childhood – Page 2 – Susana Benavidez

Stop Feeling Guilty

I tend to do it myself. I feel guilty, constantly.

I had a great conversation with an unexpected source recently; I will admit (shamefully) that up until a year ago I did not realize that this woman had any depth to her. I wrote her off as a beautiful woman with no substance nor intelligence. After listening to her countless cries of attention through dieting tips, conquest stories, and her endless grooming I found myself speaking about an author series that I was attending. And the unexpected happened. She knew exactly who I was speaking of and she asked if she could be my +1. This was over a year ago and I still feel stupid, rude, and naive for judging her exactly as I have been unfairly judged.

Recently we had a follow up conversation about growing up in Boyle Heights, in East LA, in Westlake… Growing up as an attractive female with 0 self-esteem and what that brought down on us but in a more insightful slant – the root of what our reactions were stemmed to. As she described what she went through: feelings of rejection, judgement, constant criticism from adults as a child (bullies); I began to understand more of what I felt, of what I did, of who I was, as I heard her tell her stories.

She is an incredibly striking woman with piercing green eyes and a hell of a personality and yet she had soft heart, a vulnerability that her surroundings did not respect, much less notice. She is extremely intelligent, observant, and insightful – yet she receives no credit or acknowledgement for her innate gifts, qualities that she has retained despite her challenges. She lives life thinking she is wrong, misunderstood, defective…

As I heard of what she witnessed as a child, of what she went through growing up, of what was unsaid but I could so palpably feel it that I could practically hold it with my fingertips…I understood her pain. A pain that is so deeply rooted that it takes a hell of a strong person to face it in order to start healing; facing it means accepting that you were unloved, overcoming it means knowing that you are not un-loveable. I saw this in her. I heard it in the crack of her voice as she tried to remain composed and to the naked eye she was – fine. She was perfectly fine. But I was there; I knew better.

As she unfolded her worries before me I found the common theme of Guilt. Guilt pervades all those who have succeeded in improving their lot in life while still being surrounded by negative influences.

But it made me Angry. Angry that life could be so cruel to her (and countless of you lovely women and men) and still invade her being with a sense that she did not deserve to find inner peace whilst her family was still in such a state of disarray.

It really upset me because I constantly feel that way. Guilty. Guilty when a guy wants to pay for dinner. Guilty when my career is taking off. Guilty when my children are doing well in school. Guilty when I am spending money on myself. Guilty when I am spending money on extracurricular activities for my kids instead of funneling it elsewhere. Guilty when I want to for once, get taken care of. When for once I would like to relax and feel vulnerable, and feel like a woman who wants to be shielded from worldly problems. I want to know what it feels like to be sheltered. I want to feel like what it feels to be taken care of without having to feel like I have to be the strong independent woman I have always been.

I love who I am. But just because I am strong does not mean that I am not soft as well. I am strong and independent because there is no other way nor any other choice for me. If not me then whom? Who would step up to be the head of the household in my life? No one.

So I remind myself not to feel guilty. I deserve happiness. I realize I will never have a childhood again where I can hope to feel cared for in that manner but I do some day want to feel the sense of comfort of knowing that I can rely on someone – completely. And I will not feel guilty because I would care for that person right back.

So stop feeling guilty.

Stop over thinking your future. Life is life and it will continue to happen whether you allow it to or not, whether you plan for it or not. Be the strong person that you are but give yourself merits for what you have overcome and what you have worked out for yourself. You are incredible, special, and beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to have you. Why? Because you have chosen to embrace life regardless of what it dealt you early on and you DESERVE to expect happiness. It’s a good reminder for us all.

Stop feeling guilty.

Spinning Round and Round

Spinning round and round

Giggles swirling around my ears

Giggles coming from me

Spinning round and round

Dress up to my waist

Gently undulating up and down

A blur all around me

Spinning round and round

Faster and faster

Laughter turn into sobs

Tears down my cheeks

I can’t see a thing

My head feels heavy

But I keep

Spinning round and round

My legs give out and I stagger to the ground

The blades of grass prick my skin

Grab hold of them

steady me

Spinning round and round

A blur all around me

I lay down to sleep

Better to stop

Spinning round and round

Letter to my Dear Eliza on her 7th Birthday

When I see your face, your uninterrupted innocence, and feel the silkiness of your cheek when you rub it against mine in affection I am mesmerized. I am awestruck and grateful for the simplicity in your joy and outlook in life; by your dreams full of cotton candy clouds, rainbows bursting through the sky, pink princesses leading the world; and your mommy loved above it all.

