Honduras (a narrative of my life)

Characters:

• Lyndon A Johnson
• Diluvina (Dilu) Aguiluz (Johnson) 8th grade education
• Karl Johnson 3rd grade education
• Nicholi Aguiluz (Father of Dilu)
• Maria (Hernandez) Aguiluz (Mother of Dilu)
• Pearl Johnson (Johansen) (Mother of Karl)
• Morias Christiensen Johnson (Johansen) (Father of Karl)
• Sailor
• Robert Jalu (first father)
• Arthur Prieto (2nd father)
• Carlos Aguiluz
• Alex

Chapters

• Grandmother (Maria) (shot in the head at Grandfathers hand Nicholi)
• The Rumor (Nicholi, a ship captain, does business with notorious gangster Al Capone)
• Pack of cigarettes (little Lyndon at 10 yrs old, finds a way to get money for dad who is broke and needs "Marlboro's in the Box")
• The fighting Sailor
• The extension chord whipping (Little Lyndon scorn by raging mother)
• Welcome Mr. President
• Kindergarten Mishap
• Siblings (3 same father, 4 from different fathers)
• Still Born
• The Taxi Driver
• Love 
• The Luggage

Settings: Honduras

Puerto Cortes

Florida

Chicago

Time piece 1962 (summer)-2012 (present)

Narration: Lyndon A Johnson

Honduras Central America, Puerto Cortes, Summer of 1962.

Waves are crashing on a young beautiful women with the ocean water knee deep, She stops as to ponder her fate. At 18, she feels lost and alone with having just given birth to her second Son Arthur whom she had to give away to salvage hope for her first Son Robert. Dilu is caught between living a life with two children and can not foresee having any future, let alone give them the nourishment they need to survive in this 3rd world country. Dilu struggles with her emotions of this and a mother who will not offer any sanctuary and is forced to live from place to place. Feeling no hope, Dilu attempts to take her life in the oceans off of Puerto Cortes. What is about to transpire is the fate that gave life to me, Lyndon A Johnson.

Stillborn Ignorance can be blissful as I find out information about my parents and family members that might have been better left unsaid. Late 60's, we were all in a car, mother pregnant with 5th child, father is driving away from Honduras as war is raging with another Central American country. Somewhere along the road, the car breaks-down. Cars being easier to repair those days and my father a "Mechanic", decides to repair the car on the road. My father required assistance and the only other adult capable of following direction to assist is my mother. The repair required my mother to get under the car (who puts a pregnant woman under a car?) as my father worked on the top side. The unthinkable happened, the car fell off the jack stand and landed on my mother. The accident left my mother in horrific pain as the weight of the car lay on the her pregnant body. My father raced to lift the car weight off of her. Time was now ticking for both mother and child. The accident induced labor to force the near full term child out of the womb. The child is born, stillborn. My mother stares in grief as the child would have looked a lot like one of her other children......me.... This tale was told to me in my late 20's by my mother. I grieve today for the suffering my mother endured that day and for the loss of a brother I never had. With my imagination I ponder of what might have been.... Since he looked like me, he would have stood out like me as the other white child in the family. We may have started a band together, played baseball together, hung out together like best friends as my current siblings and I were never close or had nothing in common. I wonder what his name would have been?

