What we can be

My sister Dalia. My stepmother Vilma. Both speak fluent Spanish. Both have similar muscular builds, albeit Vilma was a ballerina for most of her life performing Internationally, while Dalia has the body of a gymnast. I think she was a gymnast for awhile but my Father realized she wasn’t talented enough so he promptly cancelled her lessons. Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? If my son does poorly at something I’ll take him out before he realizes or worse the other kids ride him for it. Unless he really likes it. Then let him keep going but encourage him to participate in other activities hoping we hit something he truly excels at. The point of this is to help the boy find what he’s good at. What he’s great at. It’s a wonder my parents did not have that philosophy with me. I played base ball. I was put on a team. Correction. My Mother paid money for me to be on a team with a bunch of other boys in Dade County. I played right field. I dropped balls, struckout, ate all the deep dish Pizza Hut pizza during victory meals (which were few). I was wasting their money. Still, year after year, in I went.
If I could pick what my son will be great at I would choose the power to fly. I understand, ‘what someone could be great at,’ and ‘bending the laws of physics’ are two different things, but I always wanted to fly and maybe he’d like it too. Continue reading What we can be


Jared and Rafael. A boy and his Uncle. Boy, listen good. If I should die and this man marry’s your Mother. Read Hamlet, then proceed accordingly. Rafael really knows that this man is his blood. See that warm/fear oozing off his gaze? Son, the man in front of you used to pin me down with my arms by my sides, his huge thighs crushing my 3 1/2 year younger body, and let spit fall into my mouth.
Jared, when you have a kid, mine will be older and that is all I have to say regarding that subject.
The pool in the background is my fathers. He cleans it regularly so it’s perfect for any morning swims, afternoon dips, and evening dive’s. And diving is what you will be doing cause what you can’t see in the picture is the enormous hornet nest in the bushes beyond. Those little war-mongers once kept me in the pool for over three hours in the blazing Florida sun. Only my mouth exposed from the water so I could breathe.


PhotobucketHe found the place where desire meets capabilities. Saw my hat on a chair (adjacent to the couch). Was holding onto the couch with one arm, standing, facing my hat. He wanted that hat. That filthy black tooque I got three winters ago. One foot forward then another then another then victory. You could tell he was getting off on walking (squealing and banging his fists when he reached the other side). It’s life. It’s lovely. It means I’ll have to be that much quicker to catch his mistakes unlike this morning when he promptly banged on a wooden 2X4 we keep above our radiator to keep shit on, which catapulted a glass vase across the living room floor. It was like Braveheart except with me in the movie, in one of those enormous football field battles, cleaning up with a broom and dustpan.