You hold my hand, tilt your head to the side, giving me one of your crooked half smiles that can’t contain itself and I am filled with a radiating warmth that makes the world around me livelier.

I work hard instilling a joy for life, an appreciation for everything around us; whether it is observing the morning dew glittering on a blade of lime green grass or sitting quietly taking in the fiery and purple hues of our LA sunsets. I pray, in my own way, that you take what happiness you can from each moment in life and that these moments become a permanent state of happiness for you.

Each time I threw a penny in a wishing pond, each time an eyelash fell and we pressed it against our fingers, every birthday cake wish since I’ve had you two, I have fervently wished that you grow to be Happy and Kind – wonderful women.

Along the way of finding ways to improve your chances of a better tomorrow, I have found bits and pieces of happiness myself. As I looked for a better education for the two of you, I found a way to use my skills to volunteer and received a higher sense of fulfillment. As I pushed you into the arts, I became immersed in a colorful world of music, acting and dance.

We have grown happier together. We have grown stronger together.

Today you are seven years old.

I was 21 and a mother of two with a growing sense of dread and an urgent need to raise you on my own before you were marred with witnessing what I did as a child.

No one knew what went on nor do they need to know. I set out with the two of you and we carried on as three. It is the hardest decision I have ever made. Not because of what I needed but for fear that I was being weak by not putting up with a bad situation so you could have your father.

In many ways I have never been a child but more of a half adult. I experienced life’s travails and physical exigencies while still trapped in a child’s body. Like a Matryoshka doll, I forced forward the strength of an adult to appease the need of others when inside I was physically and deep down, emotionally, still a child.

But since the first moment I laid eyes on you, I Loved you. You were my renewed link to life in many ways, my dear. With time, I have found my own place, independent of you two, I discovered self-love. But what remains unchanged are the tears that threaten to spill from my eyes, the ache in my chest, in my soul, when I think of you and the love I have for you.

I say all this in tribute to you; to the strength that you have as a seven year old, to have lived through the many low’s that life dealt us in the past but retaining only the good.

You take heart in the beauty of dying embers even when the fire burned.

Your eyes, full of honest and raw adoration looked up at me and thanked me for a weekend that reminded you of how special you are. I will never forget what you told me that night. I share it in hope that it inspires the formerly unloved to focus on the care and love of their own children instead on love that was not received.

The night was bitingly cold but we happily lingered in the moment as we walked back from your birthday dinner. I took your small fingers in my hand and caressed them with the magic that hung, suspended in the air.

You stopped and looked up at me, your eyes shining with tenderness, and asked me,

“Mommy, you know how you can happy cry?”

“Yes?”

“When you read me your card, you made me happy cry.”

—The contents of said birthday card will remain private because I whispered those words, meant only for you, into your ear—

“Iza, you’re making me happy cry now.”

“Thank you Mommy.” And you hugged me tightly.

That in a life continuously assaulted with the love for Things, with the need of bigger, better, brighter!, you chose to focus on and appreciate the love that I show you, made my wish come true.

My Father – The Magician

They say that little girls idolize their father for the first five years of their life, that they see him as a prince who can do no wrong.

I remember that innocent time when I saw my father as a wise, adventurous, and mystical man. He was a magician to me; someone who could always find an answer to my endless questions about the world and who could always foresee the future, my only regret is not having asked the questions that burned in my heart or what the outcome of our own family would be. Shame and respect kept me from asking the right questions.

I adored my father and placed him on a pedestal for the first few years of my life. He was my dear Papi and I was his Pozolito, his Chuchi. Only he could call me so, anyone else would get a red-faced snarl.

I was happiest in Villa Coronado, Chihuahua, a sleepy dusty town that witnessed my father’s birth into a young buck of seventeen before he took off for the states in a haste flavored with broken laws and unexplained trails of pursuit.