Little Lyndon Hospitalized at 4yrs old (emotional scars from Father's physical abuse linger)The 108-year-old hospital, at 2035 N. Lincoln Ave., formerly Augustana Hospital and Health Care Center, was the second in Chicago to close in 1989 and the 11th since 1985. I did not find the scar until new years eve 2012. I was dreaming and found myself feeling an indentation around the back side of my right ear. The next day, I had almost forgot that happened during my sleep and decided to feel that area again. Well, I did feel it and I was curious to what it was. Viewing that area through a mirror was impossible, so I took a picture of it with my smart phone. It was not easy to hold this touch screen phone in the position that it needed to be in. I set it up to take a picture behind my head and it slipped a little at the same time as it took the picture. I examined the image and it was a lucky first try as the location and focus was perfect. I further examined the image and began to see signs of a scar. The scar began to get bigger and I was hoping it would end soon. I then realized what my mother told me was true, I had an operation to repair damage to my right ear at the age of 4. The shock of the truth hit me hard, I began to sob uncontrollably saying"what did I do, why did this happen to me", "I can't imagine what this poor 4 year old child was going through". The police were sent to get my mother from work during her night shift job. She arrived at the hospital and after seeing me, she immediately knew I was put there by my father. I guess this was an ongoing issue the abuse and all. For over 40 years, no one has told me about this scar until this day that I found it on my own in a dream state. I do not recall this traumatic experience nor the 3 days in the hospital. My father has never brought this up and never apologized to me. Although I knew my father had hit me with his open hand on the side of my face creating a buzzing in my ear and an after burn that felt like the sun had put a mark on my face. I did not know of this incident until I was in my 30's as my mother told me out of the blue, yet she did not mention which side or that I had a scar. I have no recollection whatsoever, but the stinging mental anguish of why someone would do this to a child is forever damaging... Imagine not knowing something about yourself for over 40 years!

The Damage of words Still growing in the womb, I was already abused. Mother was beaten like a punching bag while pregnant with me. Verbal abuse was in every sentence uttered by my father calling my mother a whore, bitch, and many other words in Spanish form. At this point, I would later become my fathers second son. My mother had my oldest brother to watch along with her first son with Karl. My father had no emotional ties with Robert because he was not his son, and according to my father was ill conceived. My mother put up with a lot from my father, however, when he would verbally and physically abuse Robert, she fell in a rage of anger and fought him with both words and fists. Of course, my mother was on the losing end physically overmatched and at times, visibly beaten. This was the world I was about to inherit. 

With words like stupid, clumsy, fat, idiot along with the physical damage, I start to understand what I am going through as a Man. In similar situations, some people turn to drugs and alcohol to numb the pain of this "anti love" treatment. Not being able to speak most my life in fear of fear itself, I am now catching up to words I could not and dare not have spoken as a child. One of those words is "why". Growing up fairly quite and shy, I was a dam about to burst. Not knowing how to express myself, the damage turned itself inward and manifested itself into a disease. Mental illness is what I have earned as my mind found a way to deal with this on its own.

My Father Dead at age 74 6/20/2013 

My father passed away at age 74 from complications of stage 4 lung cancer. He died at his home with his Wife and Daughter at his side at 4am that morning. The stage 4 cancer was not detected until it was too late. Cancer cells were found hiding in fluid drained from his left lung. Father had been a long time Smoker and this created his death. He is awaiting a cremation service.   

The shock 

As long as I can remember, we were always moving/evicted, or just before being thrown out of many apartments. Being poor, Mom would have to lie to landlords to get us all in one apartment as there was 5 children and 2 adults. The lie was that she had 2 children and use the younger ones as the window dressing. Mom would look for places where the Landlord was not living on the premises as to not blow her cover. Did not matter much as the rent was always months behind... Roaches and mice were common dwellers as well. One time I had to connect extension chords to an adjacent basement to keep the refrigerator running. Mom was always behind on bills, and electricity was the worse as we could not watch TV when they came to disconnect the lights.

