La Familia

When PinF was a kid during summer I used to play with my brothers along with dozens of neighborhood kids, either directly in front of our house, or if it was daytime at Garretford Elementary for the summer recreation program. Luckily for our parents we lived around the corner from the school so no rides were necessary on parents behalf. Now the world PinF lived in as a child of the seventies and the world his daughter lives in as a child of the new millenium were dramatically different. A parent worried less and in a certain respect children were more independent, confident, and much more safe.

Ours' was the arch-typical "Kool-Aid" type of street. We lived at the bottom of Lasher Road in Drexel Hill, therefore the location lended itself as the logical site of all games played on the street. Most specifically, stepball. Here's a game that is definitely geographically specific; I don't recall after moving to Wallingford having met anyone who played. Games were fought and lost right in front of our house at 4009 Lasher. Great if your the "home" team, not so great if you were the home team's mom. My mother was by proxy the arbitrator of all disputes, fights, questionable language and behavior. Looking back now she really had it all, as if five sons were'nt enough-- she now had another 10-15 neighborhood boys at her doorstep. To her credit she earned her stripes. She neither meddled nor smothered. Choosing instead to stay as much out of the day to day trivialities as possible with regard to our many disagreements.

Ocaasionally summer tensions would spill a situation in her lap, or in this case her doorstep where she would need to disband the "league" in a commisioner like fashion. Understandable, as you can only listen to so many stepball, touch football games, four-square games in one day. One day matters were taken to a different level when my brother Chris had some words with the mother of a kid on Vernon Rd. To our complete surprise this woman's adult brother arrived on the playground "looking for the kid" who mouthed off to his sister. We as kids froze with fear. He grabbed my brother and pinned him against the wall shaking and roughing him up to scare him. Horrified, I was off like a shot to alert my mom...by the time she got there it was over. Of course my brother was traumatized by an adult man over some child's remarks. We knew our dad would handle this when he got home. And he did. He walked in, got the story and then immediately walked out and over to the house where this man was at his sister's. He walked right in the house, and although we weren't privy to what took place inside we heard my father's raised voice making it very clear that NO ONE was to put there hands on his sons. He didn't use violence, at least not that we saw. I saw what looked like a much more immature, scared, and younger man walk out behind my father, kissing his ass, apologizing all the way to the curb. A profound memory for all of us. This was at a time when your dad stood tall, strong, and invicible in your child-like view of the world. I think we were all proud, and I know we all felt a sense of a higher protection.

PinF is never so reminded of the economic and social differences of his surroundings until he visits his old stomping areas of Media, Wallingford, and Swarthmore, PA. Here in Florida the reality is more in line with what is happening to this country as a whole. The ethnic diversity that surrounds me is my reality. And I like it that way. I still make small talk in a bar or a store and hear some fool complain about "these poeople" when they don't know the right amount of change at a store counter, or how "they should learn English". I bristle with this type of talk. The easy explantion could be because I have a child of both latino and anglo heritage, something I'm very proud of-- especially my child's ability to navigate through cultures and languages effortlessly and seamlessly. But that isn't why I hate this bigotry. The real reason would be the way WE were raised didn't allow for this type of hatred. We were taught early, and we were taught right. People are people, color means nothing more than a package.

If nothing else I would say I have more respect for the many Guatemalan, Mexican, Colombian, and Hondurans because I've seen where "they" came from. I know the obstacles they've had to overcome through no fault other than the fate of their own births. I see what hard workers these men are-many of whom are the direct descendants of the mighty Maya. Lean, strong, and proud-- I see the men working the construction sites, landscaping companies and the many other tough, menial and often lower paying jobs- all with diginity and fervor. The real truth is that these people, the one's that so many would close the door of opportunity to, work hard because they're not only supporting their own families here, but their extended families back home as well. There isn't a day that I don't open my paper that I don't see a story of some thugs preying on a Guatemalan or Mexican, often in a gang like fashion--demanding their money. These crimes occur most often because these thugs know that many of these latinos will 1. not report the crime, either through fear of the police, their status here, or an inability to speak the language. 2. often keep their money on their person or in their homes due to mistrust of banks in their native countries.

What's the point PinF? Family. Though we don't always agree, nor will we always have peace, it'll always be the family first, especially when challenged to defend it. Opening the Post yesterday I read a story of such true courage and passion that I realized how ironic is we talk of "sending them back" when there are people right here in our midst who are even less worthy of their citizenry in our communities. The people who prey on the weak, the frail, the unfortunate. Read this story and see what I'm talking about, and tell me who is less deserving to live in this country-- the hardworking and honest Guatemalan family or the gangsta thug who would try to prey on such a beautiful and unified family? Lessons come in all aspects of our lives, this is a lesson of family. I can hit my brother but you can't.