One of the things quickly learned in this wonderful market oriented society of ours is that, once Thanksgiving Turkeys are finally digested (including leftovers, etc.) then it is just a short head slide into Christmas. Suddenly, it really hit each of us that this was to be the first Christmas spent irrevocably away from home. Actually, is like a bug that begins to gnaw at your insides, but you don’t really know what it is that is bothering you. There were then so many things going on at once, that the focus was on the many issues and not the upcoming holiday.
It wasn't until caroling set in (back then, there was an identifiable division of time between holidays) and your classmates and friends started talking about gift exchanges and party invitations that one began to identify that little bug chewing at your insides. If I am to be honest in what I am writing, it has to be said here that Christmas has never been the same for me since I left my family’s home; the familial environment, the traditions, and all that it had made the holiday what it was, no longer existed after my becoming an exile. Only for a number of years while my own children were growing up, did I allow myself to truly participate in the preparations and the general yuletide feeling. More for their sake than my own. Back then in ’62 and for a couple of years thereafter, Christmas holidays were a depressing issue. Eventually, it would become again a more festive occasion but it truly never regained the emotional status it had before. I do not refer to the “meaning” of the holiday from a spiritual point of view; this has never changed nor will it. Just to the emotional and personal side of it.
We were barreling into the holiday week and it was a truly grand spectacle in our home and all around town. Everyone was excited; from the little ones looking forward to Santa’s arrival, to the older ones trying to figure out if the budget would allow for some of the more awaited gifts to actually come to them. As for me, there really was a minimal budget with which to work (it was called an "allowance" then) and it did not allow for too much. It was agreed that only the adults in the family would actually give presents, while we received and shared. I do not remember what it was I received; most likely, some form of clothing since my foster parents were very practical and there were too many of us to do any extravagant gifting. And the cold!!! None of us had ever been in such cold and, as Mr. C. would say with his usual dry humor: -“Just wait until the real winter sets in!!” Unfortunately, he was right.
We went to Mass regularly at Christ the King, where we were also living through the catechism classes one night a week (I think it was one night, although sometimes it felt like one week in a night). And I mean “live through”. We actually fell asleep many times; in the winter because of the heat and in the summer, because we were tired from all of the day’s doings. Most times, because it was made into a very boring exercise.
-“Rafael, qué haces?” I would recognize the voice of Hector behind me. He and Manuel were “sharing” foster parents, and they lived only a couple of blocks away from us. The usual teenage answer of all times… -“nada, y tú?” –“Nothin’ and you?” –“why don’t we go over to the house?”
There were about 6 of us who lived within walking distance from each other so that, during the first few months, we would often meet at one of the houses. These were times to vent frustration at the language, or at things and rules we still did not understand or to simply sit back and give support to one another.
That first Christmas was specially bittersweet. I am not going into the details, since these have already been touched upon. Too many memories were then too fresh still in our minds and hearts. Our families and peer groups did all they could to try and soften this impact, while understanding this was a daunting task. We are ever grateful for the understanding and for all the support they gave each of us. Most knew when to come forward and when to hold back, which is just as important.
In truth, I do not remember much about the Christmases spent in Richland; not because these memories are blocked away and not because my foster family would not do all in their power to include me; these celebrations just had no room in my heart at that time and I (as well as most of us probably) simply went through the motions.
Eventually we would all become one of the guys and/or girls in the school. There were activities and clubs to join: debate for some, French for others, International Society for most, Student Committees, and sports. I joined the Richland Swim team, since this had been my sport for most of my life in Cuba. We did OK, winning gold in some races. Then there were boy and girlfriends to have and with whom to share our time and emotions... More on this aspect of our lives on another occasion. In all, we became typical American teens.
What greater compliment to a host country, city and school than to be able to say that a group of kids from a different part of the world, who spoke a different language and were brought up in a different culture, were, through the collective efforts of its members –students, teachers, neighbors and host families- successfully incorporated into the mainstream of its society.
As I sit here and think back, there are many memories which are not as clear as others. I try to pick some of the people who were part of our everyday life; some are ever present but with others, is not as easy. There were just too many people involved; in fact, a whole damn town did its best to make sure we were OK.
What should I pick for the next post? Perhaps summer 1963. Our first summer in Richland, our first summer job ever…
Bye…See ya!!
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