I was 7 going on 8 in the Fall of 1997. My mom was pregnant and I wasn’t particularly excited for the baby’s arrival. For a long time I felt as though my parents didn’t care about me. And I realize now that it was only because they knew I didn’t require as much attention as my brother because I was always “on the right track”. At the age of 7, the thought of having another person enter our lives meant that my parents would pay even LESS attention to me.
On September 29, 1997 my parents weren’t at school to pick me up. My “cousin” Pepe Martinez came up to my brother and I to tell us that his mom was to take us to her house because my mom was in the hospital delivering our baby something (we weren’t sure of the sex until the day of). I remember that Pepe’s mom, Lourdes, made us spaghetti, my favorite. I was skeptical and kept looking at the clock so that someone would take us to the hospital to see the something that would be a part of our lives now. Continue reading