There and only there did I feel alive and connected to him. Only there did I have the courage to speak to my father. Only in that land of red earth that coated my mouth was I able to look up into eyes filled with kindness and mirth instead of the usual emptiness or anger, and carry on a conversation. But I always waited in jealous agony for my prima to engage him in a folktale and only when he got going did I feel a flicker of hope and pride that this was my father, and I awkwardly blurted out my observations and thoughts on the story he’d laid out like a crisp white sheet set out to dry on a sunny afternoon. Of course my words pour out like marbles from a glass jar, falling over each other and spreading out on the ground in random and disconnected directions. So eager was I to show him that I understood that I ended up sounding like an idiot and when he rolled his eyes at me, the faint glow that warmed my heart from his happiness died inside me.

Mostly I preferred to remain quiet so I could warm myself in the fire that roared inside him when he played his harmonica or got going on recounting an adventure from his youth. He would look around then and I would perk up when he looked my way and I nodded at him as if I understood his secret meaning, as if I knew all just as he did, in my six-year-old eyes.

My favorite moments that sent me soaring higher than a bald eagle against the red Chihuahua evening sky were when I had him to myself. When he would be sitting on the white twine chair in the anteroom and I would sidle up to him so his arms would encircle me and “lock” me in. “What is the password?” would send my little body into invisible convulsions of joy and I would guess at anything and everything that I knew would NEVER be the password so he would never let me go. I wanted to stay there forever until the dusk turned over and the darkness brought the howling chill of night and made my Papi hold me closer as I pretended to sleep and he carried my limp body to bed.

Or when he acknowledged, seeked me out even, and I experienced his genius as a father and saw him as a clever man of life.

My Tia had a small goods store in which she carried papitas Barcel. They had a promotion, a lottery of sorts. You could choose which bag of chips you wanted from the hanging cardboard and when you opened the bag, you could win anything from a sticker to a toy wrist watch. I always hung around the store with my primos and tia, letting the hours pass me by as I helped weigh and dispense half a kilo of jamon or bagged media docena de huevos in clear plastic bags. My father rarely came by so it was a warm delight to see his frame fill the doorway and ask me what I wanted as a treat from the store. I looked around unsure of what I wanted. Should I get a Carlos V chocolate? A Mazapan? My eyes found the bright green cellophane of the papitas Barcel and I pointed at them. “Which toy do you want?”, my father asked as he walked over to the chips. My eyes widened in amazement and slight disbelief. “El reloj, papi.” (The watch) My father confidently walked up to the shelf and pulled off a bag of potato chips and asked me, “Do you trust in me that this will be the watch?” He looked so serious that I nodded vigorously to show my faith in him. I opened the bag slowly as my hands had grown sweaty from the anticipation, and reached in to look for the prize. My hand trembled as I pulled out a pink plastic wrist watch. This plastic toy was cheaper than the town’s hooker but it filled me with awe as I looked at this wonder of a man who was my father. With that, he smiled at me, “No que no?” and walked away.

I sat down and didn’t know whether to cry or laugh or both at the magical moment that had transpired. When my primo made a smart ass comment about the cheap plastic around my wrist, I got up and slapped him hard on the face and ran off before anyone could react to my unexpected display of anger. I went to sleep that night holding on tightly to that watch and dreaming of the magician who came alive in those sweltering hot summers of his homeland.

Un Dia a La Vez “One Day at a Time”

My grandmother used to sing this song of worship “Un Dia A La vez” in her sweet low soothing voice and without fail I would close my eyes, smile, and breathe deeply as it never failed to calm me. It was a mantra to live life one day at a time with the hope and perseverance that the next day would be better than the last. My abuelita was a strong, kind, and friendly woman; I have never met anyone quite like her. Seemingly meek in her quiet way but once prompted by a friendly smile, she would sidle up next to you and become your new best friend as she chatted away and rewarded your willingness to listen with the sweetest of smiles and a twinkle in her eyes.

I think back on those days whenever I feel the urge to close in on myself, whenever I want to shut everyone out and live my life in quiet contemplation. I think about how much she suffered, how hard she worked to give her family a better life, and how she never lost that sweet composition. Growing up I thought there must be something wrong with her; she never yelled, she was never upset; she didn’t raise a hand to anyone. Even when my devil of a cousin would do outrageous things that made ME, a five year old, want to smack him silly; she would sigh and sing to him while she held him, rocking him back and forth in her bosom.

