Awakenings

Rodolfo Morales

For some strange reason, young people usually seem to take for granted the struggles and hardships that their parents have experienced throughout life.  Whether this is due to our own comfortable lifestyle in America or merely plain ignorance I have not been able to figure out.  What I do know is that I found myself included among this group of oblivious adolescents.  This was especially true with my father, whom I figured had probably experienced some turmoil throughout his life, but I didn’t think his troubles were extraordinary.  However, what I soon found out about my father through a rather lengthy conversation that I had with him was that his life, especially his youth, was anything but ordinary.  In fact, it was filled with hardships, violence, and death that no child should have to face.  The story my father told me changed my life and our relationship forever.
My father was born Rodolfo Morales on March 15, 1949 in Guatemala City, Guatemala.  He was born to Benjamin and Antonietta Morales in a rather poor neighborhood called Zona 6.  He was the third of four brothers and three sisters, and was rather close to them in his early years.  Throughout his early childhood, my dad has memories of being cared for tenderly by his mother, whom many lovingly called “Tonita.”  He remembers that on special occasions she would cook for him the most delicious tamales, stuffed with meat and vegetables, but this was not often, for the family was poor.  What made matters even worse was that Benjamin was almost worthless as a father and husband.  The money he did earn, if any, he would spend on himself, and he repeatedly cheated on Tonita with woman after woman.  However, despite his unfaithfulness, Tonita always stayed faithful to Benjamin.
Although throughout our conversation my dad did not mention Benjamin that much, he did mention one experience that had stuck in his mind as if it happened yesterday.  When he was 5 my dad went out to the woods one day with his father for reasons unknown.  As they entered deeper into the foliage, Benjamin told my dad, “Stay here.  I’ll be back to pick you up before nightfall.”  My father obediently stayed put and watched his father walk away.  However, his father never came back.  My dad spent that whole night alone in the woods, and he remembers vividly the sound of coyotes howling in the night.  My dad remembers crying most of the night scared of every sound around him, and he stayed awake until the next morning, probably traumatized at that point.  Something rather strange happened that morning as my dad stood amongst the trees.  An old man with a large dog came along and told him, “Your father is not coming back.  Come with me and I will take you to a road that will lead you back home.  Make sure you run home.”  To this very day my dad does not know who this man that saved him was, and he has even thought at times that it may have been an angel.  He actually did not see his father again until one year later, and after that, my dad never saw his father again.
School life was not a pleasant experience for my father either.  He was not a very good student, and fighting other students was a common practice for him.  He does bear several scars from these fights, but the most traumatic experiences in school were not due to other students, but due to the professors.  For example, as a punishment for bad behavior, teachers would take him to the schoolyard in the middle of the day and put an apple on his head.  He could not move so that the apple would not fall off his head.  Some days he would have to stand there for hours before being able to move from that spot with the sun beaming down on him relentlessly.  Not even bathroom breaks were permitted for the poor victim of these punishments.  These punishments were more like acts of torture than acts of discipline, and my dad related to me such practices with a hint of disgust in his voice.  Hearing these horror stories only made me appreciate my rather joyful high school experience even more than before.
Around the time that my dad was 14 years old, he was sent to go live with his aunt and uncle on his mother’s side.  My father’s uncle was a politician, and due to this, he lived a rather comfortable life.  My dad confessed to me that living with his aunt and uncle was actually one of the happier periods during his childhood.  His aunt especially treated him lovingly, as if my dad were her own son.  Unfortunately, my dad’s joy did not last long.   When my father was 17-years-old, his uncle was discovered dead, tied to two poles and shot to death by machine guns.  Many believe the corrupt government at the time killed him.  The loss of this uncle deeply affected my dad, possibly more than any other event that happened to him in Guatemala before that.  He told me with watery eyes, “He was more of a father to me than my own father… and then he was just gone.”
At this point in his life, my father realized he needed to escape the dangerous situation in Guatemala.  All that was left for him there was either more violence or poverty, and he had had enough of both already.  His aunt had the same realization, and at the age of 18, she sent him to the United States for the first time.  It was rather shocking to think that my father came to the United States by himself at the same age that I am today, leaving behind family and friends for a better life.  Fortunately, he was able to adapt quickly on his own in the United States, and after a few years, he was able to help his sister and mother move to the United States as well.
After this point, my dad’s life did seem to take a turn for the better.  He found a stable job in the United States after a few years in the Hospital for Special Surgery, where he met my mother, who happened to be his secretary.  After a few years, he went to work at NYU Hospital, and he is currently employed by St. Vincent’s Catholic Medical Center.
My father became an almost perfect example of an immigrant fulfilling the American dream; a man escaping poverty and death in his country and reaching success in America.
By the end of this conversation with my father, the look of shock on my face was priceless.  I had never known how much my dad had endured to get where he is.  The suffering he endured almost seemed too unreal to be true, as if all the experiences came out of a tragedy.  However, I realized for the first time what sacrifices he had made to get where he is today, and that my comfortable life was only made possible due to his decision to escape all the suffering he had endured in his own country.  After hearing my dad’s story, he gained a somewhat heroic quality now that I looked at him, for he had beat the odds that were all set against him.  This newfound respect for my father made me realize something else- I want to be like him in my life and persevere against all obstacles in my way.  More importantly, however, I want to become a loving father and husband like him one day, so that my children may look up to me with the same respect, admiration, and love with which I look up to my dad.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, December 18th, 2007 at 9:15 pm and is filed under