Walking Distance: Fields of Battle

By Robert Ortiz

Friday Night Lights meets Jarhead in this extraordinary journey!

Walking Distance: Fields of Battle is an admirable and inspirational account of a young man chasing after his dreams while finding answers to his existence through the realities of life. The book travels from the border city of Laredo, Texas to the deserts in the Middle East in a rollercoaster ride of excitement and danger. It explores the war on the gridiron and the war in Iraq as he encounters many battles, both physically and mentally, as he continues to fight for what he wants and where he envisions himself to be. Its a humbling story of the Marines, family, faith, football, and an extraordinary walk through life with the simple pursuit of happiness in an unforeseen future.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 14, 2016
• ISBN: 9781524603472

Robert Ortiz

Roberto Ortiz Jr. was born in Laredo, Texas on October 26, 1982. He graduated high school from JW Nixon in 2001 where he played a variety of varsity sports. Upon graduating from high school he enlisted in the United States Marine Corps from 2001 to 2005. Robert went back to Laredo after he was honorably discharged from the military and attended Laredo Community College until his sophomore year then he transferred to Texas A&M International University (TAMIU) where he got a Bachelor’s Degree in English Language Arts with a minor in Sports and Fitness in 2010. He wrote his first book, A Walking Distance, in 2007, which is based on his life as a young child all the way to the last day of his military service. He began piecing together his work right after his enlistment until finally putting it all together a few years after leaving the corps. Walking Distance: Fields of Battle is a revised and re-edited version of his first book. Robert began his teaching and coaching career after getting his degree and certification in 2010 and his first position was in George Washington Middle School as an English teacher. He then moved into Physical Education his 2nd year and was promoted to the head coach of that campus his 3rd year. He has coached football, basketball, track and field, and soccer. He married San Juanita Llano in 2011 and has two beautiful daughters, Arianny Victoria and Regina Anahi. He was diagnosed with PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) as a result of his tours in Iraq, but he has managed to cope with it and remains optimistic on his outlook on life. He received his master’s degree in educational administration in 2014 and he continues to walk towards success.

Book preview

WALKING

DISTANCE

Fields of Battle

ROBERT ORTIZ

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AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2016 Robert Ortiz. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse   05/13/2016

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0348-9 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0346-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-0347-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2016907285

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Introduction

Chapter One Growing Up

Room For Improvement

Adjustments

New Experiences

Chapter Two Riding High

Fresh Start

Next Level

Keeping Faith

Football And Life

Chapter Three On Top Of The World

Ortiz Connection

Whatever It Takes

Unfinished Business

Choices

Chapter Four The Road Taken

Mcrd

Earning The Title

The Finale

Transformation

Chapter Five Something Different

Adapt And Overcome

Life In The Corps

The Call

Hurry Up And Ku-Wait

Chapter Six Oif

Spades And Dreams

Indecisions

The Breach

Road To Baghdad

Takeover

Chapter Seven The Return

Back To The Past

Homecoming

Time Zones

Chapter Eight Status Quo

Abnormal

The Hop-Hop Effect

The Few And The Proud

Chapter Nine Turn Of Events

The Expected

Changes

Shocked

Past In Review

Chapter Ten A New Beginning

Surface

Freedom

Countdown

Last Word

Acknowledgements

Special thanks to God for all his blessings. My little family: Janie, Arianny, and Regina for understanding and allowing me the time to work on my book. My bigger family: my father and mother for being a big part of my life and who I am. My brothers Rafa, Eli, Josh, Bryan, and sister Christy who always believed in me. My extended family and friends who supported me and my colleagues who encouraged me to keep writing and doing what I love. Thank you so much.

This book is dedicated to my father Roberto Ortiz (October 31, 1952 - October 26, 2012). Please continue to watch me and guide me from heaven.

We can always run there, jump there, or even fly there but the outcome is the same and pure… all our dreams, goals, and ambitions are only a walking distance away. – Robert Ortiz

Introduction

I looked across the distance from my barracks over the few miles of road and sand to witness, perhaps for the last time, the splendor of the California coastline with its strong smell of salty ocean water and vibrant echoes of seagulls flying through the cool blustery air. Southern California had become my 2nd home. It was no wonder a part of me felt empty. I’d never witnessed such magnificent beauty before and realizing that I might never see it again was weighing heavily on my mind.

