1-2003
It was the summer of 1964 a couple of weeks before my third birthday. I was sitting outside on the stoop, daydreaming about my upcoming birthday, and wishing for a toy rifle. I was so young and innocent, oblivious to what life really was. A struggle, a constant struggle to survive. I was oblivious to the hatred that surrounded me in Queens New York. Not fully aware of myself nor of my role in this world. Not fully conscious. My genetically inherited personality traits were showing by now. I was extremely shy, and attached to my mother. I was afraid of being alone, and scared of the dark, and would cry uncontrollably for my mother in her absence. I was too young to know the difference between black and white, them versus us, we from them. The only thing I cared about was my family and my upcoming birthday.
We emigrated to the U.S. from Ecuador, just two months earlier, in the company of my Mother, two brothers and my sister. We left behind our beloved grandparents and all the aunts, uncles and cousins we adored. My Mother had never been separated from her family before but knew that she had to be strong and do what was best for her children. My Father had already made the sacrifice of leaving his wife and kids behind a year earlier while he searched for a new life for us in a foreign land, the United States of America. It was a humble time an innocent time a poor time long before I can remember.
As the whole family gathered in the airport to bid us farewell, the tears rained down their faces. My grandfather stood strong as always as we flew away to a land beyond the clouds, a land where dreams do come true. It was such a sad and painful goodbye for everyone, but as traumatic as this separation was, it wasn't enough to be my first memory. I had forgotten the life I left behind, my Grandparents, the mountains, and the happiness. I didn't even remember the airplane ride. Nothing. Not even a memory before that day on the stoop. Not even the day's in-between the stoop and my birthday. It was my third birthday that would be the beginning of time for me. The day I would come into this world. The day I always believed I was born. The day I became aware.
I looked so happy sitting there. Thinking about the one thing that would make me the happiest kid on earth, a Toy rifle. I didn't even realize I was in a new country, America. I was in The American Dream. That's what my parents wanted. My father had come a year earlier by selling what little he had left. He emigrated upon my mothers request, after she wrote a letter to my Uncle who was already here, asking him to help my father look for work so that he could save up enough money to send for his family. Eventually they would save enough money to bring their sisters also. In only a year, he had enough money to send for his wife and four kids. The sacrifice my parents made in order to give me a better life would not be understood until my third birthday.
My birthday was a great success. All the people I loved were there for me, along with some new people. I blew out the candles and got my wish. My eyes lit up as I pulled away the wrapping paper. I was indeed in a land where dreams come true, America. It wasn't the blowing out of the candles, nor the unwrapping of my beautiful rifle, but what follows is the moment I entered this world, my first memory, the instant I became aware, no memories before, except for that moment on the stoop. Space, time, and consciousness came into being for me. Soon it would all make sense. This is how I remember it.
"Pow Pow" " Pow Pow" I shouted, as I chased my beautiful three-year-old neighbor across the yard. We were so young and innocent. She was the Indian and I was the Cowboy. " Pow Pow" " Pow Pow" Running, and laughing, smiling, and giggling. Oblivious to everything but our game. Run little Indian run... I was so happy. It was my birthday and I finally got my toy rifle, I also had a beautiful new friend, actually she was my first friend. What more could a three year old boy want. I was in cloud nine, the American dream. I can still hear her laughter; it drowned out all other sounds, the birds, the cars, the people. Her laughter filled me with such joy. " Pow Pow" " Pow Pow " run little Indian, run little neighbor, run my little friend, laugh my little friend. As we ran across the yard I noticed an angry looking figure rushing towards us. As he got closer and closer I began to tremble. My heartbeat doubled, my body began to freeze, as his eyes locked on to mine. I could not move. I was so scared, everything was moving in slow motion. Tears running down my face, my body unable to move, unable to hear my cry, shivering with fear. What's happening? I was powerless to stop this force of nature, my destiny, my future. Suddenly I was alone. Stuck in a realm meant only for me. Stuck with a monster, or was it a man. Surrounded by this black void of nothingness, with only the sound of my heartbeat, pounding against this darkness, this evil, as it ripped the rifle from my hands.
" Don't you ever point a gun at my sister again you Fucking Spick!" He said, as he bashed my toy rifle over the swing set. My toy rifle, he's breaking my rifle into pieces. Spick? Life? Fear? Loneliness? Evil? Spick? Destiny? Pain? Spick? Spick? Spick???
"I don't ever want you playing with those Fucking Spicks again!" he said, as he dragged his little sister home. My friend, my beautiful little Indian. Goodbye my friend.
I was a three-year-old spick, in a world full of toy rifles, little Indian girls, and monsters. I was born that day, Alive! Conscious! And in Pain! My destiny my future, my pain.
Copyright 2009 David Yanez. All Rights Reserved.