The Taxi Driver

A beat up 1960 Volkswagen arrives at the scene. The taxi driver, Karl Johnson, has just finished a fare having dropped off a band of 8 musicians that some how managed to fit in this car along with their instruments most of which were on the roof rack, however, some musicians needed to carry their equipment inside the crowded, stressed out borrowed Volkswagen. Karl, relieved of dealing with the 8 loud and grumpy group of black musicians, parks his taxi by the beach, pulls out a bottle of whiskey, proceeds to take a few swigs, and then notices how beautiful the beach is. Karl then spots a young woman alone headed towards the deep part of the ocean. Karl gets out of the taxi and heads towards the beach. Karl (in Spanish) yells out: "hey, your going to far out", "come back, it's not safe either" The young girl did not reply. Karl suspected she was out there trying to harm herself. Karl, reluctantly due to his fear of the ocean after an encounter with a shark at an early age, proceeds towards her repeating the words "hey, hey". Karl finally approaches her and she turned around. Karls eyes were filled with awe at how beautiful the girl was. Karl asks (in spanish) "what are you doing, are you crazy?" Dilu replies (in spanish) "leave me, I don't want to live!" Karl with the look in his eyes like he found a treasure of gold and silver responds "there are sharks in these waters so please lets go towards the beach!" Dilu was in such despair that Karls words were muffled and distant to her ears. Karl saw no choice but to pick her up and drag her ashore. He dragged her with quite a resistance as she kept yelling and kicking "leave me, leave me", I don't want to go back". Finally ashore, Karl gently lays Dilu on the beach. Dilu was so hysterical that Karl did not know whether to slap her or kiss her, either way, Karl was in love. He stayed with her until the cries became a long silent stare into the ocean. Hours went by without a word. At this point in time, I was an egg in my mothers womb waiting for my turn at life.

Dilu

My Mother born in Honduras to Maria Hernandez and Nicolas Aguiluz. Once described by my father (in front of his current and widowed Wife) as the most beautiful woman in the world! Karl once described her as looking like the actress from the Titanic, Kate Winslet. I have seen photographs of my mother around the time they were an item and she was very beautiful. My father was a very jealous man around her always telling other men to fuck off and fending them away like a raged lion. Mom could sure cook! Everyone loves the sometimes exotic dishes she would prepare like her tamales! We call them Honduran tamales cause, well, they are made by a Honduran woman. These tamales are the size of burritos! They take hours to prepare and she usually does it through the night into morning, she hates to be disturbed. As a child, I found myself watching her cook these humongous tamales. I would be eating the Masa (the main ingredient made from corn flour) as she was preparing all the ingredients that would be stuffed in each tamale. She would make up to 100 when she was younger, sometimes more! I felt at peace and what I now consider a bonding while watching her cook these specialties. Anyone who has ever tried my moms tamales have fallen in love with them! I made a video of the procedure as it is extensive and precise. I may attempt it one day? When they were done, you had to run over and get yours! Mom is a great cook with dishes like tapado, albondigas, sopa de res, and a few other foods you just don't get at any restaurant! Mom was very generous and kind to a lot of people, some who did not deserve it. In the inside mom was disturbed with bursts of anger that she admits she holds in too long. With all the children she had to tend to, she took the time to look out for other children, sometimes at the expense of our time, or my time. Being the middle child, and a quiet one at that, I had crumbs left over from mothers time. Mother helped soo many of her family members from Honduras to get to the U.S. that she exhausted any money for things like the rent and clothes for us. We, I, seem to be second to helping those family members, whom for the most part, were a drain and a waste of time. They did not work, they were alcoholics, useless, and definitely unappreciative of the sacrifice my Mother made for them. One of my fondest moments that included special one on one touching and bonding with Mom was when I acquired lice. I would love and enjoy the special attention I received as she combed through my hair extracting them one by one. This was a very comfortable feeling to a child starving for affection and love. There was no hugging or emotional bonding in my family, to much hatred and fighting going on.

