My Only Bag

By Michael Balaguera

As the world turns, things change. Our life cycle is full of memories. Those memories tell my adventures from childhood through adulthood. Some full of joy, some are full of despair, panic and pain. This book shares my story as my story needs to be told and read by many. MY ONLY BAG is a bag I brought from Belen, Boyaca, Colombia with only a few personal items but full of my childhood memories. It also contained all my dreams, which now can be opened by many to enjoy the growth of one man to a large family and all the goodness and goodies of my life…MY ONLY BAG.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Sep 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781698707181

Michael Balaguera

Michaela Balaguera was born in Belen Boyaca Colombia, South America. In his early 20’s, Mr. Balaguera moved to New York where he made his permanent home and career. After thirty years in the air conditioning business, Michael retired. Blessed with a creative mind that needed to be expressed, Mr. Balaguera began writing. To date, he has written and published three books. His first book, From the Andes to Brooklyn, as interesting and compelling autobiography, gave Michael the confidence to further pursue a writing career. His second book, Dos Boyacenses Pero Animales, was distributed and read throughout Columbia and several countries throughout the world. 2030/Five From the Bay is Michael’s third book, and most fascinating. Michael continues to express his creativity through photography, working with stained glass and plans to continue writing in the future.

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Copyright 2021 Michael Balaguera.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the written prior permission of the author.

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ISBN: 978-1-6987-0719-8 (sc

978-1-6987-0720-4 (hc)

978-1-6987-0718-1 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021913206

Trafford rev. 08/28/2021

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 The Beginning

Chapter 2 My Younger Years

Chapter 3 Beginning of Real Life

Chapter 4 Coming to the United States

Chapter 5 Broken Leg

Chapter 6 Adjusting to American Culture

Chapter 7 Joys of Fatherhood

Chapter 8 Learning to Live with a Handicap Son

Chapter 9 Beautiful Brooklyn

Chapter 10 The Joy of Little League Games

Chapter 11 Don’t Call Us…We’ll Call You

Chapter 12 My HVAC Days

Chapter 13 Learning Greek & It’s Greek to Me

Chapter 14 Marsha

Chapter 15 My Skyboy and Political Figures of Sheepshead Bay

Chapter 16 Cruises and Vacations

Chapter 17 Eileen’s Battle with Cancer

Chapter 18 Moving Forward

Chapter 19 New Life

Chapter 20 Blessings of Marriage

Chapter 21 I’m a PAPA

Chapter 22 Enjoying Life

Chapter 23 Corona Virus Pandemic

Chapter 24 Grand Canyon, White Water Rapids in the Middle of the Pandemic

Chapter 250 Presidential Election Disaster/Trump

Chapter 26 Our Lives Amid the Pandemic

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Eulalia Castro Balaguera & Ismael Balaguera

MY PARENTS…MY HEROES

My Only

BAG

I want to dedicate this book to all the people born and raised in the beautiful town of Belen, Boyaca, Colombia located in the magnificent valley of the Andes Mountains. Belen is a birthplace for many intellectuals who conquer many avenues of places in the Colombian culture and the world. For those industrial people who fabricate the famous Alfondoque (similar to salt water taffy) in the candy industry. The dairy industry, the hired hands (campesinos) and all the farmers and ranchers who make Belen a unique place to raise the family and build them with strong work ethics and a hearty backbone for an intellectual future.

To My Wife

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I want to thank my dear wife who dedicate the time and assistance with

this book. She is my rock in many ways. Thank you for your ideas and to

help me make this possible. I love you deep in the bottom of my heart.

You are always next to me in good times, bad times, in times of need.

I love you very much, Patty.

