We found Senior year in the US to be a year of frenzied activity for the student as well as the immediate parent(s), usually the mother. It still is, except the frenzied activity now starts early in junior year, if you hope to snag a meaningful scholarship in a meaningful college/university for your child or grandchild. There was no indication for me as to what my future would hold. In essence, the responsibilities the foster parents had, technically ended at graduation from HS. However, in many (most) cases, the bond which had formed between foster family and exiled child, had become strong enough for the families to try and do their utmost to offer one last bit of support, which could be in the form of some college tuition help or, as it had been planned in my case, the consecution of a work/study scholarship in a catholic college. Unbeknownst to me, Mr. C. had approached Portland University, his Alma Mater, in order to secure such a benefit. And, apparently, after taking into consideration all circumstances, they had given in. But, as had happened in Cuba, I never knew about this option until choices had been already made and committed to.
I had answered the letter from my father some 3 weeks after I had received it, establishing a small opening to further news. I had been lucky. As a child, after my parents had divorced, we went to live with my grandparents and my grandfather became my day-to-day father; also, the society in which I was raised was a pretty closed one. My hometown was a traditional town, dating back to the late 1700’s and many of the families went back 8+ generations. Small town big hell; everyone knew everyone else and, even though the town had around 100K people, you could not go very far without running into someone who knew your family. In this environment, it was customary that in case of a divorce, this issue was never talked about. The guilty party (usually the father) simply disappeared from life, as if written off by the elders. The only evidence of that person passing through the mother’s family would be the child (or children) left behind… pretty difficult to make them go away… When I say I was lucky is because, even within these parameters, no one in my family ever spoke badly about my father and, as a result, I was not predisposed against him. So I was able to, eventually, sit and answer the letter, allowing for the possibility of establishing communication.
A couple of weeks had passed and I had pushed aside the letter and the new contact with the other wing of my family; I really did not know anyone from my father’s side; as far as I was concerned, my family tree only had branches on the one side (well, genetics was not my forte…). But, for now, all attention was placed on the beginning of the senior year at school and we (the Cuban gang) had prepared just the party to celebrate that start.
Hector, Manny, Roberto, Nelson and his brother, Jorge and his sister; Yara, Rebecca, Cecilia, and yours truly (and, I’m sure, someone whose name escapes me now) decided that a small bash, along with some friends (especially boyfriends and girlfriends) and the rest of the families’ brothers and sisters, who could show up, would be a nice send off for the summer. Of course, the menu was very simple: lots of records, Coca-Cola and root beer, chips and dip, and my favorite: oven roasted mix of peanuts, small pretzels and other goodies, with lots of salt… A big deal was a complete three ice cream Sundae (did I mention that diet was not a concern then?) and this was usually served towards the end of the party; sort of a: “well folks, it’s getting late!!”. We did have a simpler view of life then, much different from the view of succeeding generations. But even with the (relatively lax) supervision from the adults, we still managed to steal a kiss or two (or three) from our girl, hold hands and just enjoy the company and the time we had together.
We were given certain choices at the beginning of the year, as to what would be our load, assuming the basic R’s had been covered. This was also a new thing for us. In the system under which we had studied before, the full academic load from grade one through graduation from HS, was decided by the national dept. of education. This included all topics and the academic years in which they had to be taken; the only choice we could actually make was whether we would graduate from HS with a science related degree, or a liberal arts degree. This choice was made at the end of the 3rd year of HS (out of 5) and it was predetermined by the road you wanted to follow in life. Teachers, would be writers, and “free” thinkers (Boy! Little did these know!) would opt for the liberal arts road, while the ones thinking about being an MD, a mathematician, or any sciences related career, would opt for the science related degree. Then there were the nerds of the time, who would take on a double load and graduate with both degrees. Had life been different, I would have been headed for the sciences degree since my field of interest at the time was medicine.
Getting back to Richland, we loaded on the courses we all needed since the eligibility of transcripts from Cuba for credit was very limited, and many of us were doing 3 years in the span of 2. I remember French, English writing, math at 2 levels and American history. I’m sure there was one other one, but I can’t place it now. And, of course, Homeroom. The most important period of the day…a lot of homework got done in this hour. Also, a lot of gossip went around.
The first half of the senior year was good; and not that the second half was not good, but by then circumstances would begin to bring on many decisions and other family (mine) issues which we would be requiring attention.
Basketball season started. I remember that at the time we were at ColHi, this was a basketball school; there were no other sports which would grab our time and attention in the same manner. With Ray leading his gang, the basketball front five and the all important bench would make itself felt as local champs (much to the consternation of then eternal and bitter rival, Pasco HS) and then at state tournament time, where second place (If my memory serves me) would eventually be ours, and I was there to see it (that is, in Seattle).
My lady’s name was (still is, I truly hope!!) Tresha. I met her during the summer and then once the school year began, we became “an item”, and we lasted –albeit with some ups and downs- through the year, into the summer and until the day I left Richland. Many beautiful memories of our relationship and yet, there are also some bittersweet ones. I hope she has had a full and rewarding life…
More on this and other memories tomorrow…
Be well; Bye!
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