I was getting ready to go to my classmates double birthday party

at Rainbo Roller Rink when Cindy walked into my room with the
house phone.
Toma its your mother. I cringed. It was Moms birthday and I
had chosen to go roller skating instead of hanging out with her at
my Grandmas.
I prepared myself for a steaming hot pile of guilt with a side of
But I understand if going to Aubrey and Kates party is more
important than spending time with your mother on her birthday
but no, you should go and have a good time.
I took a deep breath and started: Hey, MomHappy birthday! So I
know
Get your shit together, Im coming to take you home. I could
hear the seatbelt alert in her car, followed by the door slamming. I
suddenly felt breakfast turn over in my stomach.
What do you mean? I am home.
Not anymore. I just got off of the phone with your father and he
said that he cant afford to keep you, so Im coming to get you.

Pack up. Your stuff; Ill be there in twenty minutes. I heard the
engine turn over before she hung up.
My face got really hot as tears started creeping into my eyes. Was
I angry, or was I sad? Or was I feeling a different feeling that my
twelve-year-old mind couldnt even wrap around? Why would Dad
say that? Did he mean it?
What I had was Moms word, and right then, that was enough to
convince me.
[BEAT]
My parents had split up officially two years before, and it had been
messy, to say the least. At first, I lived with Mom and my older
sister Diana in the house that I grew up in, a small bungalow on
Cicero and Schubert Avenue.

[HOLD FOR MUSIC]

The rooms of that house

held the memories of my childhoodDad making my sister and

me breakfast every morning before waiting for the school bus with
us at the corner; Mom staying home from work with me one day
and introducing me to one of my lifes greatest loves, The Sound
of Music; and the time that my sister, cousins and I recreated
Britney Spearss music video for Lucky (top of the TRL charts for
eight weeks) using Dads video camera.

I clung tight to those memories and all the others that lived in
those walls, holding on to them during my parents divorce and
hoping that there was some way I could recreate them someday,
but

[MUSIC OUT]

I would soon realize that there were some things Id

have to let go of, like it or not.

In seventh grade, Mom went out of town for work and sent me to
stay with Dad, who, as far as she knew, was living with my uncle.
He was not living with my uncle.
[HOLD FOR MUSIC]

Her name was Cindy, and when I met her for the first

time at the bar near the shoe rental desk at Pioneer Lanes on
North and Pulaski, she seemed nervous and said something like
nice to finally meet you before walking away and sitting with
Dad in their lane.
Well, saying she was sitting with him is probably a gross
understatement. She was on his lap. He moved her permed hair
away from her face and whispered something to her (which must
have been hilarious, judging by her cackle, which I found
uncomfortably similar to Ursulas in The Little Mermaid). She
kissed him, and it was sloppy and wet and gross and different than
Id ever seen him kiss Mom.

I asked him if she was his girlfriend. He paused for a moment and
carefully said, Yes, shes the person Im seeing.

[MUSIC OUT]

Dad looked panicked when he walked in, realizing that Id gotten a

call from Mom before hed had a chance to get upstairs. He sat on
my bed and tried to reason with me while I pulled every article of
clothing I could get my hands on into my suitcase. He tried to
explain that Mom hadnt stopped child support payments from
being taken out of his paycheck each week, swearing that he only
told her he couldnt afford to keep me to try and make her see his
reasoning, promising me that he wanted more than anything to
keep me with him, and that he would figure out a way to make
that happen.
You know when youre a kid, and you can tell your parents arent
telling you the whole truth? Like, We released Little Foot back into
the wild. Dogs like being out in the wild, or Titi Chris is just your
aunts roommate. Shes lived with her since your big sister was
born. As roommates. Well, this was definitely one of those times,
except this time they were telling me two different things and I
had no idea if either them was telling me the truth.
Moms voice had had something scary in it; something angry. And
here was Dad, a guy whose tears were reserved for things like
funerals, graduations, and sappy fathers day cards, whose eyes
4

were now wide and afraid, who was saying Dont worry, mijo.
Lets just get you to that party.
Dad

[MUSIC IN]

and I rushed down the stairs, he pulled his shoes on

and ushered me out the door to his van. I climbed into the back
seat and buckled my seatbelt, Dad pulling the car into drive just as
Mom and two uncles pulled up, blocking us in from both ends.
[MUSIC OUT]

