Israel is BornApril 21, 2008 by Israel Lagares | No comments
From what he can remember he was born in New York City. Columbia Presbyterian Hospital, now renamed New York Presbyterian Hospital. It’s on Broadway and 168th Street on that infamous island of Manhattan. The exact height and weight is unknown to him. All he recalls is being told that he was a big baby. He has always been “big.”
Memories of a building somewhere in Manhattan and of a father he doesn’t hate nor love come to mind often. His mom has been there for him as much as possible. She has her faults, as does everyone. He willingness to give and assist others is definitely a fault. It runs in the family with her first born daughter, Ruth. But this isn’t about Ruth, it’s about Israel.
Flashes of a childhood blurringly remembered come through to him as he reflects on times past. There’s a reddish-brown brick building standing tall. His mom pushing him in a stroller. And his dad absent. His dad isn’t a bad person, he just hasn’t been there for much of his life. Not immediately there at least. He doesn’t hate him for it. But he doesn’t have much love for him either. It’s a neutral feeling, as weird as it sounds.
There aren’t much memories of him and his dad growing up. Just those times when they would all go to Macy’s downtown for Christmas, and maybe that one photo he recalls of him and his dad sharing a great bonding moment. That’s all really. The rest is all in photo albums that he barely remember even exist.
As a child he was blond and light skinned. They dressed him up as Casper the friendly ghost because of it. That’s all gone now. No more blond hair, no more locks of fine hair. Now it’s just dark brown naps on a head that sometimes doesn’t want to be had…
Chapter 1: IntroMarch 18, 2008 by Israel Lagares | No comments
It has been a mere 24 years, 3 months and 22 days. Nothing when compared to the amount of time that just passed in his mind. He had just finished checking his email, a routine he followed religiously since first learning about the internet 6 years ago as a freshman in college, when he realized that his life was not particularly unique. He leaned back in his reclining chair and started to think. All this time he felt like there was something special about him, something that made him stand out, but there was nothing. He was normal. Just like everyone else. Or was he? That, he decided, is what he would set out to discover! There has to be something that made his life unique. That something would turn out to be his family.
All families have certain aspects that make them unique, but most Hispanic families are the same. They all have a key ingredient: Drama. There is always this mode of tragedy that has to exist so that the Hispanic family can strive to rid itself of this tragedy, only to need it again. If there is any tranquility, it only lasts for a brief moment until drama comes back like a stealth commando and breaks its ease.
His family was no exception to the rule. His mother emigrated from the Dominican Republic, as did his father. But not before having three children. The oldest was a girl and was followed by two boys. Once his father set himself up in the “Promise Land,” otherwise known as New York City, his mother and three siblings were flown in to see the gold grow on sidewalks. Soon after arriving, his mother’s belly began to swell. It was him, blonde haired and milky-skinned.
That was the beginning of what he thought was a worthwhile life thus far. He was wrong.
Israel: The Book, first draft, 2005-04-22
*Note: Intro written 2005-04-22