Odyssey: The Summer of 1976

(Missy and Mo-Mo, covering her face, in front. left to right Jimmy, Boi and me.)

It was the bicentennial of our country. Gerald Ford was president at the time. Disco coursed the veins of popular music, K.C. and the Sunshine Band was all the rage. People actually interacted with each other, there were still phone booths on every corner and there were no cell phones. If you didn’t have a dime, you didn’t make a call. There was no such thing as social media, tweet was something birds did. No personal computers or the internet, the web was something spiders weaved. It was almost another world in a sense.

I was 11, then, I had just finished 5th grade. Mr. Courtright, my teacher, had wished me good luck before I left. At least I got to finish the year with him. He was the best teacher I ever had. Even though his breath smelled funny, he was always very kind to me. The kids in my class told me it was beer. I made a card for him the last day I was in class. I nearly tripped handing it to him before I ran out of his classroom for the last time. For some reason I cared about Mr. Courtright, a fifty something year old white teacher.

But he let Miss Hoffman, his teacher's aide, teach us the steps to the Hustle. He didn't send me to the principal's office when I pulled Yvette, my best friend's hair in class. I knew then that Mr. Courtright liked me better than Yvette. He let it slide and didn't even call momma.

Sitting in the car next to my little brother Jimmy I remembered Miss Hoffman teaching us to do "The Hustle" in class. Years later it was the only dance I ever learned how to do. Back then, she taught us on the school blacktop with sketches of hopscotch and four-square lines beneath our feet. The whole class thought she was so cool, a 21 year old young black woman teaching us the latest disco steps.

It was the end of May or the beginning of June four children sat in the back seat, while momma and daddy, and Missy sat up front. In those days we didn't have to wear seat belts, and we usually hovered towards the front seat with our little hands curved nearly around momma and daddy's necks, until daddy yelled at us to get back the way he always did.

Daddy had it in his crazy young heart to make it as an artist, so he chose Los Angeles, but ended up driving us to San Diego. I didn’t realize until now, how young he and momma really were. He was 32 years old, Hispanic, attractive, and dark. Daddy had gorgeous thick black hair. I always thought he was the right height at “5,9”. Back then we weren’t an obese nation, daddy weighed about 170 lbs. He always had a mustache, black, not slender or bushy, his mustache complimented his face. I will never forget daddy’s brown puppy dog eyes, whenever he would beg momma for forgiveness, his eyes came in handy.

Momma and daddy took all five of us. By this time Boi was 12, he was the smart one, I was 11, Jimmy was 8, he was the good-looking one, Mo-Mo was 7, momma said she was special because she didn't want Christmas presents like the rest of us, she said that Christmas was Jesus' birthday not hers, and Missy was 5, she was the crybaby. We were still a very young brood, but daddy packed us up like luggage, and took us to a magical place.

I’m not sure if momma really wanted to go. But she went. Momma was 31 at the time, beautiful and slender. She was the most beautiful woman in the world, second only to Elizabeth Taylor. Momma had black hair, and high cheek bones she claimed were due to her Comanche blood. Momma's eyes were brown and shaped like a cats. She had two gorgeous dimples planted deep into her cheeks. I never looked like her, she never won any beauty contests, but all of her life she could attract men, wherever she went.

Daddy leased 1422 our home, of 9 years to momma’s sister Tia Dalia for a year. She moved in with her family, our first cousins. We had to give up our dog Scotty, a collie, because we were moving. Scotty went to live with a family in Sanger. I knew we would never see our dog Scotty again. Over the years we lost the only picture we had of Scotty.

I would miss our home, but when you’re a kid, your heart is with your parents, no matter how reckless, or how much of a dreamer one of them is, you believe your parents know absolutely everything. They would make everything work out, no matter how seemingly far-fetched. Daddy had given up his job as a graphic artist at Belmont Printers. He was tired of working for peanuts as he put. Although daddy was smart, he didn’t have a college degree, just a lot of talent and dreams.

But we were a family, and it was going to be better. It was a different place, we were starting over, and there wouldn’t be the fighting we had back home in 1422. We were in the Impala, taking the 99, and would enjoy the drive through the grapevine.  It was the route we usually took to Disneyland, this would be a new adventure, and I wouldn’t have to be that 11 year old banging on our neighbor Steve's door to beg him to stop daddy from beating momma up. Whenever daddy grabbed momma by her hair, or punched her in the face, I had to be out of the house before he hit her again. That was my role, of protector, taking care of momma, and of my brothers and sisters, three of whom were younger.

I didn’t know what my parent’s plans were. I don’t think daddy had a job waiting for him, he lived on impulse, and we all did the same that strange, but wonderful summer.

The morning daddy drove us to San Diego, I made up a little song while daddy filled the gas tank of the 1974 brown Chevrolet Impala.

“Good-bye Fresno, Hello San Diego.” 

Initially daddy told us we were moving to San Diego. I still remember that ditty to this day.

We put a lot of hope in the trip up there. The kind of hope that is a fairy tale. The drive up there was nice and lulled me into a false sense of security. I think we all had a sense of wonder driving up there. Except for Mo-Mo she was scared of crossing the mountains. I could hear her whimpers like a little puppy in the front seat next to momma holding onto "Woozy Wozo". Our last trip to Disneyland the Toyota, broke down and we took a Greyhound bus from Bakersfield to Disneyland.

Mo-Mo was always quiet, her wavy bangs over her face. Momma always tried to brush them out of her eyes. She always stayed close to momma; at home she was scared of daddy hiding in the closet whenever daddy began screaming at momma. Mo-mo held onto her little stuffed bear momma had sewed and daddy had stuffed, only the stuffing ran out, so her bear had very little stuffing in his head, so he was called "Woozy Wozo." Daddy had used most of the stuffing for Missy's stuffed bear. He was called "Woozy Wozo" because he was lightheaded all of the time from having very little stuffing in his head. So daddy said he was woozy all the time. Mo-Mo felt her bear was special.

Our eyes widened when we pulled through to L.A. We hungrily eyed the skyscrapers. They were extraordinary, like magical castles. Boi said he would never know which freeway to get on, but you know Boi he knew after awhile.

San Diego was cold and overcast when we got there. That’s why I didn’t take off my tennis shoes on the beaches of San Diego, there was no way I was going into the water, I just stood next to the waves as they rushed in. Anyway, daddy was very strict and never let us go into the water when we used to go to Avocado Lake with our cousins. So my siblings and I stood on the shoreline in the cold morning, white sheets of breath escaped from our mouths. Daddy left us on the beach to go look for a newspaper. We shivered on the beach for about two hours until daddy came back. Of course, momma was furious. She and daddy had a huge argument. Daddy was looking through the newspaper, while he and momma sat on a bench not far away. I could still hear their loud voices.

At the time I didn’t think about money. I couldn’t imagine how much money daddy actually had in his pocket. It was then, that daddy decided on Los Angeles. We all got back into the Impala I didn’t know to begin an odyssey of strange days that would be an indelible part of me for the rest of my life, like someone I intimately knew.

We started the morning with donuts from Winchell’s, that was always a great part of the day starting with junk food, and a parent’s blessing to eat it. Daddy had driven us to El Rancho Motel in Santa Anna for the next couple of nights, until he found the job that complimented his restless and moody soul.

Daddy was a tangle of humor and volatile feelings; he was charming, yet exasperating. Although I didn't know it at the time daddy was a misfit. Momma and daddy would argue over where to eat in the mornings, mom wanted donuts that were cheap, and daddy wanted a Denny’s breakfast. With five rug rats at his feet, aged 5-12 years old I didn’t know what he was thinking.

