
I ended up leaving school, my mother said get a job or go back to school. I ended up joining a friend of mine working in the beer factory which was around the block.
My job was to remove broken bottles from the assembly line.
Of course we sometimes would take a few undamaged bottles, open and drink up. We would then drop them and break them to cover our asses. We wouldn't get drunk of course, but there was nobody in that place without beer taste in their mouths, heh.
I've forgotten so many names, except my mother's. Nelly and of course Manolo. I've forgotten the names of my little brother, or my father's son, or his wife, and pretty much anybody I knew in Peru. I'm not sure if I want to remember.
Well, I was working, visiting my father weekends and in all that time I was happier at work because outside of the factory I was miserable and full of resentment for the world.
I made a mistake that I regret to this day. I took out my anger on my half brothers. I betrayed my father. I underestimated him. He was furious, and threatened to kill me, and my mother and I knew he meant it.
I needed to get out of town, but him being in the PIP meant that he could find me eventually. I couldn't just leave town, I needed to leave the country. I was hidden in different houses, family members who I don't remember anymore.
I think it was 2 weeks into hiding when my mother told me she had arranged passage for me to go to the states to join my mother. I was happy, and sad. I was leaving everything I knew in my life behind for a strange place but I would be alive.
So, I was smuggled into a boat and for 2 weeks I was hidding in a cabin with a member of the crew. They had someone in the kitchen I would guess 'cause they brought me food twice a day and it was better food that I had ever eaten before. They stopped at Ecuador and was offered a beautiful hooker for $10, my mother had given me about $100 and to be careful not to spend it.
But then, you only live once right? When I was 15 my uncle Jhonny took me to a brothel and that is how I lost my virginity, so I knew a hooker knew how to show me a good time. And she did, best $10 I ever spent in my life so far.
At this point in time I had no idea, that mother had made a risky deal. She had promised my grandmother would have $2,500 at my arrival in California. My poor grandma had to borrow money from everyone she knew to make it happen because she was given very little advance notice on this. I'm fairly sure my mother told her after I was already in the boat.
Then I didn't know, that if someone doesn't pay up, you may end up dead on the street or thrown out the boat to drown. Thank god grandma came through.
During my stay in California I was living with a religious family, they were nice, spoke spanish and I think there were from Peru originally. I do remember their daughter was nice looking, heh.
Well, I was taught the ropes...Home Depot, corner, wait for a guy in a truck to come by looking for workers and try to jump in before 50 other mexicans got on. It wasn't easy because I was not used to that kind of work, mostly landscaping. I was 18, young and whatever I got paid made me happy. Sometimes I got $2 an hr, sometimes $5 depending on how generous the boss was and the kind of work involved.
In a few weeks I had the $200 needed to get me to NY to join grandma. I had not been in an airplane since the trip from Germany to Peru and I was a bit nervous but of course all was fine.
My grandmother's sister's son (which I called cousin) picked me up. His personality can be described in one word: Asshole. Didn't take me long to know him, but I had to kiss his ass to get a job.
He was working at Chevy's, a Manhattan club with a 50's-60's theme. Man those were fun days!
Everyone was in oldies attire, the place was owned by a latino (which is why I guess some mexicans were in the kitchen with me). There was this dance on the bar every night the staff did for the customers, it was fun. I was even asked to join the dance a few times.
I still have a shot glass from the place and postcards.
Chevy's will always have a place in my heart. The people were kind to me, the americans
were different from I thought they would be. They shared their tips with the kitchen staff.
Good times.
I think I will leave today's post on a good note. Chevy's..."Be Bop Was Never This HOT"...yeah, good times.
I think I dropped him too many times, and now I'm not sure if it was accidental out of inexperience handling a baby or out of anger.
I changed diapers and did my part I think, most it seems like a blur now. At one point my father convinced my mother to let him take me for weekends. My guess is that she knew I would never see Manolo as a father and that I needed to reconnect with my real father.