Mothers Rage

As a child, you don't realize things that you go through. Sometimes, things happen and you don't even know why, or have developed enough mentally to conceive certain parts of your life as a child. My Father put me in a hospital at age 4 with a ruptured ear caused by a hit to the head, well, that was not a shock to anyone who knew him and back then there was not much done about it as this may have been considered at the time a reprimand. Scared by my father I was, of course, but would be at ease around my Mother. I remember always loving my mother and relying on her to protect me. Being from Honduras, my mother had lots of family she left behind to live in the States. Mother would sacrifice a lot of things including the frail stability of her own immediate family which included us. To my fathers dismay, my mother would start bringing over her sisters or whores, as my father called them, to come live with us in our apartment dwellings in Chicago. One of my Aunts named Delilah was one of the first to come over. Delilah was sweet and kind and had children of her own that were still in Central America. My aunt loved us and cared for us while my mother worked. My mother got Delilah a job where she worked at Hall Printing, manufactures of such famous magazines as Playboy. Delilah did not last to long at this job and claimed it was very hard work. Delilah eventually went back home to Honduras. The next sister, "The Bitch", was brought over as my mother wanted to help her family get a start on life here in the States. If you could think of all the evil characters of all time and mix them in a blender, they would still be angels in comparison. The worst part about this relative is that she would not go back! As children we had to deal with her taking over every aspect of our lives and seemingly in control? She had a failed marriage with a poor soul and conceived a daughter, her only child. Unfortunately, this failed marriage meant that she would live with us and bring her daughter with. The bitching and whining toiling night and day about us to my mother took it's toll on my mother. One day, The Bitch, complained to my mother that I was doing something wrong. I overheard this and thought nothing of it till I saw Mothers Rage staring right at me. I knew something was about to happen and it did. From the onset of the first strike to my back with an extension chord, I felt the stinging, burning, scorching lashes one after another. The force of each lash harder than the next. This continued as I am barely able to breath from the pain and the crying, I was ten at the time and I am 49 writing this and still cry. Even my aunt was concerned at what she just witnessed. When it was finally over, I had that after effect of to much crying that feels like a hiccup and breathing issues of trying to catch my breath. My mother, sorry for what she did, lifted my shirt up from the back, I can't imaging what she saw.  I remember her treating the welts that I could not see but could feel. As she was tending to them, you could feel the welts as she passed over them. Like I said, as a child, you don't have the capacity to understand what just happened, but even then, I began to hold my head down as I began to feel nothing and like nothing. Self worth did not have a chance to emerge. When I finally had the courage as a Man to ask my Mother why she did that, she replied, to get her sister to stop complaining about us so she taught her a lesson through me. Maybe a year or so after that incident, the bitch was complaining wanting me to give up my toy to give to bitch Jr. I refused to give it up and as she tried to take it from me, I gave her an uppercut that left her crying all day!..........Bitch! Though they are both still bitches to this day, she never bothered me again!

Discussions Random: The Umbrella

October 6th 2014: Today my ankle was killing me, unable to walk to far. Mother called me and said she made some meatloaf. I get around in public transportation here in Chicago as it is relatively easy, however, those 2 blocks to the bus stop might as well be 50 miles! I don't like disturbing my mother, however, I told her the only way I could get to her place was with a ride. She came and got me and I ate some meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Moms ethnic original food is supreme above all, however, meatloaf aint one of her ethnic dishes. Mom recently started making that and it was surprising to me as she sticks to the food she knows? I was hungry and ate it, though both the mashed potatoes (runny and tons of margarine) and the meatloaf are very sub par. My main objective is to share time with my mother and sometimes we get into a conversation of her days past. I was asking, as I do often, about family members on both sides of my parents. This time I asked about my Uncles Morris and Johny. I brought them up because as with most of my family, we did not know each other. I am Facebook friends with a few cousins and 2 of them brought up the fact that I look more like their fathers, Morris and Johny, than they do. Well, the discussion went on to a random moment in time, a year or so before I was born, in which my father Karl took my mother to the show. My mother described how gorgeous the area was near the ocean and I believe she mentioned the theater was called "Miramar" translated as ocean view. She described the dining which was mostly seafood in the area and a train that runs along the beach side. The topic was not about the movie they saw, nor of any romance, it was about an umbrella. My mother, at this point in time had a child from a previous relationship named Robert Jalu, my oldest brother. My father knew this and was raising this child with a disgust that she had a previous relation with another man. Well.......... as they were leaving the show, they ran into this man as he was sitting in a seat behind them at the show. When they left the show, the man yelled out to my mother: "Diluvina, you left your umbrella in the theater!" (in Spanish). I can't imagine the fright my mother was going through as she knows this angered my jealous father. My mother went to get her umbrella and as soon as she got out, my father snatched the umbrella from her hand and what I heard next angered me and filled me with hate for my father. He proceeded to beat her with the umbrella and broke it during the process. He did this in front of a crowd of people. I wish there was a man in the area that would have beat the shit out of him, however, my father was a formidable person to deal with and no on would have stood a chance, especially in his rage!