So, like squirrels we began to eat the donuts until there was nothing left but crumbs. Mo-Mo ate the slowest, Missy usually wanted to eat her food, but momma was protective of Mo-Mo and would slap her hand away from Mo-Mo’s food. I ate only what was given to me, not to incur momma’s wrath, yes, sometimes I wanted more, but we were on a budget, and I had learned to eat what was only on my plate. Jimmy wanted to eat Boi's food, and the same thing would happen to him, momma would slap his hand away from Boi’s food. Boi was so skinny. Even though he was only 12, he was meticulous, and would read the map when we used to go to Disneyland. Daddy was too prideful to listen to Boi's instructions and would end up getting us all lost. It made daddy angry that Boi could read the map and he couldn't.

Momma was the tragic figure in all of this. I don’t think she really wanted to be there. Momma was 31, and desperately wanted to make her marriage work, through the beatings at home, this was her last effort, the last chance she was going to give daddy, and it took everything in her. Looking back, momma was brave, going on a scavenger hunt for a job with daddy and five young children.

We were on one long joy ride as daddy drove through the freeways with newspaper in hand. This was the part I enjoyed, racing through the veins of Southern California. I could feel its heart pump it was alive. There were two radio stations we listened to consistently, "Hit Radio 11, KRLA, and K-Earth, the oldies station. They must have been the stations daddy wanted, because we never heard “Cherry Bomb” by the Runaways. The songs that rode with us on the freeways were Starbucks, “Moonlight Feels Right”, and Andrea True Connection’s “More, More, More.” I actually thought the lyrics were Mo-Mo Mo, after my younger sister, she thought so too, every time the song played, she had the tiniest smile. The music was important as we spent a lot of time in the brown Impala with a white roof, going from city to city, for daddy’s job interviews.

Other songs that blared on the radio were Wings, “Silly Love Songs”, Let Em’ in." Daddy used to sing along with the songs. Other songs that became part of the summer were, Elton John and Kiki Dee’s “Don’t Go Breaking my Heart,” England Dan and John Ford Coley’s, “I’d Really Love to see you tonight.” The music was mellow, and soothed us to sleep, if we were on the road at night. Hall and Oates had, “Sarah Smile,” and “She’s Gone,” and the very poignant Seals and Croft’s “Get Closer,” which was very tragically about momma and daddy. We really didn’t know that “Afternoon Delight,” was about sex, it just had a catchy rhythm, their voices blended so well. Daddy said Jimmy liked, The Manhattans, “Let’s Kiss and Say Good-bye,” and we loved Lou Rawls, “You’ll Never Find.” It was the year of disco, Maxine Nightingales, “Right Back Where We Started From,” "K.C. and the Sunshine Band had “Shake Your Booty,” the Sylvers had the strong bass song, “Boogie Fever.” Silver Convention’s, “Get Up and Boogie,” echoed through my head, and Dorothy Moore’s sad ballad, “Misty Blue.” Diana Ross’ “Love Hangover”, and Vicki Sue Robinson’s, “Turn the Beat Around,” Wild Cherry's "Play that Funky Music," and the Beatles “Got to get you into my life,” which charted 6 years after their break-up. These were the songs daddy really loved or we wouldn’t have heard them so much.

Living in Los Angeles we lived from Motel 6 to Motel 6. We went through every town 50 miles of L.A. We would take shelter in whatever city we were in. The first few weeks we slept in a lot of strange motels. Daddy used to tell the night managers he had 3 kids, or else they wouldn’t take us. The manager would come out and look at the car two of us always ducked our heads down. Then he’d give daddy the key for the room, with a big plastic number. Once, we were vacating the room, and the manager saw the five of us leaving the room.

“Hey, hey, you have too many kids.” The manager yelled.

Daddy yelled at us to hurry up and get in the car. I don’t quite know why the manager followed the car through the parking lot, just crazy.

Then daddy got a job in a Burbank print shop. We waited in a recreation center every day daddy was at work, since we had no place to stay. Momma made us ham sandwiches for lunch.

He stayed at the job one week daddy told us he got laid off for the boss’ relative.

"Oh boy I thought", "back to the drawing board."

Daddy went back to those interviews where we waited in the car for hours. I didn't understand why they had to take so long? We waited in the unforgiving Southern California heat, while daddy was interviewing, we just sat in the impala for 2 or 3 hours, with the windows rolled down. Momma was in the car with 5 children. Missy was usually crying and sitting on her lap. Mo-Mo was whiny, because Jimmy was bothering her in the car. Boi would punch me in the arm when momma wasn't looking. He would tease Mo-Mo by crisscrossing his arms and moving his hands underneath his chin as if they were wings and would buzz like a fly. He did that back home pretending that Momo was a fly. She wouldn't cry out loud, but quietly shed tears. Daddy used to say she would cry crocodile tears. When momma turned around Boi would pretend to read his Spider Man Comic book. I daydreamed of being somewhere else.

We didn't have bottled water back then. Some days we didn't have our milk gallon filled with water in the ice chest. On such days momma chose me to find some water and gave me the empty plastic milk gallon. Of course, Boi wouldn’t go so I took Jimmy. Momma gave us an empty plastic gallon of milk to put the water in. Jimmy and I got off to scout for some water in an office building. We saw a water cooler in the office, but we didn't see any tiny paper cups for the water. Jimmy was thirsty and positioned his mouth under the little water faucet gulping hungrily at the water. I stood nearby embarrassed as a Caucasian man with a suit entered the room. Jimmy was 8, but he was as tall as me when I was 11. I felt it helped that Jimmy looked white. Daddy’s parents made a big deal about Jimmy looking like a “guero,” with his curly brown hair. The man just looked at me, so I felt I had to explain, my little brother’s behavior.

“We are waiting in the car because my daddy’s on an interview, and my momma, brother and little sisters are very thirsty. Can we please have a little water?” I nervously replied.

“Sure, just don’t take too much."

I smiled, when you are a child, little victories like this mean so much.

Daddy’s interviews were hard on all of us. But they were hardest on the younger siblings, particularly Missy. She had her ta-ta like a security blanket, if it got misplaced, there was some kind of hell to pay. We had to keep track of it, usually she had it with her, near her mouth, but if she lost it while she was asleep or there was a mishap. Missy would literally wail. Her crying wasn't like Mo-Mo's soft whimpers, Missy screamed her head off, thunderous sobs that even the music couldn't drown out.

We had no place to stay in the day, we spent most of our time in a local park or in the car. But we had to keep moving like gypsies, from city to city, until night fell, and daddy would have to find us a cheap motel to sleep in. The next morning, we were off the same as before, I didn’t realize then that we were homeless that summer.

In the afternoons, momma would buy a package of ham and a loaf of bread to make us sandwiches. Sometimes, we sat in a park where there was a recreation center and they would lend out four square balls. But that didn't happen very often.

There was a sense of freedom when we rode on those magical freeways, that twisted and turned into wherever you wanted to go, and cities merged into one another, where you left one kingdom and entered another. Daddy didn’t smile as often, momma and he would argue in the front seat with Missy on her lap. The music broke the tension in the impala, the DJ, Shadoe Stevens, and the intro, “Hit Radio 11, KRLA.” Strangely enough that gave me security knowing that we were listening to the music on the dark highways, looking for another cheap motel.

We literally lived out of a suitcase; everyday we seemed to wear the same old clothes. Like the Skipper and Gilligan on Gilligan's Island, we only had a few clothes with us. We ate a lot of sandwiches. I don’t remember eating much fast food, daddy didn't have the money.

Whenever we had an errand to do, I always used to take Jimmy for the obvious reasons, Boi always said “no” Jimmy was my younger brother, as tall as I was, and would follow me when I said to him,

“Come on Jimmy.”

Jimmy was my sidekick in those days. We were the advanced scouts sent to collect water out of a water machine in front of the Alpha Beta, we didn’t realize we were supposed to have a bucket or jug. We put the dime in, and the water came gushing out. I stood there unable to process the water gushing out I didn’t have a container, Jimmy did the only thing a child could think of he stuck his head under the descending fountain, gulping the water. I was so embarrassed.