Let me explain something first. In the states and other countries like the USA corruption in law enforcement is the exception. In third world countries like Peru, it's not the exception but it seems like a rule. If you have a badge...you can make more money if you look away, help (or not help) certain people. There is almost no hand you can't "grease" to get whatever you want.
My father was a detective of the PIP (Police of Investigations of Peru) and from what I saw, he was living above his pay grade.
Once he took me to his job, a precint and I saw a few times
people asking "favors" of him, I looked away because that is what was probably expected of me.
If you have the right connections, you can even avoid the military draft. My godfather was in the navy, he was an officer and engineer. All I had to do was decide, join the navy and get a good start or join the army, air force or...not join at all. I decided the armed forces was not for me, I was scared back then. It was all arranged, I went, filled some papers and I was somehow ineligible for duty.
My father had another 2 sons with his wife (who was the woman my father left my mother for). I hated those guys and decided to use them to pay back my father for abandoning me and my mother. Yeah...avenge a mother who also betrayed me, doesn't make sense now, but it did then.
I ended up leaving school, my mother said get a job or go back to school. I ended up joining a friend of mine working in the beer factory which was around the block.
My job was to remove broken bottles from the assembly line.
Of course we sometimes would take a few undamaged bottles, open and drink up. We would then drop them and break them to cover our asses. We wouldn't get drunk of course, but there was nobody in that place without beer taste in their mouths, heh.
I've forgotten so many names, except my mother's. Nelly and of course Manolo. I've forgotten the names of my little brother, or my father's son, or his wife, and pretty much anybody I knew in Peru. I'm not sure if I want to remember.
Well, I was working, visiting my father weekends and in all that time I was happier at work because outside of the factory I was miserable and full of resentment for the world.
I made a mistake that I regret to this day. I took out my anger on my half brothers. I betrayed my father. I underestimated him. He was furious, and threatened to kill me, and my mother and I knew he meant it.
I needed to get out of town, but him being in the PIP meant that he could find me eventually. I couldn't just leave town, I needed to leave the country. I was hidden in different houses, family members who I don't remember anymore.
I think it was 2 weeks into hiding when my mother told me she had arranged passage for me to go to the states to join my mother. I was happy, and sad. I was leaving everything I knew in my life behind for a strange place but I would be alive.
So, I was smuggled into a boat and for 2 weeks I was hidding in a cabin with a member of the crew. They had someone in the kitchen I would guess 'cause they brought me food twice a day and it was better food that I had ever eaten before. They stopped at Ecuador and was offered a beautiful hooker for $10, my mother had given me about $100 and to be careful not to spend it.
But then, you only live once right? When I was 15 my uncle Jhonny took me to a brothel and that is how I lost my virginity, so I knew a hooker knew how to show me a good time. And she did, best $10 I ever spent in my life so far.
At this point in time I had no idea, that mother had made a risky deal. She had promised my grandmother would have $2,500 at my arrival in California. My poor grandma had to borrow money from everyone she knew to make it happen because she was given very little advance notice on this. I'm fairly sure my mother told her after I was already in the boat.
Then I didn't know, that if someone doesn't pay up, you may end up dead on the street or thrown out the boat to drown. Thank god grandma came through.
During my stay in California I was living with a religious family, they were nice, spoke spanish and I think there were from Peru originally. I do remember their daughter was nice looking, heh.
Well, I was taught the ropes...Home Depot, corner, wait for a guy in a truck to come by looking for workers and try to jump in before 50 other mexicans got on. It wasn't easy because I was not used to that kind of work, mostly landscaping. I was 18, young and whatever I got paid made me happy. Sometimes I got $2 an hr, sometimes $5 depending on how generous the boss was and the kind of work involved.
In a few weeks I had the $200 needed to get me to NY to join grandma. I had not been in an airplane since the trip from Germany to Peru and I was a bit nervous but of course all was fine.