Michael Balaguera

Author

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CHAPTER ONE

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The Beginning

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D on Ismael and Sra Eulalia Balaguera Castro Torres were preparing for the new arrival, the arrival was a baby boy who later on was baptized as Misael de Jesus Balaguera Castro. The date is March 6 at 5:00 a.m., the family is gathered and aware a big event is taking place. Don Ismael called his mother, Christina an experienced mid-wife who was believed to have delivered over 5,000 babies in her time. She was also some type of Doctor who would prescribe roots, leaves and other herbal remedies to cure and treat dental needs or broken legs and arms. (Years later she cured my own broken arm with no other Doctor intervention) The family was gathered together in our old home, who was built with clay walls and some clay bricks called adobe. The paint on the walls were white in color because in these days it was very seldom that color paint was used. Instead, there were limestone rocks that were cooked down to become a powder that was used for paint when mixed with water it becomes a paint or it also has other uses in the town. In the middle of the room there was an old bed made of oakwood. The floors were dirt floor which were a packed down dirt so it appeared as a clean floor but in really it was a dirt floor. The broom made from bush branches stood in the corner to maintain not only this floor but other floors which included a cantina which my mother had worked selling beer or candy. There was a window and the grace of the early sun would penetrate the room giving light. This was the source of light for the home in order to maintain the home. The other children were awake early and saw my mother lying in bed quite uncomfortably with special made towels from old clothing, soap and water nearby. My father was pacing the floor giving assistance. He was providing coffee and moonshine to my grandmother Christina Velandia, an Irish woman who enjoyed a fine drink, not to the point of drunkenness but just a good drink. My grandfather was Martin Balaguera Velandia was in their home, tending the farm. The moonshine was made from corn or rice. While my grandmother was assisting my mother, the other children knew soon the arrival of a new baby would happen. The early sunrays from the windows were dancing as they came through the dust, the walls became brighter and the room became alive (which in actuality was a quite small room) but this very joyful moment when I was delivered into this world, and given with love from my grandmother to my mother and father is a wonderful moment. I can describe this moment because later in my young years I was witness to the same event many times as my younger brothers and sisters were born. It seemed as a child when a baby was born into our home the sun was brighter, the silhouettes seem to dance on the walls. The wall had a crucifix hanging near the bed as we were a Catholic family and prayers of thanksgiving were offered up. My grandmother would often tell the story of our birth to us as the joy of a family was very important. In these days sex would have been considered a sin and very private so my father would describe the birth of a child a gift from God which has been delivered to us from a stork which came through the window and we are thankful everyone is healthy and happy. Our home was quite meager, a four roomed home which was divided off into our parents sleeping area, the kitchen area where the beams were high and corn stalks hung to dry and the milk was also processed here, the children sleeping area and a small cantina in front where my mother sold the beer and candy. In later years, another home was built behind this home and all of this sat beautifully like a picture in the valleys of the Andes Mountains. This would be the setting of my childhood years. After my birth, the entire family came together to celebrate and the child is taken to the church for the baptism. After the child is baptized and anointed with holiness the family goes home to celebrate and enjoy cookies, cheese and matzo which is a drink made from rice and very tasty. This is traditional for a birth celebration and matzo goes best with cake or cookies. My father’s parents, my mother’s parents are Ricardo Castro and Rita Torres, the aunts and uncles all come together to celebrate this moment and very proud to have another Balaguera son. Our Catholic family celebrates all the traditional moments of First Holy Communion and I remember all the children dressed in white with our candles celebrating in our beautiful church which was built in the early 1900’s a very early Gothic steepled church. The two amazing steeples which rising into the Andes Mountains still stands with grandeur. Our church home was critical to our upbringing and played many rolls during our lives.

My childhood in the valley of Belen, Boyaca was very unique and picturesque. I grew up around the Andes mountains and a valley that is very similar to the state of Montana. My childhood was very poor but I never remember a day or night that I went to bed hungry. My parents were from the countryside background and they were very smart and bright who learned from the university of life how to handle the difficulties of life. My father went to a little bit of schooling and he was taught and he was able to learn to read and understand basic math, which propel him in his business of agriculture and cattle. My mother never went to school but she was able to mimic her mother her father and later on my father. My mother was a brilliant person who was able to hold together the household and the daily routines with great multi-tasking when you consider ten children, milking industry and agriculture.