Hall Printing: The Playboy Magazine

In the 70's, it was very easy to find a job in a factory that required mostly labor. I recall my mother talking about Hall Printing often, a factory on the north west side of Chicago. Putting together Playboy magazines can get your attention pretty quick. I was aware that my mother met her best friend there, however, until a few days ago I did not know the exact moment. Myrna, my mothers best friend for over 40 years, was with me in the waiting area at the Illinois Masonic Hospital as my mother was undergoing surgery for a Gallbladder procedure on a very cold December morning. Myrna explained to me that my mother was like a sister to her and would do anything for her. There was a loyalty that was galvanized one day while both were working at Hall Printing. It was lunch break, Myrna was starving and laying down on the floor to recuperate from the hard work she had put in for the day. Dilu past by her and asked if she was alright, Myrna replied yes, that she was just relaxing. In reality, Myrna was starving and penniless with only bus fare to get her home trying to get through the day. Dilu approached Myrna with some food she purchased from the factory vending machine. Myrna felt embarrassed to accept this gesture, though reached with gratitude as she knew in her heart she would repay Dilu one day. The gratitude would soon turn into a disbelief later that day as Myrna was going home on the bus after work, she realized that Dilu was walking home as she passed her on the bus. My Mother, Dilu, had given Myrna her bus money so that Myrna could have something to eat to get her through the day. Myrna was about 98lbs and the new girl on the job of which many have quit due to the laborious nature of working at Hall Printing.

