Miguel Monologue

It’s All For You
“Miguel, eat your frijoles” I said.
“They’re called beans, dad.”
Este ignorante. “You can teach me when you’re actually in school.”
“It don’t matter if I can get what I want” said Miguel.
I let out a sigh. I looked at my dear wife, Maria, and she just smiled at me. She doesn’t speak English as well as I have learned to, but she understood what was going on. Her smile calmed me down from a swelling of emotions that cluttered inside me. Seeing my son, Miguel, and the rest of mis hijos fall into paths of miserable lives made me feel that I failed as a father. They shouldn’t live the lives of ignorance, fear, and unsatisfied dreams that exist on the other side of the border. Skipping school. Not learning while they’re
in school. And scared of the criminals… scared of the police. Never being able to achieve their dreams because they couldn’t afford an education, the instrument they wanted to play, or the life they wanted for their family… or not being able to feed their family. Skipping meals so that their kids wouldn’t go to bed hungry. "Mijo, do you know why your mother and I came to the Estados Unidos?"
"It's time for school.
See ya later old man." He got up and swung his backpack over his shoulders.
My wife grabbed our plates, heading for the kitchen sink. "Cuídate Miguel, y proteje tus hermanos."
In unison, my four kids ran out the door, "Love you!" I watched them from the kitchen window. They hopped onto their school bus laughing and pushing one another. A general feeling of happiness would reach me when I witnessed these moments, but I could never smile about it. They didn’t have the lives I wanted for them.
"Vas a ir a
trabajar?"
"Maria mi amor... no. Voy a platicar con los maestros."
My wife replied in English, with her thick and beautiful Latina accent, "You care more about your kids than anything in the world, even me, even paying rent, even God," she said with her pointy chin exaggerating each syllable. She moved towards me looking at my chest, pressed her hand on it and brought her cheek to my shoulder and hugged me. She whispered, "And that's why I married you."
I smiled at her, kissed her on the forehead, and made my way out the door.
I took our pick-up truck and drove to their school. They were in a school that joined grades K-12. I enrolled them in it believing they would be better off together rather than separated. It also saves me time, gas, and confusion from heading to different schools.
I was grateful for the improvements I’ve made in the lives of my children, but it wasn’t enough. We weren’t living on a farm, but in suburbs. In the city, but not a very peaceful one.
On my way to the school, there was the usual ambulance or fire truck with their sirens ringing. Inconvenient pot holes in the road. Street signs would be missing, and only the pole they were attached to would sit there in its place. There were always shoes tied along the electrical wires, but I never knew what for. The neighborhood was polluted with garbage, broken bottles, cigarette-butts, illegible writing, and stray cats and dogs. Some street lamps were broken, pay-phones were forced open, and the sidewalks were scribbled on with cracks, ashes, spray paint, and engravings from the time of its settlement. Sometimes however, there would be beautiful murals on the side of a liquor store, or even a
church.
I was just a few blocks away from their school, and from my truck I could see a rush of kids running across the street. Hispanics and blacks were rushing in a group, all wearing blue t-shirts. I rolled down my window, and I heard yelling coming from down the street. My body became very tense, and my stomach tightened. A feeling of nausea overcame me for a few seconds. There could be a turf war or arranged violence going on. Frightened my children might be involved, I took my keys and got out of my car, leaving it in the middle of the road. There was a scream, and more to follow. I ran towards the yelling, and as I turned around the block I witnessed the clashing of two colors. I realized this color-coded group was a gang. The other gang wore black t-shirts. I looked for any one of my children to see if I could find them in the midst of it. My two older boys were wearing black this morning. As I rushed around the pile of violence, I climbed a dumpster to get a better view.