My grandmother's sister's son (which I called cousin) picked me up. His personality can be described in one word: Asshole. Didn't take me long to know him, but I had to kiss his ass to get a job.
He was working at Chevy's, a Manhattan club with a 50's-60's theme. Man those were fun days!
Everyone was in oldies attire, the place was owned by a latino (which is why I guess some mexicans were in the kitchen with me). There was this dance on the bar every night the staff did for the customers, it was fun. I was even asked to join the dance a few times.
I still have a shot glass from the place and postcards.
Chevy's will always have a place in my heart. The people were kind to me, the americans
were different from I thought they would be. They shared their tips with the kitchen staff.
Good times.
I think I will leave today's post on a good note. Chevy's..."Be Bop Was Never This HOT"...yeah, good times.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
New Record broken!
I think the longest I've gone without sex was 3 months. Well, that record is broken. This week was (more or less) 8 months of no sex with my wife, and I finally gave in.
Of course once I had it, I was thinking maybe I could make up for some time. Sex is sex after all. So, the next day, she gets her period. Maybe god wanted to have a laugh at me, but that wasn't the end.
Yesterday (knowing I will never touch a woman during her period) she grabs me early in the morning and decides to tease me (a.k.a. blue balls). The whole day she had a laugh at my expense, telling her brother, sister and best friend about it.
That plus...well, let's just say part of the day was farting, shit and 3 bloody higiene pads thrown at me...what a lousy day.
We ended up having a big fight right before she went to bed (I don't go to sleep at night, and it wouldn't be hard to guess why).
My time here may be running out, I don't know wtf she is thinking most of the time anymore. She is unpredictable except for the guarantee that someone will get yelled at by her every day.
I must have done something wrong in a previous life, or paying for all the stupid things I did in my teenage years.
Of course once I had it, I was thinking maybe I could make up for some time. Sex is sex after all. So, the next day, she gets her period. Maybe god wanted to have a laugh at me, but that wasn't the end.
Yesterday (knowing I will never touch a woman during her period) she grabs me early in the morning and decides to tease me (a.k.a. blue balls). The whole day she had a laugh at my expense, telling her brother, sister and best friend about it.
That plus...well, let's just say part of the day was farting, shit and 3 bloody higiene pads thrown at me...what a lousy day.
We ended up having a big fight right before she went to bed (I don't go to sleep at night, and it wouldn't be hard to guess why).
My time here may be running out, I don't know wtf she is thinking most of the time anymore. She is unpredictable except for the guarantee that someone will get yelled at by her every day.
I must have done something wrong in a previous life, or paying for all the stupid things I did in my teenage years.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
One of THOSE days...
Have you ever had one of those days, when you think "Jumping in front of a truck right now would improve my life drastically"?
Well, it was one of those days thanks to my wife. It seems there is more bad days than good. 12 years of marriage, and I think maybe 2 of them were good.
Bleh!
Well, it was one of those days thanks to my wife. It seems there is more bad days than good. 12 years of marriage, and I think maybe 2 of them were good.
Bleh!
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
May as well continue...
Yeah, may as well. I started this blog to remind myself of my mistakes, so hopefully I don't repeat them in the future.
Back to my family story we go.
While grandma was helping us financially my mother not only administered the building we lived in, but also had her own 'kiosko'. We used the front of the building with our own table to sell jewelry she would make herself. Fake of course, nothing made of gold or silver, cheap stuff that would get a decent profit and other things she would buy wholesale in the capital.
Hmm, I guess I never really mentioned where we lived exactly. We lived in the Constitutional Province of Callao, Lima's largest seaport. Well the fancy name was pretty much stating the province was the source of income for the capital for the most part if I understood it well back in those days. Lima was just an hour away if you took the bus, or 3 hrs on foot.
Mind you the buses in Lima are like the ones you find in the states which are run and administered by the city. However there are the independant buses which were cheaper. Why were they so cheap? they made up the profit on numbers. An independant bus would be filled like one of those cans of sardines. Hell there would be people hanging from the side of the bus!