As I stared out at the beach and the dark blanket of ocean water, it brought back many memories of the years I spent in Camp Pendleton and California. I completed my enlistment and I was finally heading home. I had mixed emotions about my departure but I understood that phase of my life had finished. I dreamt of my release when I was fresh in the Marines and it had ultimately arrived. The only difficulty I foresaw was putting everything I set out to do for myself and make it a reality.

It had been a wonderful adventure. I had done a lot and I had learned a lot. I grew up rather quickly and I watched myself turn into someone better than I would’ve if I hadn’t pulled through with the decisions I made early on in my life. I was now twenty-two and about to embark into what most eighteen years olds were going through straight out of high school. I was looking forward to college, legitimate choices, and freedom. The freedom that the United States of America provides us with and what I had fought for during my four years in the service.

It was unbelievable. I finally made it. My time to leave the corps had arrived but, in a way, inside, I felt vacant. Was I going to miss the Marine Corps? California? The new friends I made that I knew I probably wouldn’t see again? Or was it simply the confusion of not knowing what to expect as soon as I left the place that had been so good to me? I didn’t know what it was but I was hoping for an answer once I got to my hometown in South Texas.

I packed all my things into my car –a tan, well-taken care of 2003 Monte Carlo- and was about to leave Camp Del Mar, within Camp Pendleton. Camp Pendleton is a west coast Marine base in southern California and it is located in the northern part of San Diego County. It is home for the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force (I MEF) and thousands of military personnel who reside in it. It was named after Joseph Henry Pendleton, a U.S. Marine Major General, who had long wanted to establish a west coast training facility until it came to be in the early 1940’s. I had traveled many miles through the roads of Camp Pendleton and I had spent countless days and hours in the training fields, and even more in my barracks room and the platoon office, but saying that I knew the whole base couldn’t be further from the truth. It is enormously massive and it covers roughly about 125,000 acres of diverse geographic land. It has a huge coastline spanning for many miles and an even bigger mountainous region used for a variety of field exercises and weapons training.

The last grain of sand had fallen in my enlistment hourglass and I was out. The last few days on base were a drag and leaving the big family I was a part of was very difficult. Leaving the way of life I was use to was also a bittersweet feeling. It was tough but I was no stranger to sudden or harsh departures. It was another drastic change in my life but I knew it was nothing I couldn’t handle. I had been through many different adjustments and this situation was no different.

I took my calendar off the wall, with the date of July 26th circled around it with a bright red marker, and placed it in a small cardboard box. I got my keys and looked around the room for any last minute things I might’ve missed before I walked out and locked my room door for the final time. I said goodbye to a few of my friends that were outside the barracks and finally got in my car, accompanied by my brother Eli, and drove away as my father followed in his vehicle. They had traveled from Texas all the way to California to help me transport all the things I had accumulated during my time in the corps and take them home. They stayed for a few days and it was a good feeling showing them around the place where I lived since I left them four years ago.

We drove to 14 Area (Main Side) so I could sign and pick-up the last few documents in the battalion office which granted me the power to finally leave the Marine Corps. My heart was pounding yet I remained calm. It was like having my first-born child come to this world at the expense of my wife’s life. It was both good and bad but at this point in time, I was just happy. Happy that I didn’t have to put up with all the things that bothered me during my time in the corps. Happy that I didn’t have such overwhelming pressure of someone’s life in my very own hands. Happy to walk away and be normal. I got all the paperwork taken care of and walked out of the building. I got in my car, got on the road, and never looked back.