Daddy’s temper grew short with Boi’s corrections of his sense of direction. We consistently got lost, the freeways were like labyrinths, only Boi could make any sense of where the turn offs were. This didn’t sit well with daddy at all, he’d scream at Boi, as if he was a man, and not his little boy. I hated when daddy would use a cruel voice, to hurt him. Boi was only 12, thin, and hadn’t grown he was only a little taller than me. When daddy did this, I knew the trip wasn’t going to be what I anticipated, the end of daddy’s anger, the end of his meanness.

It must have been humiliating for daddy not to have a job. Momma didn't offer much encouragement. At times it seemed she had nothing to give to daddy. Momma tried to smile, but I could see her unhappiness. It must have been horrible for momma to see her kids without a house, sitting in the Impala for hours. The corners of her eyes hid the secret tears she never let us see.

The interviews were grueling, and were beginning to crush daddy’s spirit. I knew that’s why he really snapped at Boi. Losing the Burbank job was a terrible setback to his confidence. Momma and daddy argued back and forth regularly over the radio, maybe that is why I focused so much on the music to save me, we didn’t pray like we should have. Jimmy, Mo-Mo and Missy were so young to be cooped up in a car all summer.

Boi, me and Jimmy tried to sail popsicle sticks in the little bit of water in the gutter. But the popsicle sticks didn't journey very far in puddle water.

Boi and me sat near the gutter on the curb near the Impala. Jimmy began jumping on and off the curb.

"Why did we come?" Boi complained.

"Because daddy brought us." I said.

This was the stupidest idea," Boi complained again. 'Coming." "Nobody asked us."

"Its not so bad," I said.

"It's worse." Boi whined almost crying.

Momma called for us to watch Jimmy he was going too far away from the car. The hours of waiting amounted to moping.

After an interview, daddy’s face would tell it all. The look of despair, knowing we depended on him to provide for us. When he’d get in the car, momma would ask him about the interview, she wasn’t very encouraging.

“You didn’t get the job, Ray.” Momma said almost afraid to ask.

“They were very impressed with me.” "You'll see they'll call."

“Where, where will they call, Ray?" Momma said almost sarcastically without meaning to.

Daddy was dumbfounded. Momma felt sorry for him in that moment and touched his hand.

Pity turned to cold anger seeing Missy sucking her thumb. She held onto an old cloth diaper she called a “ta ta”. Momma looked at daddy with that scolding look on her face, as if to say, "What were we even doing here?"

Despite the avalanche of emotions momma and daddy would go to the grocery store. Their children needed to be fed. Momma would come back with packaged ham and white bread, and soda. She would make the sandwiches. I’m glad she didn’t say anything. It was worse when they argued back and forth, one trying to win a senseless debate.

Then one evening daddy drove into a McDonald’s parking lot, almost out of money we spent the night behind McDonald’s in the Impala.

“Aren’t we going to a motel?” Boi asked.

Shut-up and go to sleep”, was all daddy said.

I had never slept in the car before, except when we went to the drive in. I slept sitting down, we all did. Momma, daddy and the two girls slept in the front seat. The front seat went all the way across. Missy was on momma’s lap, with Mo-Mo snuggled up against her. Me, Jimmy and Boi slept in the back seat. We had a few blankets, but it got chilly. More than the cold, it was dark, except for a street light. I could still hear the sound of traffic. It was less intense at night. I would have felt scared if we weren’t all together. Jimmy laid his head against me. Boi didn’t want anyone on his shoulder, whenever Jimmy leaned against him, he would push him away. Over the years Jimmy had learned not to lay his head against Boi, unless of course he was already asleep. That was taboo Boi didn’t like to be touched. I spent part of the night looking out of the fogged window wondering what I would see. But I stopped, thinking I would see monsters, so I covered my head the rest of the night and fell asleep, with Jimmy’s brown curly hair against my cheek.

The next morning, daddy said we were down to our last $7.00. Remembering what his mom and dad told him, we went to a church for help, St. Vincent de Paul. They gave us $10.00 for food. But, we still needed a place to stay. We spent our second night in the McDonald’s parking lot.

The next day daddy in desperation went back to St. Vincent De Paul with 57 cents in his pocket. With urgency daddy pounded on the door. But the priest didn’t want to open the door, despite daddy's frustrated pounding on the church door. But Father O’ Gorman, the priest coldly told daddy to leave. Daddy came back to the car disheartened.

“The priest kicked me out of the church.” He said with despair in his voice.

I could see the panic in daddy’s young eyes. I'll never forget the look on daddy's face, like somebody died. I couldn't believe that a priest would turn his back like that. We almost gave up hope.

When we got into the car to leave a man came up to our car and tapped on the window. Daddy rolled the window down, to talk to the man. His name was Al Scudellari, an Italian man who was a Catholic. He was a middle-aged man in his 50's, short and a bit stocky, gray-haired with a collar shirt. He told daddy to follow him to his home in Anaheim from La Habra where we were at.

I don't remember calling Al, Mr. Scudellari, because I never addressed him directly. I only remember daddy calling him Al.

Al brought us into his home. Al and his wife Dot were very gracious and told momma and daddy we could stay there as long as we needed to. It was surprising to me that this stranger took us home to his family. His wife didn't object to what Al did, bringing a stray family home. She was kind to us.

But we only stayed there for one week. Momma and daddy didn’t want to take advantage of them. Al and Dot had 9 children, most of them were already out of the house. He let us stay in his 17 year old son Willie’s room who was clad in blue jeans and a t-shirt. I thought he was cute, his brown hair to his neck he resembled David Cassidy. Willie was a Kiss fan, as I saw his albums near his record player. I noticed this because the group Kiss was strange, wearing bizarre make-up. This album cover was weird, Kiss were wearing business suits like the man in the office building who told me not to take too much water. It was even more puzzling, Willie said nothing and took his stuff to the living room as if he had given up his room before.

In the living room, there was a girl who appeared to be a toddler, lying on the sofa in a diaper. But she wasn’t a toddler, she was my age 11. She was the baby of the family, born severely brain damaged. Her mother Dot told us she was in nearly a vegetative state. Most of their children had moved out of the house, except for this girl on the couch, Willie and his 15 year old sister Connie.

The girl on the couch whose name I didn't even know impressed upon me deeply. Like an infant, but not an infant, a girl my own age, who would never grow beyond who she was. Al and Dot had to endure this secret pain, still they served God. How many of us would still serve God, if our own children were 'less than what we expect', to have 'less of a life,' than what we would want for them. She was not really 'less than,' but it was our understanding that was really 'less than.'

I was still a child myself. I thought God would 'fix' everything. Fix my momma and daddy's broken marriage. Because I couldn't 'fix' it. The Scudellari's couldn't 'fix' this beautiful little girl who was on the couch, she would probably die in a few years. I realized it was probably because of her that her parents did take us in. I never thanked her.

I saw the Scudellari's practice their faith, and this made an impression on me for the rest of my life. They were active in their church in La Habra, but it wasn't just show, they actually believed in Jesus.

Al and Dot Scudellari were the first people to ever give us a Bible. It was a Catholic Bible. It was by God’s grace that they had taken us in. This act gave me hope, that people were kind. These people, who were strangers cared about our family.

One afternoon Al came home with a very large crucifix he was proud to show us. Our crucifixes at home were small. Momma hung a plastic one over our beds at home. As Al showed us his crucifix, he gave us pictures the size of memorial cards given at a funeral of Jesus before He was crucified on the Cross. It was a depiction of Jesus with all of His wounds, deep gashes all over His body, more than I had ever seen on the statue of Jesus on the Cross at our Catholic Church back home. The picture made me cry.

