The following story is about how a sad event awoke the Voice within me.
The eighties were over, and it was 1990. I was seventeen years old, and one day I was driving down the unpaved streets of Guadalajara, Mexico in an old, beat up Ford. I was sitting in the front, next to my uncle Beto, who was at the wheel. In the back seat were my three cousins: the twins, Maricelo and Rosio, age eight, and Juan age fourteen. Our mood was very melancholy because the purpose of my trip was to support my mother and sisters during a very difficult time.
I remember the bumpy road and the rattle of the Ford’s hubcaps. My family in Mexico was not familiar with the luxuries we take for granted here in the States. We turned the corner onto a paved street, and suddenly one of the twins yelled out, “Oh look! The new fancy American restaurant is open!”
I turned to look, and my jaw dropped. “You mean McDonald’s?” I asked. I looked back at their beaming faces and asked in Spanish, “You kids have never eaten McDonald’s before?”
They looked up at me. “No, we haven’t.”
I reached into my back pocket to check my wallet. I had a job at the time, so I had some spending money on me. I glanced at my uncle and asked him to turn the car around. “We’re going to McDonald’s,” I proclaimed.
For a moment, the mood in the Ford turned cheerful as we pulled up to the golden arches. We stood in line for about forty-five minutes to order the same burger and fries you would get at any McDonald’s back home, but for four times the cost. I felt like I was at a fancy restaurant that used the Mickey D logo.
I will never forget staring at those kids eating a McDonald’s hamburger and fries for the very first time. I tried to remember what my first burger tasted like.
All of a sudden, Juan turned to me and said, “So you're going to college soon?”
“Yep,” I said as nonchalantly as possible.
“And you're going to play football for your university?” he asked.
I responded with another American “yep.”
He looked down at his food and said in a soft voice, “I’m probably going to learn a trade pretty soon so I can help my brothers and sisters.” He set his burger down and looked up at me as if I were the tallest man on earth. “Primo,” he said. “I wish I was like you, I wish I had your life." His eyes looked right into me, and for the very first time, I felt an overwhelming sadness.
I was staring into the eyes of a young man who was mourning the death of his mother, a woman who had been the closest thing to a saint on this earth. Just a few days earlier, she had been taken from her children and murdered.
Juan picked up his burger and made short work of it. I looked away. I felt like the smallest man on the planet. There I was, the most fortunate person at that table, and everyone knew it but me. That night, I lay on the floor of my aunt’s living room and replayed the events of that day over and over again in my head. I had never felt so much anguish and pain in my life. I was watching these people pick up the pieces of their life. I was overwhelmed.
I began to cry so hard I could barely breathe for hours, but finally I calmed down and fell asleep. In the morning, my mother found me in the kitchen and asked me if I was ok. She could tell that I had been crying all night.
“Mom,” I said, “I am so mad and hurt. I feel so horrible for these kids. They have so little when I have so much. And now they don’t even have their mother anymore.” I began to cry again “It hurts so bad.”
Mom looked at me and said, “Mijo, your heart bleeds so much because you care so much. Your father would have been very proud of the man you are today.”
I had heard my mother’s Voice. As I thanked her for everything, at that moment I knew that nothing would ever be the same for me again. I knew that I had to make a difference in the world because a fourteen-year-old boy named Juan would have done anything to find out what it meant to be me. So I started writing. I write about every feeling and thought that comes into mind. I live my life as if there is no tomorrow. I take everything life gives me and try to give back ten times as much, and I do this in honor of my aunt, her children, my cousins, my uncles, my immediate family … and you. Because in the end, nothing matters as much as the love you give to others.
The eighties were over, and it was 1990. I was seventeen years old, and one day I was driving down the unpaved streets of Guadalajara, Mexico in an old, beat up Ford. I was sitting in the front, next to my uncle Beto, who was at the wheel. In the back seat were my three cousins: the twins, Maricelo and Rosio, age eight, and Juan age fourteen. Our mood was very melancholy because the purpose of my trip was to support my mother and sisters during a very difficult time.
I remember the bumpy road and the rattle of the Ford’s hubcaps. My family in Mexico was not familiar with the luxuries we take for granted here in the States. We turned the corner onto a paved street, and suddenly one of the twins yelled out, “Oh look! The new fancy American restaurant is open!”
I turned to look, and my jaw dropped. “You mean McDonald’s?” I asked. I looked back at their beaming faces and asked in Spanish, “You kids have never eaten McDonald’s before?”
They looked up at me. “No, we haven’t.”
I reached into my back pocket to check my wallet. I had a job at the time, so I had some spending money on me. I glanced at my uncle and asked him to turn the car around. “We’re going to McDonald’s,” I proclaimed.
For a moment, the mood in the Ford turned cheerful as we pulled up to the golden arches. We stood in line for about forty-five minutes to order the same burger and fries you would get at any McDonald’s back home, but for four times the cost. I felt like I was at a fancy restaurant that used the Mickey D logo.
I will never forget staring at those kids eating a McDonald’s hamburger and fries for the very first time. I tried to remember what my first burger tasted like.
All of a sudden, Juan turned to me and said, “So you're going to college soon?”
“Yep,” I said as nonchalantly as possible.
“And you're going to play football for your university?” he asked.
I responded with another American “yep.”
He looked down at his food and said in a soft voice, “I’m probably going to learn a trade pretty soon so I can help my brothers and sisters.” He set his burger down and looked up at me as if I were the tallest man on earth. “Primo,” he said. “I wish I was like you, I wish I had your life." His eyes looked right into me, and for the very first time, I felt an overwhelming sadness.
I was staring into the eyes of a young man who was mourning the death of his mother, a woman who had been the closest thing to a saint on this earth. Just a few days earlier, she had been taken from her children and murdered.
Juan picked up his burger and made short work of it. I looked away. I felt like the smallest man on the planet. There I was, the most fortunate person at that table, and everyone knew it but me. That night, I lay on the floor of my aunt’s living room and replayed the events of that day over and over again in my head. I had never felt so much anguish and pain in my life. I was watching these people pick up the pieces of their life. I was overwhelmed.
I began to cry so hard I could barely breathe for hours, but finally I calmed down and fell asleep. In the morning, my mother found me in the kitchen and asked me if I was ok. She could tell that I had been crying all night.
“Mom,” I said, “I am so mad and hurt. I feel so horrible for these kids. They have so little when I have so much. And now they don’t even have their mother anymore.” I began to cry again “It hurts so bad.”
Mom looked at me and said, “Mijo, your heart bleeds so much because you care so much. Your father would have been very proud of the man you are today.”
I had heard my mother’s Voice. As I thanked her for everything, at that moment I knew that nothing would ever be the same for me again. I knew that I had to make a difference in the world because a fourteen-year-old boy named Juan would have done anything to find out what it meant to be me. So I started writing. I write about every feeling and thought that comes into mind. I live my life as if there is no tomorrow. I take everything life gives me and try to give back ten times as much, and I do this in honor of my aunt, her children, my cousins, my uncles, my immediate family … and you. Because in the end, nothing matters as much as the love you give to others.
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