Bleeding Perseverance - Episode 5

Autobiography Fridays

Perhaps another reason Daniel and I didn’t get it as much during the beginning was because we were having occasional visits with Sandra and Dow. I think Child Protective Services suggested this to help us with our transition.

Around this time I learned that our former “Mommy‟ and “Daddy‟ were pushing to adopt Daniel. Not me, just him. They claimed it was because he was younger and therefore easier to handle. But some in my family thought it was because he appeared more Caucasian, while I was darker. I personally believe it was a mixture of the two. Having Daniel and not me meant not having to explain the obvious. The little brown boy stood out, while Daniel fit right in. Of course who stands in front of a mirror and admits to having a little racism in ‟em? They may truly have believed that was not the case at all, but there are many people out there who are unaware of their subconscious prejudices. I didn’t know for sure, but something inside was telling me it was more than just an age difference.

At any rate, I didn’t really care. This was before the abuse kicked in for all of us, so I had not yet gotten to the point of wanting to be anywhere but home. Mom sure didn’t let it go though. Sandra and Dow’s request was denied. And by the summer of 1984 we had completely lost touch with them.

That apartment on South Hunter was the first time I remember experiencing poverty. (Since my memories before Sandra and Dow were completely random ones) Being on welfare, Mom got paid on the first of each month. The first couple of days were always nice. Plenty of food. Eating out on payday. Maybe even a toy or a movie. But soon after the first week it was always time to start scraping by.

Often hungry, hardly ever full, school lunch was always our favorite time of the day. Chino and I went to the same school, El Dorado Elementary. I was doing my second year in the third grade. I’m not sure why they held me back, but I do remember having some speech problems. Back in Ceres, they’d sometimes pull me out of class to have individual lessons. The one troublesome area I remember the most was with my R’s. I couldn’t properly say words like pearl. After age eleven, my speech was fine.

Being hungry meant being happy at lunch. Besides hoping for seconds, we’d go around to the other students and ask, “leftovers…?” or “you gonna eat that?” Chino claims I was worse than him. Long gone were the days in Ceres when I use to take my lunch to school in my Fall Guy or Dukes of Hazard lunch boxes.