We were born Catholics. I was baptized as a baby and made my Holy Communion when I was 9 back home. It was something we were expected to do as Catholics. But I was not connected to Jesus like other people were. The people who smiled when they talked about Jesus seemed so at peace, they sometimes called them, "The Jesus Freaks." But they didn't seem like freaks at all, I think we all wanted what they had. Something real, I didn't have it, momma and daddy didn't have it either, or else they wouldn't let every word be an attack. Their anger was on the surface like their skin. I didn't know what a home without anger was like. Without someone being upset all the time. I wanted to stay in a perpetual dream, without ever having to wake up, living in a world covered in blankets of untouched white snow, or a world of forest with bubbling brooks and birds chirping happily in the trees, grass quietly growing, a place without violence. Sometime, I think I learned to stop crying.

Now that we had a place to sleep, we went with daddy to look for work again. This time we drove out to Diamond Bar for a job interview at K-mart. Daddy met with the manager Bob Molina. He told Bob about our situation, and we followed Bob back to La Habra to his parent’s home. Mrs. Molina, his mom was a large lady with a heart of gold. She used to always say, “Bless your heart," and It’s the sin of pride."

Mrs. Molina told momma it was the sin of pride not to ask for help when you need it. Momma was ashamed to ask people for help even when she needed it, especially when she didn't even know the people.

Mrs. Molina believed it was better to stay poor and humble because, "It's easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the Kingdom of God."

She had a daughter named Elvira, who was 18, we called her Vera. She used to take us out to the nearby park to play. We played all the usual games poor kids played, statues, tarantulas, and airplanes. Vera was like a big sister to us because she used to play with us. In the game airplanes, she’d try to hit us with a ball while we pretended to fly around her. She would twirl us around in the game statues then tell us what to pretend to be.

She always said, “Oh really, oh really.”

Mrs. Molina and Vera went to Mass every morning. I don't know if Vera really wanted to go but she went with her mother. We only went to Mass once a week back home. Daddy didn't always go. Sometimes they would argue on the way to Mass on Sunday, some Sundays they could get past the arguing, other times we would miss Mass or church as we called it.

Mrs. Molina used to let us wash our clothes in her house, that’s why we went so often. The quarters we saved on laundry was money we could use for food. I guess we didn't wash at Al's because there were more people in his house. Daddy just took us to Mrs. Molina's house with our dirty laundry.

Her son Bob, the K-mart manager who introduced us to Mrs. Molina wasn't married. I could tell Mrs. Molina wanted her son to get married, and as she said to stop being a bachelor, already. It annoyed her that her younger son Bob would bring different girlfriends to meet her when she just wanted him to settle down with a wife already and just give her grandchildren.

Mrs. Molina also had another son, Alan, whose wife believed in astrology. I sensed Mrs. Molina disliked her daughter-in-law. She hated that her three young granddaughters were being raised as atheists and not as Catholics. It seems she pinned her hopes on her daughter Vera.

Boi had a silver chain of Jaws around his neck that he got out of one of those gumball machines before we came to Los Angeles he liked to wear. Mrs. Molina told him it was an idol. But I didn't think it was an idol like the golden calf in the Ten Commandments movie. It was only a little plastic shark.

Her husband, Mr. Molina was an old man who looked like he was in his 70's. Mrs. Molina told us she was 18 years old when she married Mr. Molina who was already a middle-aged man of 42. When our family was alone daddy laughed and said he robbed the cradle. Unlike, Mrs. Molina he was quiet, I hardly ever heard him speak. The Molina's kindly gave daddy a check for $100.00, Mrs. Molina told us not to give up hope.

Whenever we went to her house she would serve us Kool-Aid. I loved her cherry Kool-Aid. Daddy would always ask for taquitos. Momma would tell us before we went not to say we were hungry, but daddy was stubborn, insistent on being fed when he was hungry. Momma said daddy had no "verguenza," or shame in English. Momma and daddy were like water and oil.

When we were shopping at Vons, a lady remarked what a beautiful child Jimmy was, "Your son is gorgeous; he has gorgeous dimples!"

I could tell the woman made momma uncomfortable. Momma reluctantly thanked her. But she wasn't sure what she wanted. Momma quickly became protective and took Jimmy and Missy by the hand, I took Mo-Mo's hand and we moved to another aisle to avoid her. Boi was already in another aisle looking at Comic books.

But the lady followed us, and said, "I don't think you understand, your son would be good on camera. Has he done any commercials? Would you be interested?" The lady took out a business card and handed it to momma. Her name could have read Sherri Alexander on the card, child talent agent. It was such a long time ago, I don't even remember her real name, or if the name on the card was even her real name.

Jimmy was always the beautiful one. The "guero" of the family. My grandparents, daddy's parents always remarked how he looked white and called him "Guero." Me on the other hand they called, "Prieta," or dark.

The lady had sandy blonde hair and big sunglasses with a big floppy hat. She looked more like a hippie to me than a talent agent. But she was insistent, even while momma was buying bread, as daddy was in an interview just around the corner. I know daddy would have taken her up on this supposed opportunity to be in a commercial. It would have solved all of daddy's problems. But I could see from momma's face, she wasn't having it.

"Okay," "I'll let my husband know." Momma said as she put the bread into the cart. It was the Snoopy bread, the Weber bread.

"Sure," the lady said. "But don't take too long." "Kids are in demand for movies and commercials, especially handsome ones."

When the lady walked away momma tore up the card and threw it into the basket. Daddy would have been excited. I secretly smirked, it wasn't for me.

Living at Al’s house was strange. Al and Dot were mature people in their 50’s. But Al let his children drink alcohol in their house. He said he wanted his kids to drink at home and not on the street. Willie had a beer in his hand and gulped it between his lips like an adult even though he was just a 17 year old teenager. I couldn't grasp the logic in that. Daddy was drinking but momma didn't drink her beer.

I even saw Al's 10 year old grandson who was wearing a little league baseball uniform sitting on the sofa with a beer in his hand eating pretzels. For a moment I thought I would wake up in my own room having imagined all of this madness, there were words in my throat as big as rocks, too big to be forced out through my 11 year old mouth, it wasn't my place, but I knew kids shouldn't drink, even if you are handed a drink by someone you love; my face contorted in confusion.

Al’s toddler granddaughter was having all kinds of operations. The doctors didn’t know what was wrong with her. He told us it was getting very expensive, daddy even gave blood. Momma couldn’t because she was anemic.

We went to town, and were going to buy some bags of popcorn but we ended up not buying any popcorn, when we went back to Al’s, he told us that the doctors had found a kernel of popcorn stuck in his granddaughter’s lung. Al said if he ever saw a bag of popcorn again, he would rip it to shreds. I gulped as we almost bought popcorn in town.

Willie and Connie were rude to their grandmother, Al’s elderly mother. They would just tell her “shut-up grandma”.

“She’s just an old cranky bitch”, Sandy one of Al and Dot’s teenage kids would say.

I was shocked, we never talked to our grandma, “Mama Tana” like that. It never occurred to us to talk to her in such a disrespectful manner. Momma would have whipped us til the cows came home. Momma didn’t put up with our talking back she would have slapped us if she heard the slightest murmur.

Al’s mom, the grandma took us to the nearby Salvation Army to get us some things. She confided to us that we were the second family Al had taken in. The first family stole from her son and his family. Despite this Al took us in. It would have been so easy for him to get bitter, and not to help anyone ever again. She said that we would forget that her son helped us. Daddy said he never would. After nearly 50 years we have never forgotten the kindness Al and his family showed to us. At least I never forgot.

Al suggested we apply for food stamps. While we were at the welfare office to apply for food stamps there was a little boy crying at the top of his lungs, throwing a tantrum on the floor. Boi and me started to laugh as the little boy was making a huge scene. Jimmy and Momo snickered too. The father of the little boy whipped around violently and glared at Boi and said in a harsh tone,

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

We all stopped laughing as the man scared us.

Later, I thought to say, “A funny joke I told him,” but I didn’t.

