My Father's Quest to California
- Eric Guevara
- Costa Mesa, CA
- MEXICO
- 18
When the afternoon sunset came down my father and I decided to play pool. As we were together I decided to take the opportunity to talk about stuff and eventually he ended up telling me his story of how he came to California.
He started telling his story but he jumped ahead from his birth to when he was about eight years old. "Naci en veracruz pero le voy al America." This was one of his soccer jokes by saying he was born in one city but going for a team from another city. He was the oldest of eight so he had to help maintain the household. He would work the fields and look over the animals. When he would return home late there would be no dinner from him; orders from his father, "dejalo que sufra por quey." My grandmother would save food for him and when my grandfather would go to bed she would bring it out for him.
That was the plan till he was about twelve years old and my grandmother passed away. My father was left with no other choice bt to run away and run away he did. Throughout his teen years all the way till he was sixteen he would live with different friends. "En los diea era bonito porque estabamos Juntos pero cuando se iba para abajo el sol, esta muy solito." Then he had had enough and took the risk of migrating to America. He had nothing to lose. He miraculously crossed on his first attempt by tagging along with a "pollero."
He was there for seven years till he decided to return. With some money in his pockets he met my mother and he knew he had to give my mother a better life. He returned to America but this time he entered on his third attempt to cross in. He was also left behind and lost in the desert for 2 weeks and then he was lost in Tijuana.
My father and mother rented a one room apartment for the beginning of my life. We lived in Santa Ana. As I entered kindergarten my parents and my newborn sister moved to Costa Mesa as they enrolled me at Whittier Elementary. My father struggled as a father as he became a drunk. Throughout my childhood my father would rather hit the bars than raise me. All he ever taught about was work, beer and sleep. I could say he was lazy because he did not advance himself at work but that's wrong. He told me, "no tube a nadien que me guiara." I believe that, with no father image I did not expect him to portray the perfect parent.
When I was twelve my father was rushed to the hospital because of a problem in the intestine. We prayed together for it to get better and afetr two operations, it did. After that my fahter came out with hopes to better himself in many fields. He became a better father, got a better job and now we live in a three bedroom house with a huge back and front yard. "Lo hice mijo, pero todavia ay mas que hacer. "