There are people with whom, when one meets them, the bond is immediate. That night, in that small side room somewhere in Yakima, Washington, at the moment we both laughed at her remark, that bond was formed. I cannot say honestly that it was a perfect bond since there was much to learn about and to adjust to, but there was an immediate element of trust and considering the circumstances of our meeting, this would be plenty as a start point.
We finally boarded the “little bus” (dearly noted, a 1962 orange and white/cream VW bus) which would take us in a ride of two and a half hours from Yakima to Richland. It was now about 12:15 in the morning and we were all tired but, at the same time, excited about this new chapter in all our lives. For me, it would be a new family; for them it would be having a stranger in their midst, at least until we came to know each other better.
If you already have a large family that includes a husband and wife as well as 6 children of your own, ranging from ages 15 ½ (their oldest was basically a couple on months younger than I) to 1 ½ years, why would you go out and commit to have yet one more “child” to raise (albeit for a few years)? Especially when this strange person comes in with a language and cultural handicap? The answer is simple and transparent: this was a truly good family. Their inner bond was strong enough to share with others who were in need of the same type of support. And I was the very lucky recipient of this sharing.
Finally, we arrived at their (which now would become “our”) home in Richland. It was late and the tiredness of the long trip, the nerves of the new situation and the suspense which had built up over the last 12 hours did not really let me see the town and, truth be told, back in 1964 there was not much town to see yet. I understand today Richland (I still subscribe to the electronic “Tri-City Herald” to try and keep up with my “original” home city in the States) is a full fledge city, with all the positives and negatives this may bring. I followed Mr. and Mrs. C. into their home on Marshall St, a bi-level split ranch which they had renovated a short time before. Now the basement was fully built and it had, besides the main TV room, two bedrooms and a bath. I was given the corner room, which had been Mike’s (the oldest) and who now was away at school. Next to me was Pete’s (second oldest) room and we would share the common bathroom. As we walked into the living room, there was Mary, a 16 year old, daughter of the family next door and who had been the best friend of the family’s oldest girl, who had died in an accident a year and a half before.
-“Hi Mary, this is Rafael” said Mrs. C. to her. Shaking the cobwebs from her head, Mary just said a mumbled “Hi Rafael”. Shaking my own language cobwebs, I also said “Hi” to her. It was somehow explained to me that she was the “babysitter” a term which, along with its attached meaning, were total unknowns to me. Although at the time I did read and write enough English to get by, my spoken knowledge of the language would take a few months to get to the point where I could hold a conversation or discussion. So, being tired and confused while trying to appear calm, cool and collected, I let my mental imagery go to work and wondered (luckily not out loud!!) “Why on earth would you want someone to sit ON your babies?”
Today, I sometimes teach ESL to Spanish speaking students. One of my repeated warnings is, simply: “Don’t think in Spanish when you are speaking English… the confusion which you may create may be hazardous to your health” That incident, some 47 years ago, is still a good example of what can happen when one mixes the two idioms.
By 3:30 in the morning we were all in our respective rooms. Any hopes to be able to go to sleep I may have had, were doomed from the beginning. Of course, the bathroom was right next to the bedroom but, to me, getting up to go felt like embarking on an expedition. It was embarrassing to flush; it would be heard all over the house and, look at the time! They would all awaken and come down to investigate what was going on!! Anyway, I know it is foolish, but that is how it felt to me. It was extremely quiet, a late fall night, cold and crisp and not a noise being heard anywhere in the house. How could I do something that would make so much noise? Eventually, nature pushed and I could not wait any more; I actually did get up and go to the bathroom. No one heard the flush and no one came. Went back to bed and somewhere around 4:30 in the morning, sleep finally came.
“A-THUMP … A-THUMP… A-THUMP !!” Sometime late morning I was awakened by this strange rhythmic thumping noise… while my mind was slowly catching up to my new surroundings (and “surround-digs”), to all that had gone on the day before and to try to reconcile this with actual reality, it sounded like the house was coming down in pieces around me…
I got up from bed and slowly put on a bathrobe (it was in the early 1960’s, it was a strange home and I was somewhat shy - many changes in this latter aspect of my personality as time went on…) and, after all, it was my very first morning in this family’s home and I did not really know what to expect. Who knew what rituals or what strange goings on were the cause of this persisting noise…
My bedroom door faced into the main downstairs room and I, full of trepidation and curiosity, slowly opened it…
AH ONE!!! AH TWO!! AH THREE!! THERE YOU GO, DON’T STOP NOW !! I looked into the room and there was my new foster mother, all 5’2” of her clad in her grayish sweat suit, jumping up and down to the rhythm of one Jack LaLanne. That image has never gone away from my memories and, most importantly it, at that moment, somehow made me feel that all would be OK; that these people would truly be able to help me along the way.
-“Hi, how did you sleep?” –“Oh dear, I hope I didn’t wake you up?” –“but I have to do my exercises, especially on the weekends”. -“Oh my… welcome to our home”. –“we really want you to feel at home here” “everyone went to get something to bring back for breakfast, and they should be arriving soon” -”why don’t you take a quick shower and you will be ready”…
As you can imagine, 70% of what was said, sailed right over my head. All I could say was “Hi… good morning” and smile like a fool. I thought to myself, while smiling, “Damn! 4 years of wasted afternoons learning English, when I could have been playing with my friends.” Of course, my thought process was in full Spanish, not a trace of English anywhere. I think she sensed this situation and slowed down considerably. I was saved by the rest of the family coming in then, loaded with doughnuts, coffeecakes, and sweetbreads of all kinds. This along with fried eggs, sausage dripping fat and hot chocolate were the Sunday morning staple. In 1964, the concept of “healthy” eating was light years away. Then it was just “good home cooking and eatin’” healthy be damned! It was a magical moment for me…Mr and Mrs. C., Peter and Annie, Timmy and Matt and Mary Jane, better known as the little “red devil”. All of 1 and a half years old and everyone’s mascot. Her favorite apparel on weekends, especially in fall/winter, was a bright red full body pajama suit (remember the trap door ones?) and, therefore “The Little Red Devil”. In fact, I think it was me who at one point called her that and it stuck.
There are moments in life when the way is defined and decided. As much as I have thought about this over the years, I am convinced that the burning down of the community house in Iowa was part of a greater design to bring me into this family. They provided me with desperately needed support, guidance and love. Not that there were not very difficult moments; we came from different worlds and cultures and sometimes they clashed. In the end, we all knew this was a temporary situation. Yet, in the all too short two years I spent with them, my future life was drawn and my direction pretty much set.
On that day, seating around that breakfast table for the first time, eating all that good stuff and, in the middle of laughter fighting off the rest of the guys for the best parts, Richland came full force into my life and there it has stayed. So has the family who shared their home, hopes, love, joy and sadness with me. Each one of them, to a degree or another, has stayed in my heart and is part of whatever I have done over the years.
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