Whereas I cannot aim to be as sweet of an angel as she was, I derive strength from her memory, her simplicity in living life: care for your children, smile because it will get better, and devote your life to God by giving hope to others. Her seemingly simple outlook in life is beautiful in its selflessness and I do aim to follow in her example as such.

I take solace in the fact that things have definitely gotten better. So I say to you, there is a lot of pain to be found in life; sadness, tragedy, and injustice abound; but will you live life one day at a time hoping and working to make each day better or will you lay your soul to die when you quit the hope of a better life?

I have hurt inside; we all do, in varying degrees. My pain is no stronger, stranger, or sadder than yours. It is painful to me as yours is painful to you. But the beauty in the human spirit is that I will never give up the pursuit of being a better, happier, kinder, and more helpful human being and in the process, reap the rewards of mending my broken heart and healing old wounds, even when they reopen from time to time.

I hold your hand and I tell you, It Gets Better. One Day at a Time.

Hunger

This is hard to share because there’s a certain shame and stigma to going through this in a first world country, but it’s important to know that it happens, here in our country, and that it is more pervasive that we like to admit.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I had you Bella, it was so hard to leave you. You were such a little thing, born a bit early; you weighed 5 lbs. and 8oz. When you would curl up your tiny limbs up to your chest, you could easily fit inside a shoe box. How could I leave you? I only had six weeks with you before it was time for me to go back to work and when I went back that first day I couldn’t help it; the tears kept streaming down my cheeks and it hurt so bad to be away from you. I had taken one of your undershirts with me to work so I could smell your scent while I was away but it only made my emotions come tumbling down and the sobs rise in me uncontrollably.

I didn’t have to be away from you for long.

That week I went to a doctor’s appointment and they told me, “Congratulations, you are pregnant.” The doctor didn’t see you on the floor in your car seat and when he saw my shocked face and his eyes fell upon you, he understood. He was very kind and recounted a personal story of not being able to have children with his wife and how I would see how very lucky I was to have you both down the line. What a wise man indeed. 🙂

I gave my notice at work the following day and decided to stay home with you because the health insurance would be more affordable if I didn’t work and we only had one income in the family.

But times were lean.

When Iza came smiling into the world, I couldn’t imagine a life without the two of you. My two little joys, my two angels. No love had ever felt truer, clearer, or everlasting. What startling beauty I found in your little faces.

But times were lean and nobody knows how difficult times were back then.

We lived in a tiny converted basement that was damp all of the time and made Iza chronically sick. We would make weekly visits to the emergency room during her first months of life because her asthma and symptoms were so severe. I couldn’t sleep; I was so paranoid that I would collapse in exhaustion and not hear the awful purring sound coming from her chest. I slept with you, Bella, next to me and Iza on my chest so I could help her breathing fall into my own rhythm.

It was hard. But we found beauty in everything we rested our gaze on. When I took the two of you for long walks around the city, I pointed to the flowers and taught you the name to each one, I showed you my favorite buildings downtown, and hours later when we made our way back home, you were in a peaceful sleep and I comforted myself with the fact that you knew no better.

But the walks back were torture for me. Before I climbed up the steep hill, pushing and pulling the double stroller you and Iza lay in, we would stop by at the corner grocer’s market. I would pull out my change which I had previously exactly accounted $4.25. And I would make it stretch; measuring out exactly the amount of chicken, potatoes, tortillas, and a carrot or two that I would be making the following few meals with.

The grocer would “forget” to charge me for an item or two and try to give me change back. I would object but he would plead me to accept it with his eyes, and it was easier to relent than to look into his face full of sadness for me.

Once we were at the top of the hill, I would carry you on my left hip, pick up Iza and hoist her on my right hip, lean far back to balance the two of you without waking you, and fold the stroller with my right arm and leg, and carefully walk down the steps to our home. When I would lay you on our bed, I would stand there and look at the two of you and take in your perfect features, your smooth foreheads free of worry and the aches in my bones and pain in my heart would dissipate.