The love story between my parents was very unique. In a small rural town, up in the Andes mountains there were not many things to do except farming and cattle. You can milk the cows for cheese and butter which will be sold to other towns. My parents met when my father went to deliver two horses to Ricardo Castro in Rita Torres which is a part of, only 5 miles from Belen, Boyaca. The story goes that my father saw a beautiful girl while delivering the horses. Her name was Eulalia. My father asked about her. The impact of her eyes and beauty caught the attention of my father. Her mother and father noticed this right away. After a very short romance…the marriage was somewhat arranged. In these days…a good family was happy to arrange a marriage of their daughter to another good family. This marriage lasted a lifetime…over 65 years. In this marriage, with a great amount of love the addition of children. There were nine of us …Fortunado, Auxilio, Elsida, Misael, Transcito, Manuel, Anthony, Ricardo and Rosalba. At the time of this book we have sadly lost three of our siblings…Manuel, Anthony & Transcito.

Fortunado went into the Army and then later worked for the state. He is married to Ines. Upon his retirement he became a cattle farmer. He has one daughter. Today she is a prominent teacher in the state of Boyaca.

Auxilio got married and became a housekeeper. She married a tailor/musician David. Together they have five children. These children became teachers and lawyers and a veterinarian, all very educated. Auxilio still loves being in the kitchen taking care of the family.

Elsida went to school in Bogota and became a nurse. She married Bonifacio and had one daughter. She is a health consultant in pharmaceuticals.

Misael went to work in the mines then became an electrician, welder and later moved to New York City. Keep reading this book. He married Eileen Brooks Senecoff a Jewish girl from Brooklyn. We have two boys. Keep reading the story.

Transcito became involved with a man but never got married. She had a daughter which is a travel consultant. Sadly after a long illness, Transcito passed away in 2019. She was a loving and caring sister and mother.

Manuel became maintenance personnel for our hometown and married Maria. They have four sons and all work in our hometown Belen. Destiny of life was shortened for Manuel and sadly he passed away in 2008.

Anthony was my kid brother who only had a short time on earth. He was tragically killed in a farming accident. May he rest in peace. You will read later in this story of life the difficulties of working with oxen and unfortunately his life was taken during a day of work in the fields.

Ricardo became a banker and married lifetime sweetheart Balbina. They have three children. All are prominent, educated citizens of Bogota.

Rosalba became educated and now lives in Bucaramanga.