While driving, I was thinking about everything I had gone through as I drove down the similar highways that I had been through before; Interstate 5, the 8, and I-35; about 1,500 miles between Camp Pendleton, California and Laredo, Texas. A lot of things had changed in my hometown since I left but I was eager to get back and find out exactly what I had been missing out on. If anything, I was going to have the family support I had wanted since I first left and they were going to be right there for me if I needed them. It was definitely a good day and I was looking forward to the future and what it had in store for me. I had so many plans once I arrived to Laredo and thinking about the Marine Corps wasn’t one of them. Not that I hated the corps, it was just so hard thinking about it. Most Marines spend many years waiting for the day that they will get a chance to taste civilian freedom once again. I had gained my long-awaited independence but it wasn’t self-satisfying or fulfilling. As much as I didn’t want to remember, I just couldn’t forget about it. I had some good times, as well as some bad, but it was all just a part of life. That phase, those four years, were remarkable, no matter how I felt or what type of see-saw feelings I had experienced.

I had been away from my family for so long but I did manage to spend plenty of time with them, more than the usual Marine with a family out-of-state, but I missed out on plenty. Spending a few days every few months wasn’t the same as having them around daily. I had forgotten how it felt to have my loved ones around all the time. It was something that had been non-existent in my life. I had become independent in every sense of the word and I didn’t need anyone but it sure felt good knowing that they would be there and I wouldn’t have to travel far for that comfort.

I switched my train of thought to the family pastime that had slipped away as I looked over to my brother in the passenger seat. Eli and I were religious followers of the game of football. It had been a part of us for most of our lives and it was one of the main things we had in common. Every time I saw him, I saw the wonderful times we both shared and the bond we created when we played it. We were two completely different people but the game of football united us in a very special way. That was one thing that bonded us growing up, both at home and while I was away. That game was a huge part of our life and something we enjoyed doing.

I turned up the volume on my car stereo and started listening to music I had grown to love while in Cali. It has definitely been a long and interesting journey, I thought to myself with a smile, What a ride.

CHAPTER ONE

Growing Up

Room for Improvement

Laredo, Texas has always been rich in tradition and culture as a strong growing community of Mexican heritage. The city is heavily populated with Hispanics, a minority of Caucasians, and a very low number of African-Americans. Other ethnicities also occupy the city but their figures are minimal all around town. Hispanics cover about 95% of the population in the city and the racial colors within the group vary from Black to White, with all the others in between. Along with its minimal diversity, Laredo is one of the only major cities in Texas to have the distinction of being under seven different flags throughout its history. It includes the flag of the Republic of Rio Grande which only a few other South Texas cities can claim. The history of Laredo is actually very interesting and it should be talked about a lot more than it has been mentioned when referring to Texas History but maybe one day it will get the recognition it deserves.

Laredo is part of Webb County and it’s located in southwest Texas. It’s the international boundary to the United States of America bordering Mexico along the Rio Grande River. Trying to pin-point a name for the river has been confusing for both sides since Rio Grande is translated into Grand River, so there’s really no need for river after Rio Grande, like Rio Grande River, but many people still do it, especially people in North Texas and beyond. Mexico, however, has a totally different name for it and they call it Rio Bravo, which translates into Brave River. No matter what anyone calls it, the river makes all the difference in this region. It is a natural division of two nation, and it covers all of the Texas boundary to Mexico.

Four main vehicular bridges connect both countries in Laredo. The most popular corridors are the International Bridges I and II. International Bridge II, also known as Juarez-Lincoln International Bridge, turns to Interstate-35 and connects to many other major U.S. cities, states, and highways as it extends north all the way to Duluth, Minnesota. Interstate 35, also known as the Purple Heart Trail, covers many miles in the United States but ends in Laredo and right on the border to Mexico. Huge flags of both countries can be seen off the distance in the city, each one on their respected side of the Rio Grande as they wave gloriously in the sky. The United States flag hovers and flaps on a 308-foot flagpole and measures at a whopping 50-by-100 foot spread. The large flag was created as an American response, or should I say a Laredoan response, to the Mexican flag on the opposite side of the border but most importantly it was a dedication to all the men and women who served our country. Both respected and representative symbols provide a physical view of what the city is about. Although part of Mexico and America are divided by a river, in this part of the country, they are relatively connected.