Since we didn't receive any help from that welfare office we went to another office in a different city.

In this office we saw a lady whose mouth went to the side and we kids began laughing at her. The lady was with another lady who could have been her mother. Her mother told her daughter she would tell us to stop laughing, but the lady with the crooked mouth said, “No, mom don’t tell them anything.” I didn’t realize how cruel we had been.

As the week continued, it was hard to know what to do in someone else's house. Momma told us to play outside on the Scudellari's front lawn. But Al yelled at us to get off his lawn. His gruff voice sent me spinning into the walls of 1422. I think he could tell by our eyes that he had crossed some kind of line. A few hours later he tried to offer an explanation to us. When his children were younger they noticed he would never scold other people’s children, like he scolded them. I think we were playing too close to the flower bed, maybe. He gave us super balls to make up for it, I guess.

The week at Al and Dot's came to an end. Daddy shook Al's hand, and Dot hugged momma. They waved good-bye to us as we got in the Impala and daddy drove away. We would never see them again.

Mrs. Molina took us to her Church, in La Habra called, “Our Lady of Guadalupe” which Mr. Molina had designed. It didn't look like our Catholic church back home. It had an obelisk type structure near the main building. The main building had three high Spanish archways, the middle one was the highest, on top of the entrance doors was a painting of the Virgin Mary. Mrs. Molina said it was the Virgin of Guadalupe. It was a painting of the Virgin Mary wearing a blue robe with tiny yellow stars all over her robe, the dress she wore underneath was a faded red, and a gold crown on her head, lights emanating around her form. White clouds encircled her as if she was in Heaven. Her hands were praying. An angel was underneath her carrying her, and there were horns underneath her feet as he carried her. The whole church was dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Mrs. Molina told us the story of a man named Juan Diego in the 1500's who said he saw her form in Mexico when it was still apart of Spain.

So, I said, "He really didn't see her then?"

Mrs. Molina said, "Juan Diego had a deep faith, he saw her."

We met the priest of the parish, Father Rower. He wore black slacks and a black short sleeved shirt with a white clerical collar. He took us to one of the classrooms to live in, room 5-1, since the parish had a Catholic school. We were to live in the class room until we found an apartment to live in or until school started whichever came first.

Father Rower told us about 10 seminarians studying to be priests lived in the school. I didn't see them all. The ones that talked to daddy and us, were the two Mikes, one was big, so everyone called him, “Big Mike and the other Mike was little, and Crazy Larry. There were other seminarians, but they didn't really talk to us. They introduced themselves to us in the beginning, Patrick had pretty blue eyes, he was probably Irish, Lucas knew a lot of Bible verses, Josh, Sammy and Alex who was a Captain who fought in the Vietnam War. They were the ones I remembered. They were in their late 20’s and early 30’s. Daddy had personal talks with them, and would draw caricatures of them. Sometimes I overheard some of these talks. A few of the seminarians still went out. I don’t know if the nun or if Father Rower knew this. I pretended not to hear.

Little Mike was nicest to us. He is the one who helped daddy look for job listings in the newspapers in the mornings. He was Mexican American like us. He spoke Spanish, but also spoke English, he seemed more comfortable with English. Little Mike's body was slight, his voice was quiet. His brown face was slightly pocked, momma said from chicken pocks probably. But it didn't change his kind demeanor. I believed he had faith, more faith than us. We used to see Little Mike in the kitchen. He told us Jesus loved us and to always pray. I wondered why he wanted to be a priest. The priest back home was old. He told us his abuelita, his grandmother wanted him to be a priest. I didn't know much about Jesus, only that He died on the Cross for me.

Big Mike looked like he could have been a football player. We found out he did play in college, but injured his knee and couldn't play anymore. He walked stiffly. He didn't look like a seminarian.

Crazy Larry used to go to the Disco on Fridays. Father Rower didn't know because the others used to cover for him. He said he wasn't a priest yet. Daddy agreed but advised that he better make up his mind soon. He couldn't go back to the disco once he was a priest and took the final vows. Crazy Larry didn't seem like he would be a priest, he liked fun too much.

I thought Patrick had beautiful eyes. I wondered why he would be a priest with eyes like that. I knew priests couldn't get married. It was a shame he wouldn't ever get married and have children with pretty eyes.

Lucas wore spectacles and always carried his Bible. The other semis said he knew a lot of Bible verses and had memorized chapters. If anyone was going to be a priest, I believed it was going to be Lucas.

The Seminarian who fought in Vietnam was quiet. Daddy asked him about Vietnam and told Alex that he had two cousins who fought in Vietnam, Sal and Danny. Danny would later die of a drug overdose later this year.

Reluctantly, Alex opened up and answered some of daddy's questions. He told daddy he was drafted in 1967 and came back home in 1969. He was the only seminarian who smoked cigarettes.

Alex told daddy how he found Jesus in the jungles of Vietnam when his friend who was only feet in front of him was blown into bits, pieces of his flesh hitting him in the face. Alex said that made him want to give his life to Jesus and become a priest.

He stopped talking about his friend when he saw me listening in the corner of the kitchen. He lit up his cigarette and went outside.

The other semis didn't really associate with us. They smiled politely and introduced themselves in the beginning, shook daddy and momma's hand, and merely smiled at the rest of us. The semis as we called them loaned us mattresses to sleep on, and sheets and pillows. They were always very nice to us, the nun however was another story.

Father Rower introduced us to her, Sister Cannera. He said it so fast, and I was daydreaming at the time. I believe that was her name, but I always just called her the "nun." She wasn't beautiful, she wasn't even real old. I liked everyone else, I don't know why I didn't like her. Instead of smiling, she was unemotional and detached. She had rules for us, she wanted the room clean, we, my brothers and sisters and I were not to touch what was in the cupboards and momma was not to cook in the classroom. The "nun" was more like a landlady than a nun.

Despite the nun's warning momma was embarrassed to go and cook in the kitchen with all of the seminarians. Even though momma was gorgeous she was shy. I think it was because some of the seminarians tried to talk to her. It made momma terribly uncomfortable. Sammy remarked how pretty momma was. While, Josh didn’t understand why momma was still with daddy. I think he liked daddy the least.

“You should have a house for your kids,” he said.

But it was only natural, she was a beautiful young woman, and they were young men. So the Roscoe’s, friends of the Scudellari’s gave us a griddle to cook in the class. Momma made pancakes on that griddle even after we got back home.

Because summer school was going on, there were always a lot of kids in front of our room, except on Fridays. Pretty soon, kids used to peek into the big glass windows of the classroom.

“There’s people living in there!”

Momma used to keep the big green curtains drawn, the way they did in school whenever we watched a film. I think she was embarrassed living in a school room. I got a kick out of it.

Back home, I still played with paper dolls, to pass the time I dragged Boi into my world. We drew paper dolls of super heroes, since Boi was a boy. We called them The Advengers. I spelled it wrong, then. Of course, Boi’s paper doll was the strongest. He called him the 75 Billion Dollar Man. He drew him then glued him to Popsicle sticks to make him appear strong.

My character was Helios. I drew a blond tall skinny kid on notebook paper, who had been hit by a super ray from the sun, and transformed into Helios. Helios who I named Peter was my escape from this living situation. He could shoot laser beams out of his blue eyes and he could fly higher than the sun. He formed force shields with his breath.

Boi’s super heroes were named Mercury, Bullet Man, and the Black Knight. Mine were the Bionic Brothers, they wore golden long sleeved satin disco shirts with white slacks, Cherokee dressed like an Indian chief with full head dress, and Big Jay wore white slacks and a long-sleeved red t-shirt with a big J on it.

The Bionic Brothers reminded me that I was a robot who lived for the scraps of my parents' approval. Something created to serve someone else, someone supposed to protect and defend like the Bionic Man on t.v.

