I am from Mexican decent, yet I couldn’t tell you where my people come from, nor can I tell you who my biological parents are. In fact, I couldn’t even tell you were I was actually born. Adoption records are sealed and can only be opened by court order. The inclination to know has yet to become a strong urge.
Though raised by Mexicans, I could not understand Spanish. It took years in which communication was in a form where they spoke Spanish and I replied in English.
I haven’t really had a need to know past my adoption. For the most part, my choices were decided by me and the events played out in my environment. I have survived quite a bit. I cannot say my childhood was worse than yours for I lived no other childhood than my very own.
I can tell you with certainty, work for me began at an early age. My father led my sister and I to a large onion field where he told my sister to wait while I followed him to the middle of the field. he set down a jug of water then said, “I want you to pull out these weeds like this.” He proceeded to show me how to grasp the stem and pull out the weed. “When you get to the middle of the field, wait for your sister.” He then walked away to another part of the field and started pulling weeds.
By the time I reached the middle, my hands were blistering, I was dirty and very tired. What was happening? Was this normal? Did everyone work in the fields? I always wondered if that was my turning point.
I am the first person from my family to graduate high school. I am also the first to get a college degree. I don’t look at this accomplishment as a brag or boast, rather an urge that prodded me to take a very different path than my upbringing.
My passions are electronics and computers, yet I am finding myself enjoying work on what we call the “Farm”. It really isn’t a farm, merely a sandy area that must have been under water eons ago. Today you wouldn’t have the faintest idea. There are many trees scattered everywhere even small saplings struggling to take root. It is this area I have succumbed into believing the place where I will most likely retire. It wasn’t this way in the beginning, but I have slowly grown fond of it.
Could it be that I am still tied to my past in that I started working on a farm and in some way, still am?