Nuevo Laredo stands on the south bank of the river and is one of the northern cities in Tamaulipas, Mexico. Nuevo Laredo is the sister city of Laredo, and even though they belong to two different countries, they are still considered a whole metropolitan area. Laredo and Nuevo Laredo are lastingly bonded and people on both sides of the river have established a connection unlike any other American/Mexican border, sharing and developing unique economic, cultural, social, and familial ties. Both cities are often referred to as Los Dos Laredos which gives it a unique connotation of togetherness and brotherhood, or in this case, sisterhood. The sister cities have plenty to offer and the feeling is mutual on both sides. For Laredoans, the main benefit is having wonderfully cheap marketplaces and stores, not to mention the nightlife, which is a total different experience altogether. A person can definitely feel the difference between Laredo and Nuevo Laredo when they walk through the plaza in the sister city. If the women and children selling things on the streets don’t provide a hint, the food stands, environmental prints, music, and pure Spanish language should. There might not be much of a disparity aside from those things, but for someone who understands it, the distinction is quite visible. To everyone else, there is no difference whatsoever and Laredo might be mistaken for another Mexican city. Most of our Laredo culture came from Mexico, that’s why our city is heavily culturally connected but we still have our distinctive American characteristics. A person once stated that Laredo is the one of the most Mexican cities in America and he very well summed up our city in one sentence.

Laredo booms in business and its main revenue is international trade. It is one of the largest inland ports in the United States and that is why it is known as the Gateway to Mexico and the Gateway City. There is plenty of diversity in Texas but most of the south is occupied with Hispanics. Even though many Hispanics down south follow the Tejano (Texan) appearance, many other trends are expressed as well. Texas, in general, has been known to be a rancher state and the common cowboy stereotype started with the Mexican ranchers, also known as vaqueros, who inhabited most of the pan-handle in the early 1800s. The translation to cowboy is vaquero but the term buckaroo was instinctively created after a semi-translation from the Spanish word to English. That sort of thing happens when two languages mix in a particular place and the verbal interaction in the Gateway City was no different.

Laredo is extremely unique when it comes to communicating. Words that categorize this development are Tex-Mex and Spanglish. Tex-Mex is used in a fusion of Texan and Mexican culture, which includes foods, trends, and language. Spanglish is the same concept except it leans more towards verbal communication. The proper term is code-switching and we have plenty of it down on the border. Laredo is so exceptional in this category that it has partially invented its own communication system. This linguistic phenomenon is very difficult to explain and many factors are involved. Vocabulary in English and Spanish are already quite common because of the Latin and Greek imbedded in both languages. Those words are categorized and defined as cognate words and it helps the translation process. Understanding both languages might not be difficult but code-switching makes it extremely confusing. A tourist or visitor would definitely have a hard time deciphering sentences like "I need to go to la tienda so I can buy something para la fiesta" or "I just want to stay in and sleep, porque no quiero hacer nada." As puzzling as that might sound, a person in Laredo wouldn’t have a single problem understanding what was just mentioned.

Throwing in words or phrases from one language to another wasn’t the only thing going on when people code-switched. It got a lot more complicated than that once we got into the morphing of words with opposite verb tenses and the full or semi-translations from Spanish to English or vice versa. It’s much more problematic than my explanation and that is why linguists everywhere have been baffled by this occurrence. We are all aware of language assimilation like adding an o to English words to make it seem Spanish, like chair-o or shirt-o, or the Spanish equivalent of adding –ation to make it sound English, like sill-ation (silla, chair) or camis-ation (camisa, shirt), but this has nothing to do with that. Code-switching is not a modification, it is a combination of two languages and somehow it works. It is neither Standard English nor Spanish but it’s also not even close to being an inferior way of speaking. Code-switching requires linguistic competence and it’s not a bunch of random words from two different languages thrown in to make a sentence. I don’t know how a whole community was making it happen, but it was happening, and it was on its way to being perfected, if that can even occur.