There were five Bionic Brothers like the Five Chinese Brothers. They were identical in looks, brown haired and blue-eyed, "6,3" and slender. Their only differences were in what they could do. One could read minds, the second could move objects with his mind, the third could interject his thoughts to make another think what he wanted, the fourth could move through walls, and the fifth could fly. They weren't really robots; they had special abilities, so others called them Bionic. They loved to hang out at the Disco, where they loved to do the robot, dance mechanically as if they were literal robots.

Big Jay could become big as a literal giant just by thinking that's why he was called Big Jay. Cherokee, as momma was a Comanche, was in tune with the earth, he could start tornados, earthquakes, he could control the elements of the earth.  I always wondered where they were in succession of their power. We would play for hours in the classroom.

The 75 Billion Dollar Man could crush anything with his grip, Boi said because of Physics, he could even crush whole planets.

"Doesn't that make him a villain if he crushes planets with people on it?" I said.

"He only crushes the planets with the bad aliens." Boi said holding up the 75 Billion Dollar Man with pride.

"How does he do that?" "He's made out of popsicle sticks?"

"Its because of Physics." Boi said rolling his eyes.

Jimmy repeated what Boi said, "Because of Physics." Although Jimmy had no idea what Physics was.

"Okay," but I didn't think it made sense.

We also kneeled in front of the classroom to play marbles with the other kids that went to La Escuelita in the cool shade.

Momma and daddy didn’t exactly get along. She thought the interviews were too long. But at least we didn’t have to go anymore with daddy to his job interviews. I know momma wanted to go home, but we didn’t have the house anymore. There was no place to live back there either. We were "homeless" a term I never heard then.

Momma and daddy still got into fights in the classroom, daddy hit momma once. I thought the nun or the semis would hear daddy screaming at momma. It was a miracle nobody heard but us, kids. But we didn't tell anybody. I thought Father Rower would kick us out.

One afternoon momma sent me with change to buy sunflower seeds from the liquor store at the end of the block. Of course I ran the errand for her there was no one else to do it. I felt momma took out her unhappiness on me and the rest of us. I gave her the change back and she threw it at me.

“Why did you bring back the change, you should have bought as many seeds as you could.”

I picked up the change then went to lie on the mattress on the floor. I was crushed.

At night I dreamed of flying, not just flying through the clouds, but flying through inanimate objects as if to hide. I flew away from this planet through space, it wasn't cold, as I had imagined, it was warm and the universe was beautiful, as if space had many rooms or mansions, the stars like familiar furniture. When I was flying I didn't remember being here, being stuck, being a little kid, it was as if I joined the angels in their flight, there was nothing I couldn't do. I wanted to stay dreaming, but the morning always came waking up on the same mattress on the floor.

Living in a Catholic school room we went to Mass every Sunday, and showered once a week at the rectory. The nun, who kept tabs on us, was unfriendly, and was unhappy about us living there. She moved us to another classroom. She even accused us of messing up the box games that were in the class cupboard. In her black habit, she was more like a vulture. I dreaded her checking up on us.

Helios with just his breath could put up a force shield around himself and anyone he chose to protect. I used to imagine that he would breathe around the classroom we stayed in to keep the nun out. She wouldn't be able to penetrate the force shield around the room and we would be safe from her prying eyes. Even if she saw us, she couldn't touch us, I would stand at the door and smile at her with Helios by my side.

We went to the confessional on Saturday nights after we had our showers. In the sanctuary, the priest Father Rower heard our confessions. He took our confessions before he opened the church for everyone else. Momma made sure me and Boi went to confession. I knelt in the small dark room, not wanting to tell him that I disliked the nun in his church, not wanting to tell him that my parents were still fighting, not wanting to tell him that I was fighting with Boi because he bullied me, not wanting to tell him that I didn't want to be here, that I didn't really have faith, that I didn't always pray, that I thought Patrick was cute, that I didn't believe that he really cared, if he did, he would tell the nun to leave us alone, which he never did, I thought this was all a lie, that I felt small and broken and powerless and worthless, waking up and falling asleep like a wind up toy, that I wanted to wake up in my own bed back home, and not be here anymore, that I wanted a momma and a daddy that loved each other, someone who really loved me, but I couldn't say all that, I couldn't confess that to anyone. Jesus had to hear my secret sobbing in the middle of the night, Father Rower was powerless, he only said, "Go and sin no more." But even he couldn't stop us, the lie of going in this little room, was the religion that we were supposed to have faith in, when there was nothing in it worth believing. But momma wanted me in that little room as if this act was really real.

The kindly priest, Father Rower suggested we start going to the summer school there called “La Escuelita,” (The Little School). My teacher was Steve, he smiled a lot, and Boi’s teacher was Carmen. Every day they served us a lunch we didn’t like. We took it back to the classroom to give it to momma.

Eventually daddy got a job at Dennis Printers in Santa Anna. When daddy got paid, he took us to the movies to see Midway starring Charlton Heston and Henry Fonda. It was in Sensurround, which was supposed to make the movie seem more real.

For the first time daddy splurged for some popcorn and sodas. Back home we had to pack hot dogs, canned sodas and seeds into a little carry bag which I was always appointed to carry.

As we entered the dark theatre, the movie was already playing as daddy always had the habit of taking us late to the movies, a battle scene was on the screen as we were walking through the aisle to take a seat. Boi panicked and threw his soda and knocked the popcorn out of my hand when he bumped hard against me, expecting the room to shake like the 1974 movie Earthquake. I could have socked Boi in both of his arms for his stupidity.

The Santa Anna job lasted only a few weeks. Daddy said it was because of the recession. Daddy sliced his finger pretty bad at work and had to get stitches I don’t know if that had anything to do with why he was laid off.

I liked going to the school, a Mexican-American girl named Dolores with freckles was my best friend. It was great having a girl my own age to talk to, if even for a little while. We were exactly the same age, she was going to be in the 6th grade in the Fall. I knew this friendship wasn't going to last beyond a few short weeks. Hector, a chubby boy used to tell me I had a dirty neck. But I think he liked me.

We took a field trip with La Escuelita to the beach. I don't know which beach it was, but momma let me and Boi go. I didn't really want to go since we saw the movie Jaws last year. Hector teased me about going into the water. Dolores was already in the water and motioned for me to join her. I didn't want to go that far, I didn't really know how to swim. I only had swimming lessons for a week when I stayed at my grandma Paula's house two years ago.

The waves covered me like a blanket, I breathed the water through my nostrils for a moment until Steve pulled me up by my arm from the water. For a moment I thought Helios had pulled me up. Imagine my great disappointment at seeing my teacher, Steve. I didn't drown or anything like that, he didn't even have to breathe into my mouth, the salt tasted bitter and I coughed it up. For the briefest moment, I wished I would have actually drowned.

A few weeks later we sang in the La Escuelita festival, the song "Yo soy Chicano.” Since the summer school was mostly made up of Chicano children.

Yo soy Chicano tengo color Americáno, peró con honor Cuando me dicen Que hay revolución Defiendo mi raza Con mucho valór.

I AM CHICANO I am Chicano imbued with color American, but with honor When they tell me There is revolution I defend my race With great valor.

The next day we drove out to Beverly Hills for a job interview for daddy. On the freeway I thought I saw Ellen Corby the grandma from the Walton’s driving in a Mercedes Benz. Another time I thought I saw Dustin Hoffman driving on the freeway. It was Hollywood it could have been them.

Once we got to the job interview we waited in the car for what felt like hours, the hair sticking to the backs of our necks. Missy snuggled her ta-ta close to her. Mo-Mo had "Woozy Wozo" tucked underneath her chin.

Jimmy was lumped with me and Boi, even though he was 3 years younger than me. The three of us were sitting on the curb playing. Jimmy was playing with a wooden model airplane moving it through the motionless and soupy air. Momma usually had the Impala door open on her side. Me and Boi were deciding who was the second strongest Helios or Mercury.