Dangerous and probably a risky way to ride a bus, but fun when you felt the air hit your face and you could imagne you were superman, heh.
I went to Lima often, because that's where you could buy comic books and other stuff cheaper if you found the right kiosko.
When I was low on cash to get back home, I would sneak my way into a crowded bus and make it as far as I could go unnoticed and then get off and get on another crowded bus. You see...there are 2 people in each bus running it. The driver and the guy who asks you for the fare. Now when an independent bus is full, it's not easy to get the guy in the middle of the bus to get his fare, so he usually gets caught when he gets off. Unless...you say you already paid and tell the guy off. It usually worked because in the chaos very often someone would hand his fare and the guy would only see an arm handing out the cash in the crowded bus.
That was my way to get home when I had spent too much of my money.
In Lima itself, it was a bit trickier if I wanted to do that since the city buses were larger and weren't as crowded. Well, when someone gets off they must do so from the back of the bus and pay on their way in through the front. So when someone would get off, I would sneak through the back and keep my head down and slide into one of the seats way in the back. The times I got caught I was kicked out of the bus, it was no big deal because lots of kids did it.
Well, let's get back to where I lived. It was a building in a commercial area, believe it or not in the same block across the street there was a beer factory, I remember the brand, it was Pilsen Callao (I think that's the correct spelling). Of course it was the beer everyone drank. I never through when I would grow up to be a teen I would work there. Well let's not get too far ahead of my story.
There was a supermarket in the on our side of the street, not too far. A shoe store was in the first floor of our building run by chinese-peruvians. They paid us rent, and also we got a good discount on shoes.
I went to the catholic school which was ran by the Salesianos de Don Bosco (Society of San Francisco de Sales). Padre Pum and Padre Pigi were in charge and they were strict. To be caught by them breaking the rules or misbehaving meant you were going to be in pain. They would either hit your hands with a ruler or your ass with a paddle. Kids always were hoping it was the hands, cause its better to have red hands than not being able to sit for hours.
Most teachers did the same thing, except a few who would be kinder and reprimand verbally.
Those, of course where the favorite and most popular teachers in the school.
Every afternoon I would hang out after school and play soccer in the school's field. Most people in the states thing soccer and assume it's going to be on a grass field. Not in Peru. My school was middle class and the entire playground was concrete. That was a luxury. I knew the state-run schools didn't spend that kind of money, playgrounds were dirt, plain and simple, dirt. I learned that fact the hard way after I had been expelled from Don Bosco.
Again I'm jumping too far ahead.
When my grandma was with us in Peru, she had very good relations with the Padres, every Christmas they would get a nice bottle of Pisco (the good liquor) from her. I don't know what else there was, but it was her doing that got me in that school.
After she left, my mother became more promiscuous. I guess I wouldn't have minded it much since she been betrayed by my father.
However, when teachers became nicer to me, some started to tutor me at home...well, I was not stupid. It bothered me, I was also embarrassed cause I got teased at school for it and even got in a fight (which I lost to a bigger kid) over it.
Then, somehow she fell in love with a guy who seemed to be a nice man. His name was Manolo. I will never forget his name. How can you forget the name, of the man who raped you?
Yup, that's where my life started to fall apart.
It wasn't right away, no. He earned her trust, began babysitting and helping her around the house. Perhaps I started to see him as a father figure, specially after he taught me how to ride a bike (which I think he bought for me).
One night when my mother was away he convinced me to play a game. I won't go into details, but it was of a sexual nature. The whole thing went on for months, I trusted him and I thought it was normal.
Since I thought it was normal, I went and tried it with schoolmates. Of course eventually word was out, and my mother was contacted. She confronted me and I got a beating for it. Then I spilled my guts about Manolo.
At that time he had moved in and living with us. That day she kicked him out, and I think she tried to cut him with a knife from the screams I heard.