Not everyone on the border code-switched of course, and we had plenty of Spanish and English speakers who spoke each language very well. We also had bilinguals who understood the grammatical rules and didn’t code-switch to, in their own way, preserve the language. It could be said that many people in the city, even though they knew English and Spanish, were illiterate in either one or both languages but it still didn’t deter the fact that code-switching was an effective way of communicating in the Laredo community. As confusing as it might sound, Tex-Mex, Spanglish, or whatever people want to call it was well understood in these parts. Code-switching was frowned upon by a few and embraced by many others. It was part of our way of life and every bilingual person down on the border did it at least once in their lifetime if not often.

This type of activity happened in every border city or when a huge population of a certain ethnicity or race merged into another culture and society, and it was quite normal for those who experienced it. The only problem with code-switching is that aside from the community where the language is housed, it can be misunderstood as intellectually inferior by others outside of the social circle. Our community language made us interesting and unique when compared to many other cities and states and Laredo stood out in more ways than one, positively and negatively.

Although the Gateway City is still growing, it was at one time considered the 2nd fastest growing city in the country behind Las Vegas. For anyone who ever spoke or heard about Laredo, they either hated or loved it. While some people loved the cultural unity, others thought it was ignorant and close-minded. Many people wanted to leave and plenty more made it their permanent home. There was no middle ground for people who ever visited or lived in Laredo. With its increasing popularity of being a fast growing city, writers and authors decided to critic the town and put it to the ultimate test. In a book entitled Cities Ranked and Rated written by Bert Sperling, Laredo was named the worst place to live in and the dumbest city in America within metropolitan areas. It was based on lack of bookstores, cultural activities, citing problems with gang and drug trafficking, and complaints of bad weather. Factors included lack of intellectual stimulation, high crime rate, poverty, and heat. On the positive side, it was also named the Happiest City in the United States in the Men’s Health Magazine. It was a happy place because there were no mudslides, earthquakes, tsunamis, and hardly any tornadoes and fires. Aside from natural disasters, suicide rates and depression were low and that was based on family relationships and the culture, unity, and values that were set to start in the homes as honorable former Laredo Mayor Betty Flores once stated. Laredo could be on the extreme positive or negative side of an issue depending on how someone looked at it, but either way, Laredo is home and the place where I was born and raised.

As far as I can remember, football has always been a big part of my life. Along with my family and beliefs, the game was as important to me as breathing itself. I’m not really sure the exact reason why I enjoyed it so much since I had no prior expectations when I first got turned on to the game but it became one of my major obsessions.

I want to stress the word football because it can also be misunderstood for futbol, which stands for soccer in just about every country aside from the United States of America. Living in a city that borders Mexico, where one of the main pastimes is soccer, one could understand how such misinterpretation can take place. We would usually counter that miscommunication by using the words American football or futbol Americano. There were many other sports that the Hispanic community was in love with but no matter how huge futbol and baseball were in Laredo and south of the border, football was still a big deal in Texas and it took precedence over any other athletic event. I don’t want to get into how huge football is in Texas, because it has been well-documented many times before, but if it could garner the attention and replace other traditional sports in a community with heavy Mexican traditions, whose influence just happens to be next door, then that’s saying a lot about the passion that Texas has about the gridiron game all over the state.

When I was in 5th grade, my father decided to coach the 9-and-10 year old elementary flag football team. My father was a preacher for a local church and he was a very religious person but when it came to coaching the game he was as motivating and as enthusiastic as they come. I think I enjoyed the game a lot more than I was supposed to because it was the only time in my life where he was giving us advice on something that wasn’t related to the Bible. Not that the Bible was bad but it was just different. It was a side of him that I didn’t get a chance to see often.

My father was a walking example of chance and perseverance and having him in my life was very much a blessing. He was an ex-convict turned church pastor and he made it a point to cement his testimony on us so we wouldn’t follow in his footsteps. I never got to meet the person my father was before his transformation but the dad I knew was a wonderful person and a loving father. He always guided me through every obstacle in my life and football was just another thing that I knew I could succeed in with his guidance.

We managed to go undefeated that season and win the city championship in our division. I knew the basics of catching and throwing the ball, running, and deflagging our opponent and I enjoyed competing. We would win often and losing wasn’t something I was accustomed to. My father didn’t have much time for us at home or after church but the game of football was keeping us together. He was spending time with us and if anything else, he was steering us in the right direction.

