I always write with music. Sometimes when I write the words are too intense and they are moving faster in my head than my hands can keep up with and my body overfills with such intense emotion and explosiveness I have to take a break to dance. If I am in a coffee shop writing I close my eyes and choreograph moves in my head. This is one of those stories that has many dances -tears and smiles to go along with it.

written while listening to:

Preciosa by Marc Anthony

La Fiesta de Pilito by El gran Combo

Mi Gente by Hector Lavo

Puerto Rico by Eddie Palmeri

Sigo Siendo Yo  by Marc Anthony

 

 

My dad doesn’t understand what it means to get bad grades or not try hard because he came to the States when he was only six and had to ride a plane by himself because my grandma left la isla first and sent for him a few months later and he came to cold NewYork  where no one spoke Spanish and he had to learn English by watching tv and the teachers weren’t too keen on this Puerto Rican kid taking up room in the class and he would show them all and speak better than them and be smarter than them. My dad was at the top of his class by the time he graduated high school and this is the short version -the very short version.

We fill in the blanks over the years asking questions as life happens but this short version is the story he likes to tell to strangers when they ask or to us when we complain about being cold or tired or about mean teachers. Mean teachers? You don’t know mean teachers.

Everywhere my family goes people say oh wow such beautiful eyes and when they see dad has brown skin and green eyes they say are they real or how did that happen and sometimes people say oh wow you like like your dad and there are times people say: is that your dad? Are you adopted? is he your step dad? Is he black?

There is another story my dad likes to tell over and over again when I tell him people say am I adopted  and I learn to tell his story over and over again and  if anyone tries to think they know more than me on the topic I nod my head like a historian and wait my turn to speak before educating:  PuertoRican is a nationality not a race. You can be black and PuertoRican just like you can be black and  Jamaican or black Nigerian. PuertoRico is just an island filled with people of both anglo and black with Taino heritage . 

My dad has a big afro and green eyes and red brown skin and people like to talk to him wherever he goes and he likes to talk to people and sometimes they say wow you speak so well no accent. 

Sometimes people would say-why didn’t you teach your kids Spanish? And he would say well we are in the US and English is spoken here and when we go to grandma Delias house I wish and wish I was born speaking English and Spanish couldn’t but my dad taught us so many other things like how to draw and sports and helped us all night with science projects.

If we would ask our dad-why didn’t you teach us Spanish? He would mention this one kid from bible study who didn’t speak perfect English or perfect Spanish and sometimes spoke jibberish and if we ever spoke “baby talk” like coochie-coo-yaaaa-yaaaa to our little siblings he would say no baby talk speak to your sister the same as you speak to adults and he would go on and on about mastering languages and increasing vocabularies.  He loved speaking and public speaking and I thought he could easily  be a politician or professor  with his ideas and words and persuasiveness .

Dad skims over the part about what it was like to leave his siblings when we ask why didn’t your siblings  come to the states he just says well they were older and then switches to the next story about moving to Chicago and being the only PuertoRican kid in an all white neighborhood and how they ate rice and beans for years to buy their first two flat on Potomac street and it’s not until I’m twenty that I realized I picked up the art of changing the subject from my dad and  how to mesmerize an audience with a better story to avoid talking about painful things or to get out of a bind.

When we ask about his dad he says it was the best thing for his mom to do-to leave the island that back then you got married at 16 and she had four kids at such a young age after all- Some days he switches to a memory of his dad being so black he was blue and then gives his favorite  history lesson how PuertoRicans are Taino and African some and some days he speaks of Luis his step dad who is grandmas ex husband and lives in the basement and when we ask is he our grandfather since him and grandma are divorced he tells a story of how when he as nine he asked if he could switch his last name and Luis reminded him he has a father and told him to think about it and then we say we like our last name and we are so glad we are Marcanos and Dad talks about how we are a tribe-the Marcano tribe and how he we stick together –if one is weak we pull the other up we are a chain and how he would kill for us and we are family and there isn’t anything he wouldn’t give us and there isn’t anything we can not achieve but we have to stick together we are one. If you feel pain I feel pain. 

It’s not until I am twenty two and have my own son that I learn more but my dad hints and notice how he chooses his words wisely forgetting we use to play chess together when I was six.

During chess he would teach us his tricks-how to capture the queen in four moves and then one day he would see that we were making up our own tricks and he would see he taught us how and that we are using his skills against him to win and I SEE this same face on him when he talks about his childhood- he chooses his words carefully so I can’t read his mind and know the truth only he was the one who taught me how to sense things with my gut and to observes  body language to know when someone is telling the truth.

If the eyes go left you are reminiscing and if they go right you are inventing and he sees me see his eyes and he goes into news caster lecture mode- this is avoidance where you try on a different character and you act. My dad is acting with his words in a chess game way and he does it for my own good and for his own good and for my sons own good.

He says one day : I read this in a book you I think you should read it. And then he buys me the book on raising sons and he says and he says: I CANT STRESS this enough and I need you to listen-

unless the father is a serial killer and even if he is- sons will worship and idolize their fathers and BLAME their mothers for leaving. You are to do everything in your power to never bad mouth your sons father and you are to do everything in your power to be sure they have some kind of a relationship. Put your heart and ego aside and always do what is best for this young man right here in front of you. The same qualities that make leaders of companies make leaders of gangs if he is not nurtured in the right direction.

He puts on his chess face and pretends he is not talking about himself, he points to the book and shows me the page that he is not making this up for himself. He points his finger and nods his head and my gut says he is holding back anger and tears and rage and he is also praying at the same time and begging for me to not repeat mistakes others have made and that if I was going to follow any of his advice like don’t do drugs or wear provocative clothes this is the one lecture that I needed to listen to this is the one that can change history that can right wrongs that can change karmic cycles and patterns.

The anger dissipates as he focuses on his grandson breaking the cycle of keeping boys from fathers -breaking the curse of separation.His soul is begging- please help my grandson be a man and  know that there are things you can not give him because you are not a man-it will take a tribe to raise him and while you birthed him there is so much more he needs and he sees in my eyes that I am listening  as he watches my pain for my own struggles I am still able to smile and silently say I am sorry you were hurt to  my six year old dad the little boy on the island coming to the cold U.S.

And so it is.