I had, I think, a first grade education before I came to the mainland. I used to go to school in the campo. When Mom left, my sister and I stayed with my grandmother who lived in the country. I walked about four or five miles to school, which was a one room school house, without the same facilities you have now. The school had an outhouse. One day, I had to go to the bathroom. I raised my hand and the teacher said, Jose, que pasa? And I didn't know how to say it, I just said, Missy, Miss (Spanish). Literally, I said, "I gotta go take a piss." And she said, "Jose, you don't say that." "How do you say it?" You say, "Miss, tengo que ir a fuera (Spanish)?" "Miss, I have to go out." "Really? OK."
So that day, I said I have to go out, I went, used the outhouse, came back. I had three cousins who were in the class with me. We got together and came up with a little plan. The four of us asked to go out, and the teacher said it was OK. We went to the river, which was across the street and went swimming, then came back. We just had a little side trip.
I stayed with my Grandmom for about a year. And even though that took place when I was three or four years old, it is as clear in my mind as if it was yesterday. And I would give an arm and a leg to have those times come back.
Everything was so pure. We were, however, very very poor. I mean you couldn't be any poorer than we were. grandma's house had a dirt floor. My bed was a hammock, hamaca and so was the bed of my other four or five uncles. And to take a bath-- there was only one place you could go--to the river.
I had certain chores in the house, some of which I didn't like. For example, whenever Grandmom was going to cook anything that had to do with eggs, like fry eggs, she would say Jose, I need five, six, whatever number of eggs, go get them. On my way to get the eggs, I would plan out--I guess that's where my planning skills came in--how on earth am I going to outfox a chicken? If you've lived on a farm, you know that when a chicken lays eggs, it guards those eggs with her life. How am I going to have the chicken leave the nest so that I can grab the eggs and go? Sometimes I was quick enough, sometimes I wasn't. And I got clucked at and pecked by the chicken many times.
If I wanted to eat a fruit, I climbed up a tree, got a mango, a guava, an orange, it was there. My Grandmother used to have a little patch of land where she was growing sweet potatoes, and pumpkins, and bananas? and plantanes?
One of my favorite things was at nighttime. At midnight, my four or five uncles and my great-grandfather and I would take a couple of buckets, a few kerosene lanterns, and a few machetes down to the river. Now, this was twelve o'clock at night and this was in the country, no electricity, the only light you had was the kerosene lamp. And we would go into the river, chest deep. At night, all the river life come out from under the rocks. At that time the river was a very healthy river. You would see big lobsters, and all kinds of fish. We would hold the kerosene lantern , There's one --slice it in half, put it in the bucket.
While we're doing that, my grandmother and my sister are back at the house. My grandmother had gone behind the house, cut off a big pumpkin from the pumpkin patch, sliced it all up, put it in the pot, and as she's boiling the pumpkin, we come by with all the lobsters. She had this real special sauce. We threw the lobsters into the pot which wasn't on a real stove, it was three big stones with coal and wood. At 2, 3 o'clock in the morning, we're sitting on the dirt floor eating calabiza (Spanish) with stewed lobster and telling stories about Juan Bobo (Spanish) you know, that kind of stuff. You don't see that today.
I went back about five, six years ago. The river is half dried, the
house where I used to live is now a business. But that life was so innocent
and so pure, you could sleep with your doors open. Not any more. Not any
more. Everything is so contaminated, crime is all over the place. I think
about those times often, and I say to myself I wish, I wish.