A few months after meeting Cindy, I was sitting in a class called

Facing History and Ourselves, which Im sure would have been a
truly introspective look at privilege, class, race and oppression if
my very white teachers were concerned about more than keeping
the veil over the eyes of my largely white upper-middle class
peers. Todays topic was the US poverty line.
After learning what annual salary was considered poor in the
eyes of the government and assuming that my mothers income
was very likely well below that, I suddenly felt a strong urge to
defend my parents and the life that they made for my sister and
me, even though they were no longer together. I thought about my
dad working from 2-11 every day and barely getting to see us.
About the look on my moms face every time I brought home a
field trip permission form that had a $60 fee tied to it. I thought
about the first time I went to one of my classmates houses who
5

lived on the North Shore and realizing how different my family was
from theirs in so many ways.
I raised my hand and made a comment somewhere along the lines
of, Well, I think that a family can probably be able to get by on
that amount of money and have just about enough to eat and pay
bills.
Probably fearing that this young poor brown person was going to
turn her entire lesson plan on its head, one of my teachers, Mrs.
Saposnik didnt respond and called on someone else immediately
afterward. Unfortunately for her, she called on Lily Maxwell, who
did not agree with what I said.
Uhh. There is no way a family can survive on that amount of
money. No one can really get by on just enough. Once again, Mrs.
Saposnik moved on without response, and perhaps even nodded in
agreement just a little bit. I actually couldnt tell you one way or
the other, because the next thing I knew, I was on my feet
screaming that it had to be possible for people to live on just
enough, because SOME people didnt have any other choice.
I told my Assistant Principal that afternoon that I freaked and
stormed out because I was poor; that there were nights that I went
to bed hungry. I didnt tell her that I went to bed hungry because
6

what food we did have I didnt want, not realizing that my selfish
act of wanting needing a platform to tell my teacher and my
class how the other half lived almost got me and my sister taken
away from my mother.
My mom called me from work when I got home and told me that
Id be moving in with my father for a little while, because she
didnt know what to do with me.
And you know what? I dont know if I blame her.
Mom

[MUSIC IN]

emerged from her car and started yelling my name,

demanding that I come out of the van. Dad told me to get in the
backseat and stay there as he jumped out and Mom jumped down
his throat and first, my parents, then my uncles, then Cindy all
started fighting over what they thought was theirs.
I kept myself locked in Dads van and sat staring at Mom
threatening Dad while protected by my two gargantuan uncles,
Dad saying nothing as the fighting continued to storm around him.
Mom yelled at me to get out of the car because the cops were on
their way, Cindy yelled at me to stay inside and not come out,
before Mom spat back at her: Dont talk to MY son, Cindy. You

dont have a say here. Una mujer que duerme en la cama de un

hombre casado, no tiene derecho de hablar.
I could hear my heart beating in my ears as

[MUSIC OUT]

time seemed

to slow almost to a stop and I processed the words:

Una mujer que duerme en la cama de un hombre casado no tiene
derecho de hablar.
A woman who sleeps in a married mans bed has no right to talk.
I looked

[MUSIC IN]

up and saw a look of defeat on Dads face for a

brief moment before he turned to help my uncles pull Mom and

Cindy apart before they tore each other to shreds which they
were fairly close to doing.
There are these moments you hear about all the time when your
parents stop being the superheroes you thought they were. This
was mine.
Id spent the last year ignoring the insinuations Mom was making
about Dad messing around while they were married, hoping that
they were just the angry rantings of a heartbroken wife and
mother.

But here was the proof, standing right in front of me. I know now
that Cindy wasnt the first, but in that moment and for the next
fifteen years, I tried to convince myself that she was the reason for
my parents divorce. I told myself that their love was so great, that
they protected me and cared for me and sacrificed for me so much
that there was no way that anything other than an outside force
could make them do this. Make them treat me like a bargaining
chip to hurt each other. I villainized this woman and told myself
that I hated her for destroying my family and tearing my parents
apart, all in an effort to keep those capes on their shoulders.

[MUSIC

OUT]

Cindy and Mom were still going at it when the cops pulled up and
pried them apart. Moms face and neck were covered in scratches
and she clutched a small tuft of shiny permed hair in her hand.
Slurs flew back and forth in Spanish and in English. Mom produced
custody papers that proved that, for all legal intents and purposes,
I belonged to her.
Dad produced a small white envelopeI recognized it from the
spot in the china cabinet that it had been in since June. I
immediately knew what he was doing, and knew that it wouldnt
make any difference. He held the envelope up so that Mom and
everyone else could see that he had proof that I should be with
him, pulling out the fathers day card that I gave him that year,
9

with the note inside of it thanking him for helping me be better

than I was before I moved in with him.
A police officer walked over to the van and knocked gently on the
window.
Im sorry, buddy, but while all this gets sorted out, youre gonna
have to go with your mom. Just for now. Is that okay? I stared at
the officer blankly before pushing past her to go upstairs and get
my suitcase. She asked me as though I had a say one way or the
other.
The moment I saw her pull out the custody papers, I knew that
Mom had won. Knew that at the end of the day, Id have to go with
her, regardless of what I wanted. I also knew that Dads Fathers
Day card should have meant something more than the legal
documents that Mom had been sitting on since she first pulled up
to the house. Documents that she hadnt bothered to get changed
when she sent me away to live with Dad and his mistress, but now
were suddenly brandished like a certificate of ownership when it
seemed the most convenient.
When

[MUSIC IN]

I came back down with my suitcase, Dad was sitting

on the steps of the house with his head buried in his shaking

10

hands. I said goodbye, hugged him, and told him I would see him
soon.
Then, I got into Moms car, and went back to the bungalow on
Schubert Avenue that I used to call home. [MUSIC OUT]

11