Being alone to yourself affords the opportunity, or should I say renders our emotions, some that we struggle with and others we fondly remember. I've had a head start with my isolation and my thoughts as I was forced to stay inside due to an accident back in September of 2018. With my head, neck, and spine injuries I really didn't have many opportunities to do anything expect labor in pain. I still deal with it and it's a very slow recovery, but most of these problems remain.
For the times I've been able to think clearly I've recounted many memories and how the influence of our parents shapes us - sometimes in a positive way and others in a negative. I can say outright, for the most part, I'm proud of my parents - not to say they didn't have their faults; one more so than the other, but when it was all said and done, in the end, they both made me proud that I'm their child. No matter how hard we try though, we are reflections of our parents and those things are what I reflect on now. Though my parents are gone, I carry their likeness; spirited, sinful, regretful, wishful, benevolent, apprehensive, loving, but always ready to learn and grow; willing to become a more whole version of them both.
So I will expound on how they shaped my life and the life of my siblings as often as I can, just bear with me as I'm still dealing with my injuries.
My father was an ex-Marine and in the Korean war for a short time; he was discharged but for the life of me I can't remember why. I'm sure being a Marine and being in the war shaped his outlook on life and how he valued it, though I would have to say his upbringing was even more traumatic. Being a Marine definitely made him hide his emotions and become a very strict father - the opposite of what his father was and it made us fear him greatly - though he did have his playful and reflective moments with us as children growing up.
The one thing I'll say for the moment his childhood years were wrought with difficulty and sadly at the hands of his grandmother on his mother's side. As a kid, he grew up on the farm and in the summertime, he picked cotton in the fields - very hard work. He was born in a small farming town of Simonton, Texas, about 40 or so miles Southwest of Houston, Texas. As he would tell it, from picking cotton all day his fingers would be all cut and bloody from the hard husks of the cotton, sore and tired and then would be punished by a grandmother who didn't like him because he was very dark-skinned. In fact, his grandmother would call him the equivalent of the "n" word but in Spanish; she called him her "little n" to be exact because he was so dark. This infuriated him to no end and he ended up hating her because of it. His sense of justice sparked him to retaliate quite frequently despite being on the losing end every time. One day already angered by the maltreatment by her, he decided to make her pay indirectly by disobeying her as he was told to take some water out to his Tios to drink (uncles in English) in the fields. Well, he was going to show her as soon he was out of her eyesight - they had acres of land and he had to cross a creek to get the water to his uncles. Well, before he arrived he dumped the water out and then made up a story as to why it was empty. Once word got back to his grandmother she punished him by making him sleep outside without any food to eat - his younger sister sneaking tortillas in her underwear so he wouldn't go hungry.
His father and mother eventually would move to Houston still a young boy though I don't recall how old he was, I do recall he had to quit the 6th grade to help his parents financially. At the age of fourteen, he helped physically build the house on the property they bought in Houston. He came from a family of seven children, (though he had half brothers and sisters from a prior and later marriage) being the third in line, and for some reason ended up being the most responsible out of his siblings and the one whom his father loved most. He told us he loved boxing growing up as a kid - so much so when an adult he had a tattoo made of a baby with boxing gloves and a lock of hair on top of its head with the above inscription of "Chino". My father was Mexican American and I'm sure something else, but he never told us or maybe I just don't remember. Of course, we had to ask what "Chino" meant even though we are Hispanic my parents never taught us Spanish (I'll tell you later why) and he said they called him "Chino" because when he was young he had curly hair.
Well anyway, back to his time in the Marines. He used to tell us that while in training they would have them swim with all their gear on their backs for strength and stamina; sadly he said a few died drowning, not having the strength to stay above the water with all that on them. He said the sergeants would get their minds ready for combat and how to view the enemy. They would chant: "What is an ambush? Killing! What is killing?! Killing is fun!" They would repeat that over and over until it was etched in their minds. Also, when someone was out of line, they would punish the whole troop and told us of two ways I guess he hated most; one way was they would make them hold out their arms straight out and then would place their rifles on the tips of their fingers and they had to hold it for many long grueling minutes - which was extremely hard and painful to do. Another way was they would make them put on all their gear and "duck walk" for miles. Other than that, he rarely spoke about the war - he didn't like to. He did say how cold the Korean winters were as they were in tents and had to wash their face in freezing water with temperatures at -15 below zero and how one of the soldiers gave up his life by jumping on top of a grenade, saving him and others. But other than that, he didn't say much about the war, though he did have a few pictures of him at the barracks and a couple with his troop that my mother kept.
My mother's life was even more fascinating - at least it was to me. Just to give you an idea but not all the detail; the state took her from her mother at the age of eight, she wanted to be a nun, grew up in a home in Waco and forgot how to speak Spanish, loved sewing and created a stitch that is used all over the world (the teacher stole it from her and sold her creation), her father was a rich man but she never got a cent. Well, I hope all of you are doing as well as can be expected during this trying time. As my mother always used to tell me and it's become part of my personality - "Don't worry about things you can't control." - so don't worry, this will pass and things will get better. Until next time.
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