at the beginning

I’m not sure where to begin, so I’ll just start at the beginning.

When I was a little kid I used to think it’d be cool to have an older sister. I imagined someone bigger and smarter than me who could navigate the world at large in such a way that made it all accessible to me. She could be the Christopher Columbus to my Spain. I was hella curious and experimented with the world around me in ways most little kids do. I’d play with the plants in my backyard and come up with grass/weeds/yerba buena/dirt concoctions that surely held the cure to many of the world’s ailments. I’d make stone soup, play with ladybugs and imagine E.T.-like aliens landing in my backyard, taking me to outer space and showing me things I never dreamed existed. But still, above it all I wanted a big sister.

When I turned six, I got a little sister and when I turned eight I got another. I had a hard time yielding the center of attention as I think most 1st borns do. We spent a fraction of our lives in Baldwin Park and at that time my sisters were simply little girls I could practice my WWF Ultimate Warrior moves on when I wasn’t at school, helping my dad in the garage, playing baseball or riding my BMX. I did my thing and they did theirs; whatever it was. Not until our parents split up and we moved to El Monte did I become close with my sisters. As most siblings do, we had our rough patches; we fought over stupid shit, I was overprotective, I was an asshole, I was selfish. Wait, I’m still overprotective. Not until I had the maturity and clarity to realize the significance of my role in their lives did I do everything in my power to be the brother they deserved. Yes, I’m sure I still fall short sometimes but I never fall short of trying. They’ve become thee integral part of my life. If I were to identify the 10 greatest moments of my life and the 10 most difficult ones, they’d easily be in 16 of 20. Like a Marine and his rifle; without my sisters I am nothing.

For a large part of my life I thought having children, owning a home and planting deep roots anywhere was for suckers, for traditionalists that drank the kool-aid by the gallons. I always imagined moving to NYC or London and making a life for myself with creatures from the bad lands then moving on to badder lands. I longed for a version of the elusive adventures I dreamt of as a little kid. I longed for the great unknown and for the future. Not until I took an extended vacation in Mexico about five years ago did I realize I can never leave Los Angeles. My roots are too deep, intricate and beautiful. Noah and Co. are here and here is where I’ll stay. Today, I want children, I’ve started researching home buying and I’ve embraced my mile deep roots.

I still think about the big sister.

I can’t remember when but at some point during my childhood my dad told me that I have an older sister who lives in El Paso, Texas. My dad lived in the border town of Ciudad Juarez for years and before he got with my mom, moved out to L.A. proper and knocked her up with the narrator of this here story, my dad fathered a daughter in El Chuco. Suffice to say he was never a real part of her life. Again, I can’t remember when but at some point during my childhood she flew out to L.A. and I met her. I remember being nervous and shy, saying hi to her, running out to my backyard as I would sneak peaks at her while she sat at our kitchen table. I knew nothing about her other than her name. Norma. I didn’t see her for another 15 years or so until 2002 when my dad and I went back to El Paso. I met her husband and at the time, infant daughter. Norma, in a way I will never forget, said to her unknowing baby, “that’s your tio,” as I held her.

To be perfectly honest I still know very little about Norma but I do know this. I don’t want to live with regret. I live by a few very simple rules and one of those rules is to never regret anything and for the most part I stay true to that but I know if I were to die today and there was any way to reflect upon my life I’d have one single regret. That I didn’t try to make Norma a part of my life.

A few months ago I asked my dad if he had recently spoken with Norma. He said no but that he would try to call her soon. I told him that I wanted to get in contact with her. Somehow the conversation was directed somewhere else and I didn’t bring up the subject again.

My dad, sisters and I along with Fatima and a 2nd cousin of ours went to dinner last night. My dad in his usual hilarious way waxed about his recent trip to Vegas, our family and his previous trip to El Paso where he saw Norma and her daughters. She recently had another daughter and my dad talked about how holding his grandchild had struck an emotional chord with him. Hearing him say that pained me and reminded me that I need to reach out to her. I asked my dad if he had Norma’s phone number on his cell phone and asked him to give it to me. I programmed the (915) digits into my Blackberry half believing I would call her. I still haven’t done so but I will. Soon.

I just don’t know what to say. I want to tell her that despite time and space I love her. I know it’s not my place to say this but I want to say I’m sorry that my dad wasn’t a part of her life. I want her to know that I want her and her family to be a part of ours. I know these things may take time even if she’s completely receptive to the idea. I want to get to know her and I want her to get to know me and my sisters but where do I begin? Where does anything of this magnitude begin?

I guess I’ll just start at the beginning…