Friday, March 28, 2008
Noah Noah
There are only a handful of things I’d rather see more than my little sister Mayra at the age of five running at me full steam ahead, jumping four feet short of her designated target (me), ferociously punch the air above her head and scream, Hiiiiiiiiii-YA!
I know you don’t know me yet and I don’t know you. I don’t know what you look like, what your favorite food is, what kind of music you like, if you’ve ever even been in love, but we need a sit down. How rude of me… words won’t do my appearance justice – that’s not necessarily a compliment, I like pizza and sushi, I love all music (except country music; no worries, I’m sure you’ll understand why as soon as your ears pop) and I’ve most definitely been in love.
On the first day of spring in the 2nd grade year of my Michael Ende educational life I remember raising my hand and saying the following, “Ms. K, today my mom had a baby and it was a girl, so I have another little sister now.” I always wanted a little brother but you rarely get what you wish for so what I ended up doing was turn my littlest sister into the little brother I never had. Cloddy never had it in her.
Today, she is the rock of our immediate family, by far. Yet, she’s the youngest. I’m too immature and inconsistent for it. Your tia is too blah! for it, your grandma (good grief!) is too emotional for it, your grandpa is too uh, well let’s save that for another time kiddo. People say to me, “Man, you should be proud; you raised two amazing women in your sisters.” I can never take full credit, I really can’t. Four reasons. One: your grandfather was still around… I mean, we only saw him on weekends but we saw him nonetheless and his presence was always felt. Two: your grandma was kinda there too. Three: they practically raised themselves. Your tia taught your mom how to read, write and speak English before most kids even understand the concept of learning. I just co-opted the whole thing. She’s the student, the mother before becoming one, the voice of reason when all reason was thrown out the window; See Mini. Which leads me to Four: Your great grandma probably had the most significant effect on all three of us; there aren’t enough superlatives in the English language to paint an accurate picture so I won’t even try. I’ll leave it up to your mom. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what superlative means later.
You gotta be careful, she can be feisty, brutal & unapologetic:
Like Miles Davis' All Blues,
night swimming in the cold,
Arizona's rising sun in the dessert,
an Ozomatli show in the summer,
Pablo Neruda midnight lines,
a K-12 childhood in El Monte,
Junot Diaz short stories,
a Los Angeles summer,
back-to-back 12 hour bus rides through Mexico,
Stanley Kubrick's humor,
a Dodger fan at (insert latest phone company name) Park,
Ciudad Juarez, Mexico,
taking a Saturday morning drive to Beverly Hospital and leaving your soul with a tiny old lady
As brave and scared as we've been; your mom, aunt and me. We've faced the biggest of fears, the greatest of triumphs, the most beautiful feelings human emotion can offer. I'm sure you'll add to that and I couldn't be more excited. I can't wait for you to meet the incredible women you've been blessed with. From the elusive old lady that lives on our hearts to the littlest girl that couldn't catch a wink of sleep without her rag doll monkey and/or koala bear. Those manzanitos have been replaced by thoughts and dreams of you.
I realize there is no way I can summarize who your mother is because I'd have to tell you everything about me, everything about your tia, everything about your grandmother, everything about your grandfather, everything about this straight up g, everything about our past, current, and future loves. Don't worry, we have time.
Sadly, I can't tell you the world will be a better place by the time you get here and much later in your life; it's destined to get worse. We have our problems and you'll learn soon enough. Having said that, despite racism, despite the exploitation this machine produces, despite the ignorance and arrogance of our world leaders, despite the fact that we don't live in John Lennon's world, my world, our family's world will be a much better place with you in it.
I can't wait for you to experience the urban escape that is Dodger Stadium, the magnificence that is baseball. I can't wait for you to get your first base hit, hit your first home run, steal your first base. But I also want you to experience your first strike out, your first error, your first lose because simply put, that's the way life is. Life is just like baseball. There will always be critics, naysayers, haters but you'll also have your enthusiastic cheerleaders, a lot of them. You don't always win but when you do it's oh so sweet; when you shine it's oh so glorious, when you lose it hurts. But the most important thing to remember is to not take it too serious, have fun while you're playing, while you're living. Make sure to always stop and smell the fresh cut grass, learn from the loses, forget the strike outs and always remember there's always the promise of tomorrow, the possibility of redemption, there's always another at bat and another game. Shoot, I haven't pitched off a mound in about 15 years but I haven't stop playing and my messy haired cheerleaders are still clenching their sweaty hands on the metal fence and they haven't stopped cheering.