When dinner was done, I would serve the two of you and make sure I rationed and set aside the following meals in the fridge. Bella, you were so independent at such a young age that you would feed yourself in your high chair at just shy of a year old. You were such a neat lovely little eater. Such a good little loving companion.

And soon our home would fill with stillness; he would sit and eat his dinner without a word. His sadness was deeper than mine; I could never touch it. I would hold his handsome face in my hand and turn it up towards me, caress the stubble on his strong jaw and run my thumb lightly on his lips. But his eyes were so full of pain and defeat that I could never reach him.

The days got leaner and soon enough our daily fried potato tacos with cheese would become boiled potatoes and tortillas, with the vegetables saved for the two of you. And that’s when we would start to go for long walks that always seemed to end at grandma’s house right around dinner time. To keep her from realizing what was going on, I would feign that I was full. While you two ate with my parents and siblings, I avoided looking at the food and chatted excitedly with everyone, trying hard to keep my mind focused elsewhere. We would say our goodbyes and most of the time they would insist we stop by the following day if we were free and a weight on my chest would be released as I secured your meals for another day.

I can’t shake that empty feeling in my stomach, that gnawing hunger that clawed at my insides. Or the shame that I wish I could unhinge from my chest and lay it to rest. The two of you never went hungry; I always made sure the two of you were never acquainted with hunger.

We are at such a better place now; the three of us, but I can’t shake it, a sense of failure permeates my thoughts when I remember what now feels like a past life.

I will always make sure that the two of you never know hunger; whether it is for nourishment, affection, or love. I pinky promise, and we never break those. 🙂

Thing of Beauty

Thing of beauty, you catch my eye and tantalize me with your ethereal quality; remind me that of what was lacking in my childhood, can be mine today.

You have a lulling power over me, draw me in and captivate me with your undulating waves. The sun glimmering in the water playfully winks at me. I look out onto the beach and see dozens of people sprawled about so casually, seemingly taking it for granted.

I inhale a sharp breath as the beauty around me is so attainable and unending that it pains me. I feel it inside me, calling to me, daring me to step closer.

In the water I feel alone, the only one in this universe. I feel clean and washed of earthly worries and filth. I am buoyed out to the sea and I am careful not to struggle. If I lay very still and relaxed I will remain above it all. I will not plunge into the darkness beneath me. I open my eyes and I am blinded by the sun urging me to stand, to swim, to move and live. It burns me into reaction and I dive into the waves and swim back to shore.

The beauty of it all, the sweet call of merciful sleep is a melancholy melody that I try to ignore. The whisper of the promise of a kind farewell caresses my ear, tugging gently but urgently.

And I stand there in awe of this amazing body of water that waits for me to give into its cocoon of certain fate.

But it calls me no more. It is but a gorgeous thing to admire but keep at a safe distance, to guard my children from it. I only let the waves lick at my heels as I firmly grasp my children’s hands as they frolic with joy. I am unflinching and distrustful. I know its pull and power over me is still there, under the surface, waiting for the moment when I blink and it tries to take everything from me.

Beauty that slips between my fingers, beautiful surrender with a hideous force masked under those radiant waves. Thing of beauty, you call to me no more.

Never Thought I would Lose you

I will always be grateful to you — Happy Times

We understood each other from the first moment we sat down to talk. You took me in as your own daughter and never questioned the love you had for me. It was almost painful to be around you at the beginning, I felt foolish and incompetent, unfit to receive the love in your eyes. But I was drawn to you like a bee to honey, I felt safe and accepted. Slowly I stopped flinching and tensing when you drew me in for a hug and a kiss.

I treasured our outings for brunch, shopping, and long talks. I looked forward to seeing you every Sunday to chat about the week, the girls, news or silly Hollywood gossip. I felt so normal when I was with you. As if I was living episodes from an early 50’s sitcom. And yet it felt so real, with your encouraging words pushing me forward to reach my potential, to see myself for who I really was and not as a product of where I came from. You inspired me, you continue to inspire me with everything you accomplished, a real self-made woman.

I loved you so much, and because of that love, I continued on a path that I should have veered off long ago, years ago. I put up with personal unhappiness so that I could continue to be in your light, so that I could feel the warmth of your love and smile.