After that, there were psychologists, going to church more often (besides every Sunday of course). The matter was kept quiet of course, the school could not have a scandal of one of their young students messing with other students. However I just wasn't allowed back. As far as I know I was expelled, even though my mother never said those words. All she said was that I needed to change schools.
I went to a smaller school, I guess less prominent than Don Bosco, I don't even remember the name of it now.
My attitude changed after I knew that what happened to me had been wrong in so many levels. I stopped caring about things. I became selfish.
Perhaps things would have changed for the better...if it wasn't because, mother dear found out she was pregnant and ended up taking Manolo back.
That's when things really got fucked up for me. I was asked to forget and forgive and to move on for the sake of my little brother who was coming.
How can a mother make such a decision? to allow her son's rapist back into the family for the sake of an unborn child?
Fucked up. Very fucked up. But then, in Peru abortion is not encouraged, it's against the will of god the priests say, if you are pregnant you must have the child. And in Peru, religion is everywhere.
I think I'm done writing for today.
Back to my family story we go.
While grandma was helping us financially my mother not only administered the building we lived in, but also had her own 'kiosko'. We used the front of the building with our own table to sell jewelry she would make herself. Fake of course, nothing made of gold or silver, cheap stuff that would get a decent profit and other things she would buy wholesale in the capital.
Hmm, I guess I never really mentioned where we lived exactly. We lived in the Constitutional Province of Callao, Lima's largest seaport. Well the fancy name was pretty much stating the province was the source of income for the capital for the most part if I understood it well back in those days. Lima was just an hour away if you took the bus, or 3 hrs on foot.
Mind you the buses in Lima are like the ones you find in the states which are run and administered by the city. However there are the independant buses which were cheaper. Why were they so cheap? they made up the profit on numbers. An independant bus would be filled like one of those cans of sardines. Hell there would be people hanging from the side of the bus!
Dangerous and probably a risky way to ride a bus, but fun when you felt the air hit your face and you could imagne you were superman, heh.
I went to Lima often, because that's where you could buy comic books and other stuff cheaper if you found the right kiosko.
When I was low on cash to get back home, I would sneak my way into a crowded bus and make it as far as I could go unnoticed and then get off and get on another crowded bus. You see...there are 2 people in each bus running it. The driver and the guy who asks you for the fare. Now when an independent bus is full, it's not easy to get the guy in the middle of the bus to get his fare, so he usually gets caught when he gets off. Unless...you say you already paid and tell the guy off. It usually worked because in the chaos very often someone would hand his fare and the guy would only see an arm handing out the cash in the crowded bus.
That was my way to get home when I had spent too much of my money.
In Lima itself, it was a bit trickier if I wanted to do that since the city buses were larger and weren't as crowded. Well, when someone gets off they must do so from the back of the bus and pay on their way in through the front. So when someone would get off, I would sneak through the back and keep my head down and slide into one of the seats way in the back. The times I got caught I was kicked out of the bus, it was no big deal because lots of kids did it.
Well, let's get back to where I lived. It was a building in a commercial area, believe it or not in the same block across the street there was a beer factory, I remember the brand, it was Pilsen Callao (I think that's the correct spelling). Of course it was the beer everyone drank. I never through when I would grow up to be a teen I would work there. Well let's not get too far ahead of my story.
There was a supermarket in the on our side of the street, not too far. A shoe store was in the first floor of our building run by chinese-peruvians. They paid us rent, and also we got a good discount on shoes.
I went to the catholic school which was ran by the Salesianos de Don Bosco (Society of San Francisco de Sales). Padre Pum and Padre Pigi were in charge and they were strict. To be caught by them breaking the rules or misbehaving meant you were going to be in pain. They would either hit your hands with a ruler or your ass with a paddle. Kids always were hoping it was the hands, cause its better to have red hands than not being able to sit for hours.
Most teachers did the same thing, except a few who would be kinder and reprimand verbally.
Those, of course where the favorite and most popular teachers in the school.
