In the Beginning..Part 2

As a child I really didn't see much wrong with my family life. I believed everyone lived with their grandmother, 3 uncles, 1 aunt and their mother. Everyone shared rooms and slept in the same bed as their grandmother. I never missed having a father, mainly because you could never miss what you never had.

Santurce, Puerto Rico. Photographer: Jack Delano 1942

We lived in a very humble neighborhood called "Playita", which roughly translates to the little beach. Essentially it was a little street with several man-made houses. All of the houses were made of concrete, oddly shaped and ceilings made a wavy aluminum. It was a true treat to hear raindrops fall whenever it rained. Till this day, the very sound makes me relive those days.

Our home was built by my grandfather. He was in the process of finishing up the wall when he suffered an aneurysm. My grandmother never had the courage to have anyone finish the house, so it remained unfinished until her death in 2002.

Mano a Mano lounge at ESJ Towers. Hotel where my mom worked for many years

The first years of my life were pretty normal by all standards. I grew up very close to my grandmother, mainly because she was my main care taker while my mother worked in the hotel industry in Isla Verde. My mom had studied communications in college and decided to become a switchboard operator. There were times that she would work 24 hours straight and I would not see my mother for days. Looking back, she was just trying to do the best she could with what tools she had available to her.

What was not so normal were the constant fighting and physical altercations in my household. Unfortunately being the only child in the house I not only witness all of these altercations but at times became the victim. My abuse came at the hands of my aunt, my mother's younger sister.

I belive now that most of my physical abuse by her hands were just an outcry of her own frustrations. But its hard to justify an adult beating a 2 year old. It took some time for my mom to realize what was going on due to her extensive work schedule and my ability to always be a silly kid. She recounts the story of my having episodes where I would just not want to play and claim I had a headache. At first she would find it comical that her 2 year old would ask her to leave her alone because of headaches, but it wasn't long before she realize that there was truth to my claims. On an off day from her job, my mom was brushing my hair, when I started to cry and claim that I had a "chichon" (bump) on my head. When she felt my head full of long black hair, she felt not only one but several bumps.

I recall only the screams and my mother on top of my aunt. Soon after we moved from my grandmothers into a one bedroom studio. This was only the beginning of our many moves.