Divorced....again

This year was a very emotional year as I put all my efforts to not get divorced to the test. I had a very good first years with my girlfriend who turned into my wife. We met through the internet. She lived in California at the time. We spoke for about a month on the phone (no cells back then) everyday. I fell in love with her calm, nurturing voice. She said she saw my profile on.....yes....AOL (dial up). According to her story, she was moving her desktop computer around when the mouse clicked on a site accidentally. Apparently, it was a profile I had put up about myself to chat with others on the internet. She claims her and a niece were intrigued by my looks and continued to read my profile which basically stated that I am one of the most honest men on Earth. She started chatting and of course, compared to today's technology, it was a very archaic way of communication. a few days would go by without a response as she chatted with me first. I then began to chat as availability would allow as it was also my main phone line. One day, we finally exchanged information. A conversation ensued about contacting each other. I asked her to give me her address and I would send her my CD, a musical project I was a part of. In that deal, she said I had to give her my phone number. She received the CD, which had my number in large print, and asked me in chat conversation, "what about your phone number", I said "it's on the CD", a few minutes went by and then the phone wrung. It was her voice for the very first time. I immediately was enchanted by her voice! I enjoyed talking with her in the weeks to come but finally said to her that his can't work out, you live in California and have a family, I live in Chicago and am raising a daughter from a previous relationship. I told her I can't afford to go out there, let alone leave without my daughter. She said I'll come to Chicago, I said I don't make that much money, she said I don't care if you work at McDonald. A few weeks later we finally met. It was not easy for me as she had family she left behind including a 4 year old son...her youngest of 4. I did not want to be a part of breaking up a family. I told her to go back a straighten out her situation...a few weeks later, she came back with her 4 year old son Andrew. She had convinced me that her other grown children would be fine. I believed her as I always did back then. We continued to live together for 5 years....then we got married. She was persuasive throughout the years about wanting to be my wife. I loved her very much and didn't see myself going with anyone else. We got married in December of 2010. 2 months later, she left. For the next 5 years, of which I lived in California for one of those years, things were totally opposite of the beginning. A person started to emerge that I was not recognizing. Lies were a daily occurrence, anger, frustration, and a distant relationship was a daily routine. I left for Chicago as I felt unwanted by her and her Children. She persuaded me to come back and things would change. I left again to be there, nothing changed. I left again and this time told her there would be no coming back. We were ate the airport and she said she would come back to live with me in Chicago....I believed her. 2 years I searched for apartments in Chicago having found 2 and still we were apart due to an unforeseen custody issue, so I was told? She saw me a few times in between. The court issue was over, but her youngest son could not leave the state of California nor did he want to as he was 12 and able to decide that....so I was told? I can't come to Chicago, I was told. This bickering about being with me went on for a total of 5 years till I could not longer wait and have exhausted all attempts at reconciling this issue. I was told repeated lies of still living with me. Those turned out to be visits and promises of staying. I even visited her in LA as I told her I would never set foot in the town in which I lived with her......I hate saying and pronouncing it, or thinking about it....Bakersfield. A desolate town with nothing to do but gain weight  and inhale dust. So we met in LA a few times...hit the beaches and towns nearby. Hotels, car rentals furnished by her daughter and then fiancee. Though it was nice to get away, this did not secure our fizzling relationship. After my last visit, I have thoughts of Divorce as nothing really changed? I had repeated lies of coming still to live with me, sending itineraries that were false or cancelled at the last minute. Still trying to reassure me that it's just a matter of time and she'll be with me again. Well after many such false documents and lies even still, I finally decided it was in my best interest to let her go..... I divorced again in agony and betrayal this past September 22nd 2016 going through the uncontested paperwork and dissolution of marriage. It was a slap in the face to me because I tried so hard to stop this from occurring.....again.

The Toilet in the Alley

Von Steuben High School. I was in an upper grade part of this high school which entertained 7th and 8th graders. It was strange seeing all the high schoolers walking around as we went to our own class rooms. The year, 1980 and I was awakening into adulthood. Awkward years learning about girls and how you fit in, or not, with others. In 7th and 8th grades, I was an alpha male with my big husky physique. I did not seek trouble, but when it came, I knew I could handle myself. I tested my alpha skills a few times but usually with a look or stance. Ironically, I was a loner, yet girls gravitated towards me along with a few guys who wanted to hang out with me. I knew something wasn't right with my approach towards others and teachers, yet it came out. The Principal at the time knew me well as I was sent in to his office to spend time looking at the walls in his office. In the summer of 1980, I was excited that school would be out soon. There was one thing I had to take care of soon after the last bell rung that day. It was raining and my thoughts of getting back at a certain person who snitched on me a few times during the year was reaching a head. I knew what I was wanting to do and that was make him pay for his betrayal towards me. This person lived across the street from the school. I waited till I saw him come out. A friend of mine was with me as he wanted to witness what I was going to do to this boy. I started to pursue him crossing the street walking unnoticed until we reached the gangway of the building which he lived. He turned around, he took a look at me with a look as if he knew I wasn't there for his lunch money. With the rain still coming down and an umbrella over his head, he stared at me and said "Please". I knew my rage had died down a little as I did not know exactly what I was wanting to do to him after hearing those words, yet I knew he had to pay some how. As we stood there in the walkway, I told him to go towards the alley. He repeated the word "Please" again and I told him to shut the fuck up! We reached the alley and it was just the 3 of us. Rain was still coming down in a steady fall. I reached for his umbrella, took it out of his hands, and broke it into pieces before him. At this point in time, I had not hit him. Looking at him with a view of disgust as I thought about how he snitched on me a few times and sent me to the Principals office, I noticed behind him a toilet that had been thrown away in the alley. My resolve was set. With a demanding demeanor in my voice, I gave him instructions to proceed to this vessel that was full of rain water. We approached the toilet and I gave further instructions for him to immerse his head into the bowl of water. He proceeded with little apprehension as he knew that this was a better fate then beating the crap out of him. He removed his head from the toilet and his hair was soaking wet. I glanced at him one more time without a word, and then proceeded to leave. My friend and I got a visit from the police later on as mother wanted to press charges. My friends mom ratted me out and the cops learned where I lived. At the police station, I was asked a few questions and told my side of the story. One police officer asked why this boy didn't defend himself as he appeared a bit taller than me, I said I don't know? The police officer let me go and labeled the kid a queer for not defending himself. His name was Robert and I never forgot that incident as it haunts me till this day. The fear and humiliation I inflicted on a kid over 35 years ago. I wish I had not done that. I have also been trying to search for him on the internet to ask for forgiveness, no success as I do not know the spelling of his last name. What will he say? What will make him forgive me? Does he have to? I don't know, but would love the opportunity to try......