Every afternoon I would hang out after school and play soccer in the school's field. Most people in the states thing soccer and assume it's going to be on a grass field. Not in Peru. My school was middle class and the entire playground was concrete. That was a luxury. I knew the state-run schools didn't spend that kind of money, playgrounds were dirt, plain and simple, dirt. I learned that fact the hard way after I had been expelled from Don Bosco.
Again I'm jumping too far ahead.
When my grandma was with us in Peru, she had very good relations with the Padres, every Christmas they would get a nice bottle of Pisco (the good liquor) from her. I don't know what else there was, but it was her doing that got me in that school.
After she left, my mother became more promiscuous. I guess I wouldn't have minded it much since she been betrayed by my father.
However, when teachers became nicer to me, some started to tutor me at home...well, I was not stupid. It bothered me, I was also embarrassed cause I got teased at school for it and even got in a fight (which I lost to a bigger kid) over it.
Then, somehow she fell in love with a guy who seemed to be a nice man. His name was Manolo. I will never forget his name. How can you forget the name, of the man who raped you?
Yup, that's where my life started to fall apart.
It wasn't right away, no. He earned her trust, began babysitting and helping her around the house. Perhaps I started to see him as a father figure, specially after he taught me how to ride a bike (which I think he bought for me).
One night when my mother was away he convinced me to play a game. I won't go into details, but it was of a sexual nature. The whole thing went on for months, I trusted him and I thought it was normal.
Since I thought it was normal, I went and tried it with schoolmates. Of course eventually word was out, and my mother was contacted. She confronted me and I got a beating for it. Then I spilled my guts about Manolo.
At that time he had moved in and living with us. That day she kicked him out, and I think she tried to cut him with a knife from the screams I heard.
After that, there were psychologists, going to church more often (besides every Sunday of course). The matter was kept quiet of course, the school could not have a scandal of one of their young students messing with other students. However I just wasn't allowed back. As far as I know I was expelled, even though my mother never said those words. All she said was that I needed to change schools.
I went to a smaller school, I guess less prominent than Don Bosco, I don't even remember the name of it now.
My attitude changed after I knew that what happened to me had been wrong in so many levels. I stopped caring about things. I became selfish.
Perhaps things would have changed for the better...if it wasn't because, mother dear found out she was pregnant and ended up taking Manolo back.
That's when things really got fucked up for me. I was asked to forget and forgive and to move on for the sake of my little brother who was coming.
How can a mother make such a decision? to allow her son's rapist back into the family for the sake of an unborn child?
Fucked up. Very fucked up. But then, in Peru abortion is not encouraged, it's against the will of god the priests say, if you are pregnant you must have the child. And in Peru, religion is everywhere.
I think I'm done writing for today.
Monday, July 16, 2007
20 years in the USA and still a wetback
Yeah, I'm here since I was 18 years old, and I'm about to be 38...married 12 years to an american, and still a wet back. What did I do wrong? answer: everything.
You know that joke that in the best planned effort whatever that can go wrong, will?...well, that's me.
I guess I should start from the beggining, and that would be when I was born. I was an accident, which was the basis for a marriage between my father and mother. It wasn't a solid foundation because it wasn't long after I was born that he left me and my mom. I grew up without a father for most of my childhood.
My uncle Johnny (yes that's his name, yes he is from Peru, and no I never asked my grandmother why he gave her son an american name) was my only father figure that I respected.
I was not poor (even though during most of my relationships with americans they assumed I was and I rarely corrected them) neither was I hungry. The best possible description of my social status in Peru would be lower-middle class.
In my early years I sorta got lucky, my mother married a German and we ended up moving to Germany. It was pretty cool, until she left him one night and we moved away elsewhere. They didn't get along and I think now it was for the best...even tho sometime I wonder what other choices I may've had if we had remained in the society.
Well we didn't leave the country right away, my mother had a job at a hospital and when we moved to an apartment building I made a new friend, Mike Lippa (not sure on the pronunciation of his last name, I was about 8-10yrs old then I think).