“You already have the strongest one”, I protested, “Helios should be the second strongest.”

“He’s too skinny. He can be the third strongest.”

That was the argument. Boi was a bit of a bully.”

Daddy had an interview with a Hollywood producer named Joseph, who was making a shark film with Stephen Boyd that never got released. The movie was called, "Into the Deep." We sat in the car for most of the interview until daddy came out with the producer to the impala. Joseph was an older man with a limp. The producer smiled broadly at us and invited us into his office, where there were posters of this movie on the walls. He gave us little plastic sharks, used as promotion for the movie. Each of us got two Mo-Mo got three by mistake.

This was cause for celebration, so daddy took us to McDonald’s to eat. Daddy felt we could splurge for a meal, since he was going to work for a Hollywood movie producer. Blue Magic’s “Chasing Rainbows” played on the radio, it was very tragically daddy. For years I hummed that song. We journeyed back through the labyrinth of freeways to the classroom.

Friday was the last day of La Escuelita. Except, Joseph had invited to us to a movie shoot on Friday, in another movie still in production “The Amazing Dobermans” starring Fred Astaire and Barbara Eden.

We had to decide if we wanted to go to the “La Escuelita” party or the circus where the movie was being filmed. We chose the circus we were invited to be extras.

Daddy said the circus was out in Rancho Cucamonga. So daddy drove through the same familiar freeways and we heard the same familiar songs. I could sense the excitement in all of us. Maybe, Barbara Eden would be there. The drive to the movie set inspired a truce between momma and daddy. I believe momma was pretty excited too.

Once we got there we saw the huge circus tent. Joseph the movie producer told us to pick up our golden guest tickets. Because we were Golden Guests we were able to get into the circus tent. It was crowded with extras. Momma had to be Lou George since there wasn’t a name tag with her name on it. I wondered if daddy didn't give Joseph the movie producer momma's name on purpose. Inside the circus tent they gave us everything free. Snow cones, popcorn, hot dogs, balloons, and sodas. It was tedious, shooting the same circus scene over and over again until midnight. It was not what I expected at all. Barbara Eden wasn't even on the set.

Every day we sat in the Impala in the Knott’s Berry Farm parking lot in Buena Park, to avoid the nun who hated us. Even momma and daddy played the “Wheel of Fortune ” with us. Or we would play with the super balls Al gave us in the parking lot, bouncing the balls to see whose would go the highest. In the late afternoons we watched the balloons in the park ascending and descending that was very comforting to me, sitting peacefully in the parking lot with our family eating ham sandwiches.

When daddy got his last paycheck, he and momma took us to Magic Mountain in Valencia. Momma said we couldn’t afford it, but you know daddy, he took us anyway. The Revolution was a new roller coaster. Boi couldn’t wait to ride it with daddy. The girls rode on the Merry go round, of course being only 5 and 7. After lunch, we all rode the tarantula, a ride that was wilder than it looked. Momma went on with the two girls, daddy rode with Jimmy, and I rode with Boi. Immediately, I felt my stomach trying to crawl out through my mouth, I felt nauseous, so did the girls because momma called out, to the operator, “let us out!” The operator let them off. I wanted to get off too, but Boi started to pinch me.

“Don’t you dare.” He sneered, narrowing his eyes.

So, I sank into the ride, nauseously. When I got off the ride, I threw up. Boi later apologized to me he said he didn’t know I would get sick.

We rode a cable car that took us up the hill called a Funicular. Then daddy, Boi and me went on the jet stream. We wanted to sit in the front seats, the people in the back seats always got wet. Before we could make our way to the front seats some other people beat us to it, so we were forced to sit in the back. As we splashed down the water came up from both sides and drenched us.

Boi couldn't wait to ride the newly built rollercoaster called the Revolution, with the famous flip. I wouldn't ride with him so daddy rode it with Boi. I loved the commercial, "Magic Mountain's Revolution will knock your socks flat off." Every once in a while, the trolls would walk around the park, I never knew their names; I only knew the names of the trolls Bloop and Bleep. Boi liked the wizard.

Jimmy and daddy rode the Circus Wheel. We had a lot of fun, the kind that you carry with you when things get bad. I peeled my eyes, to seize the loveliness of the day, as this probably would have been one of the last vacations our family would have. We had forgotten we were homeless, without a home waiting for us, only an old nun with a frown. Momma and daddy seemed happy walking around in the park, with the five of us circling around them. We were a family.

The hours were passing by fast, being the oldest me and Boi wanted to stay longer. The girls were already asleep. Jimmy complained he was tired. Daddy told us to get on one more ride. So, we rode to the top of the tower on the Sky Cabin with an older couple in their 40’s. Don’t ask me why I never forgot this.

As we headed up, the man said, "We're high up, “we could fall.”

His wife said, “Don’t scare the kids.”

I wasn’t scared. I don’t think Boi was either. I thought it was a peculiar thing to say. I sensed tension between the two of them, as if he said that dumb thing to upset his wife.

Daddy drove us back through the mountains in the dark. I remember “Misty Blue” by Dorothy Moore was playing on the radio. The girls and Jimmy were asleep. Jimmy was leaning against my shoulder like he always did when he was tired. Momma had the girls in front. But I gazed out into the dark mountains, trying hard to imprint myself into that moment. I never thought I would be as old as I am now perhaps, I saved that moment for now.

Daddy got lost on the way back to the school but it didn’t bother me. Daddy was too tired to argue with Boi. We drove back to the class room in La Habra past 1:00 in the morning.

Daddy knew the days were running short at the school, as summer was winding down. Daddy had argued with the nun from hell once or twice. For some reason she had it in for us. This forty or fifty something woman hiding behind her nun clothes. She pretended to be good hiding in the school. I began to hate her, although I never really hated anyone. Maybe it wasn't hate, I felt for her. I just had this painful shocking question inside me curved like a blade, "Why are you doing this to us?"

“What kind of a (expletive) nun are you? Daddy said as if to accuse her.

"I've met your kind before," the nun said. "A con man, but for you to drag those poor children."

"I'm doing this for my children," daddy pleaded. But his eyes did not move her stone heart.

"Go home," was all she said, and walked away through the corridor until she disappeared.

Later that evening, daddy talked to the semis in the kitchen. I sat on the corner of the table on a tiny stool. Daddy told them what she had said to him earlier.

Crazy Larry said, "She has absolutely no soul."

Lucas who was studying in the kitchen at the time interjected as if to defend her, "She's disciplined."

Little Mike intervened and said, "Discipline cannot replace compassion. "I've talked to Father Rower about extending your time here"

"Father Rower lets her run things," Crazy Larry said stuffing a hot dog into his hungry mouth. He chewed and continued, 'If you ask me she's a bit of a (expletive)."

Crazy Larry made daddy laugh and I tried not to giggle.

"Nobody asked you," Lucas said. "You shouldn't use profanity. Father Rower has talked to you about that."

"I'm just saying what we're all thinking," Crazy Larry continued. "That's probably why she never got married."

"She's a nun, Larry," Lucas shook his head seemingly irritated.

"I'm just sorry for the kids," Josh, who sat in the corner interrupted. His eyes were honey-colored, his hair brown and wavy over his ears.

I gave him a sympathetic smile.

After that conversation a few more days of boredom passed in the classroom, we didn't dare touch the games that were in the cupboard for fear of angering the nun. Boi and me continued to play with our superhero paper dolls to escape the reality that we were stuck in the classroom, like flies on fly paper. There was no money to really go anywhere. It was too hot to play marbles, besides Boi didn't like playing with just me or Jimmy. The kids didn't hang around the front of the classroom anymore once summer school was over.

When Helios saw the nun walking to the rectory from the school, he disintegrated her with his laser beams that shot out of his blue eyes. The 75 Billion Dollar Man was there too made of popsicle sticks even though he was supposed to have the strongest body. Then his popsicle sticks fell apart because he got there too late.