So look for me when you get here okay? I'll be the one with the heart on his sleeve.
As Los Angeles returns to the sun... we wait for you.
I know you don’t know me yet and I don’t know you. I don’t know what you look like, what your favorite food is, what kind of music you like, if you’ve ever even been in love, but we need a sit down. How rude of me… words won’t do my appearance justice – that’s not necessarily a compliment, I like pizza and sushi, I love all music (except country music; no worries, I’m sure you’ll understand why as soon as your ears pop) and I’ve most definitely been in love.
On the first day of spring in the 2nd grade year of my Michael Ende educational life I remember raising my hand and saying the following, “Ms. K, today my mom had a baby and it was a girl, so I have another little sister now.” I always wanted a little brother but you rarely get what you wish for so what I ended up doing was turn my littlest sister into the little brother I never had. Cloddy never had it in her.
Today, she is the rock of our immediate family, by far. Yet, she’s the youngest. I’m too immature and inconsistent for it. Your tia is too blah! for it, your grandma (good grief!) is too emotional for it, your grandpa is too uh, well let’s save that for another time kiddo. People say to me, “Man, you should be proud; you raised two amazing women in your sisters.” I can never take full credit, I really can’t. Four reasons. One: your grandfather was still around… I mean, we only saw him on weekends but we saw him nonetheless and his presence was always felt. Two: your grandma was kinda there too. Three: they practically raised themselves. Your tia taught your mom how to read, write and speak English before most kids even understand the concept of learning. I just co-opted the whole thing. She’s the student, the mother before becoming one, the voice of reason when all reason was thrown out the window; See Mini. Which leads me to Four: Your great grandma probably had the most significant effect on all three of us; there aren’t enough superlatives in the English language to paint an accurate picture so I won’t even try. I’ll leave it up to your mom. Don’t worry, I’ll tell you what superlative means later.
You gotta be careful, she can be feisty, brutal & unapologetic:
Like Miles Davis' All Blues,
night swimming in the cold,
Arizona's rising sun in the dessert,
an Ozomatli show in the summer,
Pablo Neruda midnight lines,
a K-12 childhood in El Monte,
Junot Diaz short stories,
a Los Angeles summer,
back-to-back 12 hour bus rides through Mexico,
Stanley Kubrick's humor,
a Dodger fan at (insert latest phone company name) Park,
Ciudad Juarez, Mexico,
taking a Saturday morning drive to Beverly Hospital and leaving your soul with a tiny old lady
As brave and scared as we've been; your mom, aunt and me. We've faced the biggest of fears, the greatest of triumphs, the most beautiful feelings human emotion can offer. I'm sure you'll add to that and I couldn't be more excited. I can't wait for you to meet the incredible women you've been blessed with. From the elusive old lady that lives on our hearts to the littlest girl that couldn't catch a wink of sleep without her rag doll monkey and/or koala bear. Those manzanitos have been replaced by thoughts and dreams of you.
I realize there is no way I can summarize who your mother is because I'd have to tell you everything about me, everything about your tia, everything about your grandmother, everything about your grandfather, everything about this straight up g, everything about our past, current, and future loves. Don't worry, we have time.
Sadly, I can't tell you the world will be a better place by the time you get here and much later in your life; it's destined to get worse. We have our problems and you'll learn soon enough. Having said that, despite racism, despite the exploitation this machine produces, despite the ignorance and arrogance of our world leaders, despite the fact that we don't live in John Lennon's world, my world, our family's world will be a much better place with you in it.
I can't wait for you to experience the urban escape that is Dodger Stadium, the magnificence that is baseball. I can't wait for you to get your first base hit, hit your first home run, steal your first base. But I also want you to experience your first strike out, your first error, your first lose because simply put, that's the way life is. Life is just like baseball. There will always be critics, naysayers, haters but you'll also have your enthusiastic cheerleaders, a lot of them. You don't always win but when you do it's oh so sweet; when you shine it's oh so glorious, when you lose it hurts. But the most important thing to remember is to not take it too serious, have fun while you're playing, while you're living. Make sure to always stop and smell the fresh cut grass, learn from the loses, forget the strike outs and always remember there's always the promise of tomorrow, the possibility of redemption, there's always another at bat and another game. Shoot, I haven't pitched off a mound in about 15 years but I haven't stop playing and my messy haired cheerleaders are still clenching their sweaty hands on the metal fence and they haven't stopped cheering.
So look for me when you get here okay? I'll be the one with the heart on his sleeve.
As Los Angeles returns to the sun... we wait for you.
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