I had a happy life, school was good, I played with Mike every afternoon and the only bad memory there is when I accidentally ran into the door of a washing machine and I had surgery near my eye. I don't remember much, except my mother's expression of fear. It may have been serious, I dunno, never asked once I recovered from it.
She told me one day we were going back to Peru, and it made me very upset. Nothing I said convinced her of changing her mind, so I left my happy german life behind.
I was very fluent in german, and that may have been something to praise perhaps in the states or elsewhere in europe...but in Peru...I got called Nazi and every bad name you can come up with...because I had returned without speaking much spanish. I must have unlearned german in record time, because a few months after I was enrolled in a catholic school and I was speaking perfect spanish by then.
We lived with my grandma, who was in charge of a building which rented rooms.
If I remember correctly, grandma had an old lease.
Because of law the owner could not raise the rent over a certain amount.
Of course over time the owner ended up getting a rent which did not represent the actual market value of the property. It was in a commercial area. My grandma made a good living renting the rooms.
But I guess even she knew that sooner or later the owner may sell the building and we would be out.
She took a chance, and in her 50's she got herself smuggled into the USA through Mexico.
She had a sister and family in Brooklyn, NY which helped her get situated. She married a guy she did not really liked to become legal. Grandma would send us money and clothes, I was always looking forward to the imported american clothes, heh.
I never thought I would end up here too. Well this is all I can write for today.
You know that joke that in the best planned effort whatever that can go wrong, will?...well, that's me.
I guess I should start from the beggining, and that would be when I was born. I was an accident, which was the basis for a marriage between my father and mother. It wasn't a solid foundation because it wasn't long after I was born that he left me and my mom. I grew up without a father for most of my childhood.
My uncle Johnny (yes that's his name, yes he is from Peru, and no I never asked my grandmother why he gave her son an american name) was my only father figure that I respected.
I was not poor (even though during most of my relationships with americans they assumed I was and I rarely corrected them) neither was I hungry. The best possible description of my social status in Peru would be lower-middle class.
In my early years I sorta got lucky, my mother married a German and we ended up moving to Germany. It was pretty cool, until she left him one night and we moved away elsewhere. They didn't get along and I think now it was for the best...even tho sometime I wonder what other choices I may've had if we had remained in the society.
Well we didn't leave the country right away, my mother had a job at a hospital and when we moved to an apartment building I made a new friend, Mike Lippa (not sure on the pronunciation of his last name, I was about 8-10yrs old then I think).
I had a happy life, school was good, I played with Mike every afternoon and the only bad memory there is when I accidentally ran into the door of a washing machine and I had surgery near my eye. I don't remember much, except my mother's expression of fear. It may have been serious, I dunno, never asked once I recovered from it.
She told me one day we were going back to Peru, and it made me very upset. Nothing I said convinced her of changing her mind, so I left my happy german life behind.
I was very fluent in german, and that may have been something to praise perhaps in the states or elsewhere in europe...but in Peru...I got called Nazi and every bad name you can come up with...because I had returned without speaking much spanish. I must have unlearned german in record time, because a few months after I was enrolled in a catholic school and I was speaking perfect spanish by then.
We lived with my grandma, who was in charge of a building which rented rooms.
If I remember correctly, grandma had an old lease.
Because of law the owner could not raise the rent over a certain amount.
Of course over time the owner ended up getting a rent which did not represent the actual market value of the property. It was in a commercial area. My grandma made a good living renting the rooms.
But I guess even she knew that sooner or later the owner may sell the building and we would be out.
She took a chance, and in her 50's she got herself smuggled into the USA through Mexico.
She had a sister and family in Brooklyn, NY which helped her get situated. She married a guy she did not really liked to become legal. Grandma would send us money and clothes, I was always looking forward to the imported american clothes, heh.
I never thought I would end up here too. Well this is all I can write for today.
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