분야
hwp Whenever I see the bridges
that connect Los Angeles with East Los Angeles,
I remember my family.
I remember my father and my mother,
my brothers... Chucho, little Jimmy,
and Memo, the lawyer.
My crazy sisters... Toni and Irene.
But to write the story of my family,
I have to begin where millions of stories have begun...
in a small village in Mexico a long, long time ago.
Actually, nothing like that ever really happened.
Thats just the way my father used to tell the story.
His brother Roberto really died of a ruptured appendix.
In those days just after the revolution,
times were hard,
and my dads in-laws couldnt afford to feed an extra mouth,
so my father had to leave.
Now, the only living relative my father knew about
lived somewhere north in a village
called Nuestra Senora Reina de Los Angeles.
He figured he could walk there in a day or two.
The other side of the world.
My father thought about it.
"Good God," he thought,
"it might take two weeks to walk there."
Gracias.
Andale, con cuidado. Hazle un lugar ahi.
It took him over a year
to reach the other side of the world.
He walked most of the way,
and we kids, well, we heard of that journey many times.
He was attacked by bandits in Sonora
and had to beat them off with a cactus branch.
He rode the back of a snorting mountain lion.
But finally,
he reached El Pueblo de Nuestra Senora Reina de Los Angeles...
the one in California.
The border? Well, in those days,
the border was just a line in the dirt.
They called the old man "El Californio,"
because he didnt come from anywhere else.
He was born right here in Los Angeles,
when it was still Mexico.
My father had found a new home.
Even then, there were bridges.
My father soon joined the people
crossing from their barrio on the east side of the river
to do the work of the city on the other side.
They mowed the lawns, took care of the children,
cleaned the house, worked in restaurant kitchens,
but no one from the west side of the river
ever crossed the bridges into the barrio.
Make sure that theyre all cleaned up
to go to Grandmas tonight.
Give us a kiss. Love you.
Love you. Aw, I love you.
Bye!
Toodles!
Ay, ninos!
Ninos!
Okay, now. Be serious.
And...
Mmm!
Boom, ba da boom, ba da boom, ba da boom.
Children soon followed...
first me, then my sister Irene.
My earliest memory is of the face
of that gentle old man
looking at me and smiling.
And I remember my father always working in his milpa...
corn in the back and beans in the front.
And thats the way it always was at my house
for as long as I can remember.
Jose, tu cafe con leche esta listo.
Mi cafecito.
Look...
the children are wonderful.
There is no greater blessing
in all the world than children.
Were going to have another?
Maria, I knew it!
I knew it, Maria.
Its going to be a boy.
Im going to have another son,
and this one
is going to be a special boy.
I remember when it happened.
It was that Sunday afternoon. Remember?
Huh?
Remember that day old Gomez
crashed his car into the river?
Yes. That was the day.
Maria, I knew it...
because that day I got out of bed
and walked out to the porch.
I was standing there.
I looked up into the sky,
and I saw an angel pass by.
An angel?
Yes.
How beautiful.
Tonight we celebrate.
Uh-huh.
Then came the day everything changed...
when my mother didnt come home from the market.
It was the time of the Great Depression.
I guess some politicians got it into their heads
that the Mexicanos
were responsible for the whole thing.
I mean, they were taking up a lot of jobs...
jobs that were needed
for what they called "real Americans."
I have to get home to my children!
Por favor, senor. Please.
So La Migra made some big sweeps through the barrio,
and they rounded up everyone they could.
No! I live here.
No! I belong here.
Senor, por favor. Senores.
I cant help you, lady.
Move it!
It didnt matter if you were a citizen, like my mother.
If you looked Mexicano,
you were picked up and shipped out.
She had just been out shopping.
She wasnt allowed to come home.
My father was never told.
She was all alone, and she was pregnant.
All these things really happened.
The year was .
Lock her up!
Back!
Okay, roll her out!
The Southern Pacific Railroad
made the US government a deal.
For $ . a head,
they took the Mexicanos
all the way back into Central Mexico,
hoping they would never be able to get back.
Maria?
I remember the day they buried El Californio in the backyard.
He left a will and left everything to my father,
but he made it very clear
he didnt want to have nothing to do
with the pinche church or the pinche government.
He wanted to be buried right behind the house,
under the cornfield.
Agh!
And El Californio said exactly what he wanted
written on his grave marker.
"Don Alejandro Vazquez, El Californio,
died .
When I was born here, this was Mexico,
and where I lie, this is still Mexico."
My mother kept her promise,
and when my brother Chucho was old enough,
she set off on her long journey home,
but the rains came early that year.
Sh