I attended Finley Elementary School in the Del Wood Subdivision. Del Wood was also referred to as Mines Road because of the street that led to that location. Mines Road was a small suburb in the outskirts of central Laredo. It was located in the northwest section of the city and it was more of a trailer park than an actual rural subdivision at that time. There were hardly any stores or restaurants and most of the shopping had to be done in the inner-city. The neighborhoods were made up of loops instead of regular streets and just about every section of land was occupied by mobile homes. Projects of houses were starting to be built across the way from the loops as Mines Road started to grow from brushy acres of vacant territory to a larger extended district. We lived on one of the circular streets named Orleans Loop. Even though our mobile home was one of the worse in the area we managed to make the best of it. I was too young to understand the price of living or the social issues that came with poverty but I never had a reason to think about it at such a young age. I did wonder how other people had more things than we did and how we never had as much as others but those thoughts came and went and hardly mattered.

I ventured out in the neighborhood and hung out with the friends I made in school. We had seasonal games that we would actively participate in as well as the main stream sports that were going on in America. I participated in all the games and activities but the most difficult for me was baseball. The neighborhood game involvement resembled that of the movie The Sandlot, but with different sports, and baseball, well, I just never got into it.

Aside from the minimal equipment, the street fields with sidewalk boundaries and homemade bases made it complicated but we still played. Being left-handed was never a serious problem for me until I started to play baseball. Sure I would frequently create a mess on paper when I wrote things down with a pen but I thought that was a normal occurrence for everyone. In the game of baseball, however, being lefty was a handicap when I had to catch the ball with my left-handed glove, take it off, and then throw it with that same arm because we had limited equipment. Just about everyone in the neighborhood was right-handed and there weren’t any gloves to fit on my opposite hand so it became a burden, and well, a game I wouldn’t play often. I didn’t mind hitting the ball and running the bases once and a while but by standing in the outfield I would end up hurting my team more than I would help them. I preferred just about anything else but baseball. Football, soccer, and basketball were better for me since they were simple and required less equipment.

Many lefties went on to have success in baseball after they got adjusted to the game but for me, in the loop, it was a game-breaker. I wasn’t having any of it after I struggled with it for so long, which was a shame because my father was actually a very good baseball player. He never really pressured me to try it and I guess he sensed that I wasn’t as passionate about baseball as I was about other sports so he just let me decide what I wanted to participate in on my own.

In the early 90s, we were a family of seven. My father Roberto Ortiz and mother Laura Ortiz raised a close-knit religious family. I had two older siblings by the names of Jesus Rafael and my only sister, Liza Christina. I was the middle child in the family and right after me, a year or so apart, was Eliseo. In 1988 we added a new bundle of joy into the family and he was named Josue, which translated to Joshua in English. My parents had a thing about naming their children after biblical leaders and prophets in the Bible and Eliseo and Josue were prime examples. We shortened up our names a bit as we got older and my oldest brother was known as Rafa, My sister was Christy, I was Tito (short for Robertito), my younger brother was Eli, and my baby brother was Josh.

Our family was big enough to enjoy some type of company growing up in our home but we rarely did anything collectively. We all had our own different friends and we never got together for any type of activity unless it was a neighborhood game. We rarely spent a whole day at the house and we jumped around from our friends’ residences to stay away from ours. Most of it had to with us being together most of the time at church that we just wanted to break away from that pattern when we were in the loop.

We had church services on Wednesday, Thursday, and twice on Sunday. My father’s church consisted of a huge tent where many people in the city would congregate. My early childhood was filled with the word of God and faith. We were brought up in the church and believed everything we were told. Our beliefs kept food on the table, especially with my family’s low income. We occasionally got our light cut off or went a few days without running water but we always had food to eat and we had faith that one day God would give us everything we ever wanted.

