Javier, my father, was and up and coming lawyer in the D.R. He had always been fond of my mother, thinking that she was the funniest of the Castillo siblings. Even when she was younger, dad recalled her often getting in scuffles to defend the honor of her older, more emotional siblings. He once called her “brute force in a floral dress”. He admired her when she was a child. And when she got older, I think you can guess where his mind went.
Well, that night the alcohol was free flowing and everyone was free willed and somehow my parents ended up in a hotel bed together. Here’s where I point out that even as drunk as my father was he still had the presence of mind to slip on a condom and in a moment of further T.M.I. my mom tells me that her first time was magnificent and totally worth the pregnancy.
Spoiler alert.
But back to that later. In the glaring light of the day, my dad was MORTIFIED. He begged her to forgive him, which, you know, rendered my mom speechless. He insisted that they go to her parents so that he could ask for her hand in marriage (“It’s the least I can do for ruining you). So, my mom, at this point, didn’t know she was pregnant. Also, she didn’t really care for having anyone else, but the whole ruining her bit and the fact that she thought he felt obligated to “keep her” seemed wrong to her. She’d won, but it almost seemed at a loss. So, my mom insisted that he think about it for a bit, get his bearings before he goes making plans that he’ll regret. So, a few weeks later, dad shows up. Long story short, in the lowest keys of a wedding I have ever heard of, my parents were married on a farm in the very beginning of September. Not too long after wards, the front of my mother started to protrude ever so slightly. Mom just shrugged it off as settling into married life. Dad pointed out that the protrusion was only in the middle. They didn’t consider it would be possible to be pregnant after one time and mom wouldn’t be visibly pregnant after three weeks of marriage. Reality sank in when grandpa chased dad around with a machete, I can only assume for some archaic patriarchal reason.
A couple of weeks later, my dad gets a call from a friend of his who has the opportunity of a lifetime. But he has to leave right away. Dad promised that once he was settled, he would send for mom and me.
And that is how I was born in a boat in the Gulf of Mexico. Luckily for the two of them, as I was being ripped into this world, they were crossing paths with a party yacht. Or fate, because this yacht was filled a bunch of professors from Florida State University. Four of those professors happened to be in the lower deck while my mom pushed through her contractions. On December 25, at midnight, I was born on the S.S. Jordan surrounded by my parents; Bryan Delaney, a law professor; Aqila Shalhoub, a professor in western theology; Eustacia Sparrow, an OB/GYN; and Angela Isaacs, a nurse.
From that moment on, the four professors became our American family. We lived with Dr. Isaacs until mom and dad could save up and get their own place, refusing to accept any sort of compensation from them. Dr. Delaney helped us get our citizenship, putting in all sorts of hours to make sure there would be no reason for it to be challenged. Since there were now more ready and willing people to take care of me, mom was able to become a nurse as well. The adults in my life thought that it was in my best interest to keep me insulated. It was the reason that I was home schooled. It was why they never hired a babysitter, choosing to keep me surrounded with familiar faces. For a while I couldn’t understand why I wasn’t allowed to play with other child, or give the mailman a hug or take candy directly from some of my mom’s colleagues.
No comments:
Post a Comment