The love you gave me, the love and unselfish welcoming you gave the girls and I, is one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.

I kept working towards professional success because I had you as a real life role model leading the way with your kind words and your kind eyes. I never had to tell you about my personal scars and emotional turmoil because you knew, you’d been there too. I never felt so connected to someone nor as validated by someone’s belief in me. I began the process of self-love as you broke through my many layers of self-loathing and stubborn belief that I deserved my past.

I can’t even write how I feel, what you made me feel, without sounding choppy and restricted. You are so special to me that I feel that with each word that I write, a bit of you escapes from my heart. But deep down I knew that it couldn’t last, that even I, who grew up thinking I could always just “get through it”, could no longer stay where I was just to continue calling you family.

It has been the most painful event in my life to lose you. And no one knows. I kept it strapped deep down in the back of my throat, swallowing it down each time it threatened to undo my self-control and break me down into a ball of grief.

I lost someone again without being able to say goodbye. Without any words of explanation though you needed none, you knew why, and I think you were happy that I reached that decision based on the happiness of my most loved ones. But I have not shed a tear for you, I have not allowed myself that luxury because I won’t be able to hold back. It catches me at the oddest moments. I can be driving on the highway by myself and my shoulders will start shaking, the pain running up my spine like a cold shiver. And when I feel a taste of the excruciating pain lurking within me I quickly take a deep breath to recapture it in my chest securely.

But it goes as quickly as it comes and I remind myself that I am incredibly fortunate to have had you at all. You showed me what kind of self-respect, love, compassion, and kindness exists not only in a human being but in a relationship as well. You made me see, by example, never by lecturing me, that I was not broken, that I was not a lost cause. You helped me see the strength I had all along, the resilience I had shown in getting through yesterday, and the undeniable statement that I would be happy and successful in every way.

Some day I will allow myself to think of you uninterruptedly. When I am alone, I will find a quiet desolate place, where the wind can carry my voice onto nothingness and only the leaves will whisper the echo of my cries. I will give full reign to the pain within and howl at the moon about my loss. And I will feel relieved as I exhale the emotions out of my soul but I fear the emptiness that might replace it.

You were my mother on all accounts, you carried me through terrible times, and you taught me to look at my blood not with contempt or anger, but with kindness and forgiveness.

I never thought I’d lose you, not because I thought you were mine, but because I never thought I’d have the strength to walk away.

Little Man

I saw you grow from a small scared child cowering by the door,
Anxiously looking back and forth for acceptance before setting foot inside.
Endless nights filled with terrifying cries from your nightmares,
Some past reality on replay in your mind
You shook like a leaf and held on for dear life to our bed post,
You abhorred the darkness and begged for light, begged to stay by our side

Slowly you grew and you found your place
We loved you greatly Little Man
Part of us like any other
I saw your fears start to wane and a smile crept in its place
Mischievousness replaced uncertainty

But it lasted briefly
We let the past take hold again
Thought we did the right thing,
The compassionate and proper thing,
But we didn’t shield you as we should have.
If only we had followed what our heart urged all along,
If only we had not failed you Little Man.

So distant and detached
You have become another
Not my Little Man
Lost and floating you seem to travel though this city
All Faded you claim

Come forward from your haze
Break though the heavy drapes of apathy

Bring you near once more
Shake you awake and make you see
Who you are,
Who you Are Not
You could be anyone and anything
That doesn’t end here, it truly only begins to be your time

If only you could see what I see in you
What lies within you trying to break through
You medicate your soul to keep the pain at bay
The hardness in your eyes does not fool me
I know how it hurts
And I want to be there for you
Little Man

I want to see you smile once more
The hope fill your face with future dreams
Fulfilled by you
Deserved by and preserved for you
Lying in silence
Until you awake
Little Man

Escape to College

“You have to write an essay about college and what you think you need to get into one.” Mr. Escobar was writing furiously on the board. There were three columns ‘community college’, ‘cal state school’, and ‘UC’s’. “What about private schools Mister?” “What do you know about private schools Lorena?” “Like Harvard and Yale or Georgetown, what if we plan on going to a private school?” “Don’t worry about private schools, you can’t afford them. Focus on high school before you get married.”