Our parents were with us a lot, but there wasn’t much quality time spent. Every time we got together as a family, it was usually at church. There was nothing wrong with that but it just seemed like whenever my parents were around, they were preaching the word of God instead of being there for us. There was plenty of love but it didn’t feel like a regular family because there was no unity, no bonding, and no upbringing. I guess, in a way, that’s why I enjoyed flag football so much because my father was doing something else besides preaching.

We never got to do anything as a family either. We would go out and congregate with other families in picnics and Christian parties but never together by ourselves. We didn’t even eat together in the same table for dinner when we were home. My parents put so much time and effort in the church that they overlooked us entirely when we were home. They did their part though and they weren’t bad parents by any means. We were just raised by the church more than we were raised by them. Like everything else about our upbringing, we learned everything we had to about life in the services and that was all the guidance we needed to try walking a path of righteousness.

Not everything was joyous and amazing in my home growing up though. One would think that such avid church-goers would yield more positive results but with so many siblings and plenty of time away from parental supervision, problems seemed to come up wherever we were. Eli and I always seemed to create plenty of chaos and most of it was in church, which was somewhat ironic. People go to church to find peace and tranquility and that is not what Eli and I were known for in the congregation. My father never failed to discipline us with his belt and I could never understand, after so many beatings, why I couldn’t just sit tight and listen. Every other church day, we got into trouble. Every other church day, people pointed fingers at the pastor’s kids with negative comments. It was a common occurrence. After not being able to contain ourselves, they simply cut to the root of the problem and split us up when we were in the house of God. That seemed to do the trick since Eli and I didn’t really hang out when we were home.

Rafa and I, however, was a different matter altogether. If I wasn’t getting disciplined for causing problems in church, I was getting pummeled by my older brother whenever I was home. Rafa and I could never get along. For some reason, He just had it out for me, and just about all my siblings. Rafa had a bad temper with a short fuse. I avoided him like he was an airborne disease and that was the main reason why I stayed away from home most of the time. Rafa was a few years older and I was no match for him physically. He would ragdoll the hell out of me if I even tried fighting back. I loved him as an older brother but I started to despise him after so many confrontations. The funny thing about Rafa was that he was usually the one causing us physical harm but when it came for someone else hurting us, he was always there to protect and fight for us. I guess he was just a fighter, period.

I couldn’t understand how or why my siblings were so problematic but it was safe to say that maybe since I was frequently involved in most of the altercations that I was the problem, but that wasn’t necessarily the case. Well, honestly, I don’t know if I was but I’ll just annotate it as familial issues and I’m not about to pin-point one of us as the main culprit. None of us were perfect and we all had our differences and difficult personalities but one thing was for sure, we all cared. We all cared deeply about each other no matter how it seemed on the outside.

I did have a bad temper and I knew I had some things I had to work on but those qualities helped me through many things as I got older. My stubbornness made me a great competitor and my attitude never allowed me to get anything less than what I expected. I wasn’t the fighting type but I was capable of just about anything if I felt I was right. I wasn’t known for my personality at that age but it was kind of distinctive in a way, and yes, maybe a little problematic now that I think about it.

One thing I was definitely known for growing up was my eyes. I didn’t have colored eyes but I did have long eye lashes and bushy eye brows that were unique characteristics. There was never a day that went by that someone didn’t compliment or touch them. That was something that stood out about me from the rest of my brothers even though we all sort of had them. That and our competitive nature that started in elementary in Mines Road. We were always around when any type of sport in the loop began. I don’t know how we were so involved in those things but we were and it was an amazing time in my life and something that I truly enjoyed doing.

Homes in the loop started to change as we got older. Aside from the constant construction in other areas in Mines Road, our neighbors were transforming their mobile homes into permanent houses. Some of them rebuilt their homes from the ground up while others simply renovated their trailers. Mines Road was changing significantly and they were already working on other subdivisions on what used to be unoccupied and undisturbed land. Another elementary school was also in the works just a couple of blocks away from Finley and it would be named Kazen Elementary School. There was plenty of construction in Mines and it was getting bigger as was the rest of Laredo.