Love

Father and mother never said it to me and  I definitely never heard them say it to each other. I just realized that I never said it to them either. How could I say "I love you", if I never knew it, felt it, heard it, or saw it? Ive learned to love children in my life and it appears that's all I know.
 Looking back, I understand hatred more than love as I've seen the worse in people who were supposed to be in love. I also realized I was not in the position to say "I love you" to anyone as I didn't know it, feel it, hear it. As children started to come in to my life starting with my little sister, I felt something but didn't know what it was. I was holding a child in my hands and was amazed! being a child myself, I didn't know how to express or say anything. I can feel those feelings as I understand them a bit more now. Through the years, I have had other children enter my arms with that same indescribable feeling starting again with a little brother. A teenager at the time, I felt this joy staring at him, smelling him, admiring him, seeing his fragile state of helplessness if not for being comforted by my mother and other siblings. There were days when I could not wait to come home from school to see him, hold him, play with him. These moments continued with Nephews and Nieces, my own children, and now their children especially my Grandson. I am a Grandfather, something I once feared but now embrace. It is this child that extracted pure love from my being. I can't stare deep enough, hold him tight enough, and show him a dose of love that I could never have imagined. Through him I've seen love that hurts, that is wonderful, and that is absorbing. This boy is slowly shaping into a little man before my eyes and as I see these changes unfold just like the wrapping of a gift. I have to let go of the earlier years of love, which is difficult, and embrace a new kind of love as the years pass by. It is inevitable that he will be a man one day, a day that is sad, yet hopeful. I can say that he is the culmination of all the children I've held in my arms that became what I know now as love.

The Luggage

My mothers luggage given to her by a friend to carry the belongings of her 3 sons and her on a journey to a new land where new lives will begin and new generations will emerge. In the late 60's my mother gathered what she could in a small luggage to meet up with my father in
Chicago. I can't imagin there was much in there as we were leaving a dirt poor country and being dirt poor. For years, I would notice that luggage and sometimes play with the locking mechanisms that flipped open when you pushed the buttons backwards, I must have done it a hundred times. My mother would gather memories through the years in photos of events and times long past. It wasn't till recently that I had the interest to use my "Smart Phone" to take pictures of these fading memories that were scattered in this Luggage. It took hours to sort through them and capture the ones I wanted to continue to preserve. As I was taking pictures of these images, I couldn't help but feel bad for myself as not many images were of me, mainly because of the times. Film had to be developed, then prints had to be made, and there were many bad ones as we did not have the luxury of seeing them and sorting them like we do now. The children in my family today, will never have a problem seeing enough pictures of them as hundreds if not thousands are captured yearly and retrievable without worrying about storing them in a luggage. Instantaneously, these images are shared before they even become a minute to remember. This is what I could gather from The Luggage.