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Literacy Narrative
The
wooden metric ruler that my father used every day to measure the textile
material he later turned into dresses or shirts, was very important to him
because that was one of the tools that allowed him to create such garments
that he would later sell at a flea market, and provide what necessary
financial gain he needed to feed his family. When my parents came home from such markets, my brother
and I were pleased to see both of them arrive. It didn‘t matter how late it was. However, their grief and arduous
work did not cease when they arrived, it only extended itself. My mother would prepare those brown
beans with some ‘epazote,’ easing the consequences of eating an entire bowl
of beans with ’tortillas;’ meanwhile my father walked into that little room
behind our home that would store a great variety of fashionable designs
that were in high demand during my childhood. He would keep track of the quantity of dresses that were
sold; the color and design that were most popular so the following day, he
could begin assembling more. I
don’t exactly remember which days of the week or week-end my parents went
to the local flea markets but they did every time they could. The white color on the
twenty-something old datsun truck that my father drove only emphasized the
dents and scratches on its surface; what kept the car running was my
father’s dedicated care and pride on his possession, and strangers’
physical push are what got it running again, everytime. On the sidewalk, their selling
section was a few cubic meters wide on which they placed a table and a
couple of hangers that displayed their products over those three
traffic-blocked streets. On
the days my parents stayed home, my father would carefully lay every design
on top of the fabric in a
precise pattern that would allow him to use all of the material per every
cubic yard and not lay any to waste.
The
clothing business was pretty good but it soon ceased and became history
just like all fashion does in society. A new trend soon arose and my father’s investments on
the material for a particular trend was no longer in demand, leaving him
with a room full of dresses.
As a result, my family’s income began decreasing and my father would
desperately try to seek what new trend was in great demand. On and off, my family went through
these stages of low to almost no income. My family lived a life surrounded by poverty, I don’t believe
it was too severe but it was harsh; our school-shoes were exactly for that
purpose and nothing else, once we got home, we would wear those shoes with
holes on the tip, big enough to make them sandals. The happiest time my family spent
was when we came together, we didn’t have the privilege of having “family
time” frequently because my parents were always seeking ways in which they
could make some money for the expenses of the remaining week. One of the rare pleasures my
brother and I experienced was going to the dingy theatre where movies were
often out of focus, although it was great. Some popcorn or even one soda for the four of us could
have made it better but it was too much to ask for. Besides, my brother and I already
knew that us getting anything from the concession stand was out of the
question, especially since the price of one hot dog could have probably fed
us for one week.
Every
since I can remember, my brother and I would play with our neighborhood
friends out on the muddy field with any object we could get our hands on,
it was mainly tires and jumping on them seemed to be the most popular game
there ever was. As I came to
the end of my first grade, I would walk myself home right after school and
wait until my brother arrived from his fifth grade classes. Playing games with my brother and
friends were the only fun we had; I have to concentrate and think very hard
of those few almost-rare moments in which my brother and I got a chance to
play with my parents. This
lack of playfulness with my parents is what makes me appreciate their effort
in making some time for their children.
These
activities continued their everyday routine until my father could no longer
make the profit he used to gain one or two years before. As a result, he felt the need to
migrate north-bound and settle in the United States. Back home, this change had a
tremendous effect on our household; my brother was forced to take care of
me and he now took on some of the duties my mom was previously responsible
for. My mother needed to be
both a strong authority figure and still tend her children with that
motherly love.
My
mother took on the duties of my father and continued going to the flea
markets trying to sell the remaining merchandise that was produced but
never sold. I love my mother
very dearly, but I believe that the stressful situation of having her
husband in a strange northern land and having to take care of two children
on her own after arriving from a long day out in the sun took a very heavy
toll on her and caused her to take things on the bitter side of life.
A
year after my father had departed, I was now in the second grade and
learning about past irregular verbs
This was the most complicated section in the second grade and I was
having a difficult time trying to get a hold of it. It was six o’clock at night, I was
sitting on the same table my father used to lay the textiles in order to
trace and cut-out the designs. My assignment was to write each irregular
verb ten times and then use it in a sentence. My mother was sitting to the left of me and would often
get up to check on the boiling pot; my brother, to the left of me, was
trying to finish his assignments before supper. After my mother had explained the lesson to me for a
couple of hours, she became more and more frustrated because I wasn‘t able
to get those verbs right; since I had been recently exposed to such
lessons, it was almost certain that I was going to make a lot of mistakes.
As
I began writing my sentences, my mother was looking over my shoulder and as
soon as I misspelled my first word, I felt this extreme pain on my back
that had been caused by my father’s wooden metric ruler. The impact was so surprising that I
didn’t even scream, I knew that I had to get the rest of the verbs correct
just so I could sleep comfortably on my back that same night. Unfortunately, the major part of
the list of verbs, I got wrong.
The repeated beatings were so frequent that after a while it felt
more like someone had rubbed one of the spiciest ‘chiles’ on my back, I
could no longer see through the tears that had accumulated on my
eyelashes. For laughing at my
misfortune, my brother got a taste of that harshness; the beatings him and
I would have lasted as much as my assignment but the ruler broke in half. I question myself whether it was
because the ruler itself was old or my brother’s back and mine caused it to
wear off and break.
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