My father coached flag football once again for the 11-12 year olds where Eli and I played together on the same Finley Phantoms flag football team and we repeated as city champions. It was around that time when our living conditions started to change. Our church was growing and it was bringing in plenty of money as my father was also bringing in his own cash flow in his side job. He was making things happen for our family and things were looking optimistic. We relied heavily on faith growing up and we were finally seeing it manifest itself. We were finally seeing the hand of God work its wonders on our family.

During the fall of my 6th grade year, my father had found a new home away from Mines and closer to our church. We were scheduled to move at the end of the year and we began to plan our departure from the place we had grown so used to as children. I didn’t want to move and leave my friends behind but I did want to relocate to a better home, I just didn’t want to depart Mines Road entirely. I didn’t say much once we began to move and I had no other choice but to proceed with the plans that my father had set out for us.

Adjustments

After moving to our new home across town in east Laredo, we quickly got situated and I was placed in M.B. Lamar Middle School, home of the mighty Lions. It was a closed-campus but there were small buildings and portables all over the place and it seemed a lot bigger than it actually was. Instead of just one huge building with hallways like my last school, it had an open-type of environment which was free of centered supervision. It was a total transformation to how things were in Finley Elementary. It wasn’t even close to being comparable. The main disparity was that I went from one of the oldest kids in school to the youngest. George Washington Middle School in Mines Road hadn’t been completed and only until then the classifications from Kindergarten to 6th grade remained the same in Finley and Kazen Elementary.

Lamar was 6th grade to 8th grade. I was at the bottom and I had no friends. It was so different to what I was use to that I didn’t even make an effort to talk and mingle with anyone. I had previously heard of Lamar and all its violence before I even stepped in school. The rumors beforehand were that it was infested with gangsters, troublemakers, and drug dealers. The last thing I needed was to get into serious problems for a misunderstanding.

I managed to make a few friends in class but I stayed away from everyone else. After being there for a few days, I missed Mines Road and all my friends. We were just kids and I didn’t get a chance to get older with them. I also missed the Loop and all the block activities. I missed how everything used to be. As good as I felt for moving out of our trailer home to a real house, it still didn’t compensate for losing my friends.

I had plenty of time left in 6th grade and I tried making the best of it. As time went by, the five months that I spent surviving 6th grade were the longest most horrible days of my life. I tried staying away from the everyday violence that to me seemed influenced by Hollywood. There was a gang on campus by the name of PVL. It was short for Puro Vatos Locos, which translated into crazy men or crazy gangsters. That gang, or name of that gang, came right out of the movie Blood In, Blood Out which was very popular among the Hispanic community. Many people during that time didn’t want to accept that movies could influence young kids to do things that were presented in them but PVL in Lamar was living proof of it. I wasn’t even sure if that gang really existed or if the movie was based on a true story but somehow it was present in Laredo. The campus gang didn’t fully grasp the movie’s message about how it was more important to have familia (family) than to fight the law or create trouble. Either way, in school, it was still very much a criminal organization.

I never heard of PVL outside of school so I didn’t think it was a serious problem in the city but they ran most of Lamar like it was a prison. Stories of them creating chaos in classrooms and beating up teachers were in circulation among the students daily. Some administrators tried fighting the violence but there was no hope. There was no containing these groups of kids and the pandemonium had grown so much bigger than they could handle. While I was there it actually felt like the school had given up and they were waiting for the end of the year to do some adjustments. In the mean time, the disorder continued.

There were other gangs, like UNTA- which was short for Untouchables- and the Georgetown Boys (GTB). If they even thought about forming an alliance with each other they were still heavily outnumbered by the growing population of the Vato Locos. Although they were both much smaller they still managed to get a bunch of guys who didn’t give a shit, about anything, not even themselves. UNTA created just about as much trouble as PVL and they were constantly fighting against one another. In school, PVL always had the upper-hand in population but out of school, the Untouchable had family members in real Laredo gangs. No matter what happened on campus, the PVL pee-wee’s (younger gang affiliates) had to watch out with the relatives outside.

The UNTA ringleader was a young man that went by the name of Boy, which obviously wasn’t very creative. He was a lot older than everyone else because he had failed a few grade levels and was a rather imposing individual. He was older and had a mean