Daddy drove us out to Buena Park the next day and we sat in the Knott’s Berry Parking Lot. I kind of felt this was the last time I was going to see the balloons ascend and descend. The ride was called the “Sky Jump Parachutes.” It had been an adventure, a strange, but wonderful summer that lived in my heart as someone I loved.

When we returned to the school in the evening, the nun was waiting for us just like a spider in her penguin habit. She threw us out that very night. She didn’t even have the compassion to wait until the morning. I never understood why the priest Father Rower never told her anything. I was disappointed in him even after the kindness he had shown us.

So we threw everything into a suitcase in a haste as the nun's shadow loomed over us to get out. Daddy drove us to a cheap motel that night. There was tension between momma and daddy, the big question between them was where would we go? Momma and daddy were always running out of money. This was one of the biggest nails in the coffin. I don’t think momma and daddy slept that night.

We stayed at Al’s friends, the Roscoe’s, for the next few days. Richard and Beverly Roscoe were a younger couple, with five children about our ages. Their youngest daughter Joanie was Missy’s age. Except there was something wrong with her I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Her mother had told momma that they had to watch her or else she would wander off. Once she wandered into town all by herself. Joanie was probably autistic. Though at the time we hadn't heard of autism. When we had dinner with the family I noticed she wouldn't chew her food when she ate. Her parents made her eat broccoli and she would just stay with it in her mouth.

The Roscoe's had a young seven year old son Eric. He was like a little monkey who couldn't sit still, Today he would probably be diagnosed with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. Then, he was a nuisance to his parents and older siblings.

They had three older children about mine and Boi's age, two sons and another daughter, Christopher, Peter, and Diana. The boys, we thought acted like zombies. Their father would tell them to do a bunch of things but they didn’t complain or say no, there was no anger or rebellion, just sheer obedience. They answered yes in unison, and then got started with the chores.

Diana was quiet. I shared with her my childhood crush on Donny Osmond, but she didn't confide back that she had liked anyone that was in Tiger Beat. She had never read or even heard of Tiger Beat before.

We later learned a shocking revelation about this family. Momma found out that Mr. Roscoe beat his wife too. Mr. Roscoe, who seemed so nice to us, once smashed his wife’s head into the bathroom mirror; then she took an overdose of sleeping pills. As the layers were peeled back from this suburban family, I understood why their kids were like that, subdued. They silently lived their depression.

The last night we stayed there, we swam in their dough boy pool. Since I had a crush on Mr. Roscoe, I deliberately splashed water in his face when I jumped into the pool. When you’re only 11, men don’t think you have any real feelings.

That night, I heard my parents talking, “We’re going to have to go back.” But I didn’t want to go back. This was the best summer of my life. If we went back, we couldn’t even live in our own house since it was leased to momma’s sister Tia Dalia and her family. The job with Joseph the Hollywood producer had fallen through. There was nothing left here, but to pull the blanket over my head like a curtain. But I didn’t cry. I heard Alice Cooper in my head all night. “I never cry.”

It was the only thing daddy and momma could do. I know momma never wanted to come, she thought this was another harebrained scheme of daddy’s, like silk screening t-shirts in the garage, stealing and selling grapes at the swap meet, doing work for companies around town and getting paid in merchandise, instead of money.

Daddy wanted something momma didn’t. He wanted to work at his art. I don’t think it was ever enough, working from 8:00 to 5:00 for someone else, not because daddy was lazy, he worked really hard, paint pumped through his veins, he was an artist, and that was it.

Momma loved daddy. Momma just never understood him. They were short on money for food, momma would understandably complain it seemed like nagging to daddy, but it really wasn’t. Momma just couldn’t get behind living the way we did in L.A. She had grown up extremely poor, without a father, and a mother who was working all of the time. Momma needed security, stability, financially and emotionally. Daddy couldn’t give it to her, and that was it.

Early in the morning, we began the long trek back over the grapevine. Leaving Los Angeles, leaving KRLA and K-EARTH, eventually we lost the signal. We left everyone behind, even though we slept in a school room and other people’s houses, there was “a glamour” to living there. Maybe because Hollywood was there, the sign on the mountain that beckoned the world to come and live their dream.

Helios and our Superhero paper dolls stayed in L.A. When we got home, we never played with them again. I don't know why that was.

Momma and daddy didn’t talk in the car much. They felt the wound widen in the heart of our family; we all did.

When the summer ended, I knew daddy had tried his best to make a life for us over there. We came back to the earth, to live with daddy’s parents, my grandparents. The real reason why we left finally emerged, daddy and momma couldn't pay our mortgage, and they didn't want to lose 1422, our home, that's why they leased it to Tia Dalia's husband, Amado and her family.

The bleeding would soon begin all over again. There were no bandages I could put on our family that would stop the hemorrhaging. We would go back to estrangement. Even with the intuition of a child’s heart, I knew the marriage would eventually be over.

We left Oz to return to dreary Kansas. I imagined the nun melted like the Wicked Witch of the West, and a slight smile curved over my lips.

But I knew I should forgive her. Jesus would want me to.

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Many summers have come and gone. The summer of 1976 would have been inconsequential if God hadn't placed a bookmark in it to save this memory.

We spent a few more years as a family, but inevitably momma and daddy's marriage didn't make it. Their divorce was finalized in 1984.

Momma and daddy remarried. Momma had another baby with her second husband, our sister Mia.

My brothers and sisters are grown now, with marriages and grown children of their own. My sister Missy has gone through a divorce of her own and remarried.

Daddy's gone now. He passed away in 2013 at the age of 69. Momma is 81 and walks with a cane.

I'm an old woman of 60 now; with a grown daughter of my own.

I never married.

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I don't want it to sound so grim.

The Lord Jesus stopped the bleeding in my life. We eventually healed as a family, even though my parents got divorced.

God gave me the gift of His grace, and I was born again to believe in Jesus Christ. It is only by the Blood of Jesus I have been redeemed. God the Father was calling me to seek Jesus even then, when I was 11.

The Lord has forgiven me and made me whole. My hope is in Christ.

I didn't become a rocket scientist. I write but I never became a best-selling author. It is to remember that Christ has healed me of past hurts. The Lord remembers every detail of our lives. He is intricately involved.

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Psalm 139

O' Lord, You have searched me and known me

You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thought afar off

You comprehend my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways

For there is not a word on my tongue, But behold, O' Lord, You know it altogether.

You have hedged me behind and before, And laid Your hand upon me

Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; It is high, I cannot attain it.

Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence?

If I ascend into heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in hell, behold You are there.

If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea

Even there Your hand shall lead me, And Your right hand shall hold me.

If I say, "Surely the darkness shall fall on me, "Even the night shall be light

about me;

Indeed the darkness shall not hide from You, But the night shines as the day;

The darkness and the light are both alike to You.

For You have formed my inward parts; You covered me in my mother's womb.

I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; Marvelous are Your works, And that my soul knows very well.

My frame was not hidden from You, When I was made in secret, And skillfully wrought in the

lowest parts of the earth.

Your eyes saw my substance, being yet unformed. And in Your book they all were written, The days fashioned for me, When as yet there were none of them.

How precious also are Your thoughts to me, O' God! How great is the sum of them!

If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand; When I awake, I am still with You.

Oh, that You would slay the wicked, O' God! Depart from me, therefore, you bloodthirsty men.

For they speak against You wickedly; Your enemies take Your name in vain.

Do I not hate them O' Lord, who hate You? And do I not loathe those who rise up against You?

I hate them with perfect hatred; I count them my enemies.

Search me, O' God and know my heart; Try me, and know my anxieties;

And see if there is any wicked way in me, And lead me in the way everlasting.

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“Lord, make me to know my end,

And what is the measure of my days,

That I may know how frail I am."

(Psalm 39:4)