I drowned him out and started thinking about what the requirements were to get into each school system. The library at school didn’t have anything about colleges, it didn’t seem to get used either. Instead of walking home I headed over to Malabar library and started pulling out the college prep books. An hour later I ran home with essay in hand.

Shit… As I got closer I could already feel his daggers sinking into my skin. My tio was standing by the gate with a beer in hand, blocking the entrance. Beer cans were all over the front garden and steps. Mi Apa was leaning on the fence with his head back beer to his lips. He gulped it down and before he could squeeze it and throw it aside, my tio handed him another Bud Light.
I hated it when they drank in front of the house. That’s why I never invited anyone over, why couldn’t they drink in the back?

“Hola tio. Hola papi.” “Saluda a tu tio bien, ven para aca.” I walked back and gave my uncle a quick hug, trying to mask my disgust.

“Donde estabas?” “En la biblioteca, tenia que escribir-” “Ve ayudale a tu madre!”

I ran up the stairs and went inside. My mother was in the kitchen heating up the food cursing my uncle for making my father drink, as if he had to be persuaded! She looked up just as I walked by. “Where were you?!” “I went to the library. I had homework.” “Get the table ready and take off your uniform.”

I cleaned the table, took out the salsa and started warming up tortillas. “Go call your father to dinner.”

“Papi, ya esta la cena. Papi, ya esta servido sus platos.” “Huhhh. Hmmm!”

All he could fucking do after so many beers was grunt like a stupid animal.

As they finally pulled themselves away from their beer they sauntered over to the table. I tried to sneak back into my room but my uncle pulled my arm and told me to sit next to him. I hated that fucking smell. He placed his arm around me and asked me about school.

“Para que tienes que ir a la bibliotheca? Aqui tienes todo lo que necesitas para hacer tu tarea.” My dad pointed to his head.
“Pero no tenemos computadora para el internet papi.” “No necesitas internet, cuando yo era nino yo aprendi todo mientras que trabajaba en las cosechas.”

Always going on about he was so smart in school and how he learned everything faster and how he had to do it all while he worked in the farm and missed four months of school during the crop season. He could never say anything good about me, neither one of them. If Mexico was so fucking great, what were we doing here? Why hadn’t he gone beyond the 3rd grade?

“Que Buena esta la comida Maria.” “Gracias Jorge.”

“Esta mierda? Si no vas a cocinar bien, ya te dije que no cocines!”

“Yeah whatever.” My mom got up to clear her dish. “Can’t even talk with your stupid crooked mouth. You look so ugly when you‘re drunk.”

My father got up, grabbed his hot plate and threw it at my mom, beans and hot pieces of meat flying all over my mother’s face.
“Pinche babosa! Callate la boca!”

My father’s eyes were opened wide full of rage. They seemed to change color when he snapped, his bloodshot eyes bulging out and his eye brows two angry lines cut into his face.

I got up and stood between them. I started to clean up and I could see him swaying over me unsure of what to do before he walked to his bedroom and slammed the door so hard that the veneer cracked.

My tio got up and muttered an apology before he scurried off.

My mother started crying uncontrollably about what a miserable asshole he was so I led my younger siblings into their room.

“It’s okay mom. He doesn’t deserve you. You deserve so much better. Just ignore him, he’s drunk.”

“Why does he always have to call me names? I told him so many times to not call me stupid! He’s stupid, he couldn’t live without me. When I leave then who’s stupid!”

“Mami, we CAN leave. We can live in an apartment and we would do all of the cooking and cleaning. You could go back to school and take computer classes and you could get an office job like you wanted. If you got a divorce we would go with you and help you mami. We don’t need the house and we could be happy.”

When she looked at me I knew that I had gone too far. She would never leave him. She would never be able to walk out the door.

“I stay with him for you guys. For my kids, that’s why I stay. So you can have a family and have a better life.”

“Yes mami, I know. I love you. Do you want to sleep in my bed? I can sleep on the sofa.”

I finished cleaning the dishes as she went off to my bed and I felt a huge lump of guilt bobbing up and down on my throat. What if he heard me? I should have known. She would never leave.