The synopsis of my brothers and sisters and the nest that Ismael & Eulalia built. We continue to be a close family although distance is between us. They taught each of us the importance of integrity and love and the ability to work hard. As you can see everyone has a different destiny. Some stayed close by & some moved away which for me was 3800 miles to United States. Our family was a close-knit family who followed the rules of the house of which some were very strict. They taught us to respect people. In my town there were two branches of society. High society and low society. If we see a priest, a nun or an elite guy from our town we must remove our hat and bow to them. Extending a submissive type of greeting for the day. If you didn’t do this, the custom was that the Don had the authority of give discipline even in front of your parents. This would be with a slap or even a belt. If this happens in public the same happens from our parents upon returning home so you learn the follow the rules quickly. Technology began to arrive and new laws were created. People became more educated and the old school ways and people were dropping dead and so did this type of discipline. I remember my father telling me that these people had many children and from the most beautiful ladies. They were allowed to have these children without marriage until laws changed and as the law changed the responsibility of having children did as well. These are my very early days as a child. We didn’t have television in these days. You learn the laws of the land by your parents and my parents demanded good citizenship. Still today many families remain and some still believe the old-fashioned ways, yet modernization changes many things. Prominent families might still believe they are prominent just by the last name but actually that’s long gone. Families that used to be pheasants might very well be the elite of the community. Being educated and bringing success to the community changes the atmosphere and every aspect in culture. Living in a small town is very difficult to make a living. Some people have three or four professions. My father was a farmer. He was one of the first creators of the milk industry in our town and made cheese and butter which was sold around to other towns. My brothers and sisters and I helped him daily. In the dairy industry everything must be kept clean and you are always wet. The first machine he bought was like a churn of sorts which separated the milk from the cream. It was hard work because everything was by hand. We took turns because it was so hard to keep your strength. I remember the cream being so tasty. My mother would sometimes get muffins from the bakery and give us cream to dip the muffins in and this would be our lunch, a piece of cheese might be added on occasion. We also had cows to milk. Another 24/7 job. In the morning we milk the cows and bring the milk to the house to remove the cream. In the afternoon we would separate the babies from the cows so they wouldn’t get the milk and we would have more by morning. Today most milk farmers will milk the cows, morning and night. Eventually my father gave up the dairy because others became more productive with more equipment to make the process better. As the kids we were happy because it was hard work. After we separate the milk and the cheese the leftovers were fed to the pigs. We had a lot of pigs and sometimes the bucket was bigger than me but I had to do my job or my father would punish me. All of this was very hard work for myself and my brothers and sisters. My father dedicated more time to the flea market on Saturdays. People from area towns would come and go to buy or sell things. My father would dedicate time to buy and sell skins from sheep, goats and cows. In addition, some agricultural items such as barley or wheat. I loved to go to the flea markets to see all the tents. It was exciting and full of good to see and explore. My father would buy as many as 1000-2000 eggs in order to sell at another location. The people would bring eggs and cheese in little baskets. Eggs being very fragile but the hay my father would save from the wheat and barley would be saved and he would cushion the eggs in layers from this. Then the eggs would be safe to go to another location for sales. Frequently the eggs would crack and my father would feel discouraged at profit loss. He would order a beer and add the cracked eggs in order to avoid waste and I never heard the word cholesterol. The animal skins/leathers would be put into stacks and then rolled up. These were also sold in the bigger cities…Bucaramanga, Bogota or Tunja to people would then make shoes or bags. He was making a decent income and was able to feed us. It was not with great splendor but I never went to bed hungry. We always had a loaf of bread on the table. His hands and back of his heels would be cracked and bloody but it shows how humans work hard to survive and enjoy life. My father was very responsible man next to my mother. My family was loved and highly regarded for the hard work. He was not rich in dollars but very useful in our town. I recall a story of his curiosity about cattle vaccines. He went to learn this from a friend and soon he was considered a veterinarian and giving vaccines. He had a small stainless steel kit and before he used the tools he would put alcohol and water in order to disinfect the needles. In my opinion my father was a good Doctor and he was making money. My father could tell if an animal was sick by a few simple observations. I want to note that he never went to a University to do all these things but at this time he was very good at his jobs. Behind a good man is indeed a good woman and my mother was always very dedicated to my father. She was a good advisor in his decisions in order to make good for our family. They certainly had ups and downs and their fair share of hardships. Occasionally he would work from the barter system and come home with cheese, potatoes or eggs instead of money but it was a system that worked. Same as today with the quid quo pro and the Trump analogy. My father loved to read, especially war stories. In these days the wars were between cannon balls and swords. He would tell me the stories. Unlike today when a H bomb would be dropped and the world is gone for good. Many stories he would tell us while traveling from Culebrera, a place we often worked. He was a master story teller. He would leave us intrigued…he would say…to be continued tomorrow. It was a fascinating time growing up even with these hardships as looking back it’s what made me the man I am today.

Our family was large and we never had to look for someone to play with. My brothers and sisters were always near and we would create many things to do, including our toys. We would go to the master craftsman, Maestro Cardenas, an older man with much experience. He owned the wood carving shop in our town and if we gave him some eggs or sugar, he would create a spinning top or wheels or other parts we might need for our homemade created toys. He was a master of this. The problem was the lathe he was using was very old and a very old yet interesting design and the precision of the master craftsman could by turning the wheel will increase the speed of the lathe and he will use the chisels or carving tools to create whatever he was designing. As a child it was great and amazing to go to this shop and pay with a little bit of nothing and he will tell us to start to spin the wheel. We go for a long time turning the wheel with his assistance and he would create something. It was amazing to me to see by turning the wheel by hand as we did not have electricity and sweating like crazy, we would have a great moment when Maestro Cardenas would present to us a toy that we had a part in making. Even though I was sweating like a pig by turning the wheel, I was not alone as many other children were waiting in line to make a toy of their own. I remember him as an older man with some type of foot deformity as he walked with a cane but to the children, he was a very important person. He was a very likeable man and very dedicated to our community. His shop was located near the slaughter house (La Pesa) on the way to Montero which is a county of Belen. These are great memories. Through his hands and help we would create toys and we would play with these toys with great pride. Some were very intricate toys and some were quite simple but they would fulfill our needs for toys for enjoyment. As children grow up and become more adult so do the toys they need. At some point the telephone came to our town. We well-off people of our town establish the ability to have telephone service. This was by a rotary dial process and only black in color. I was by now about 15-16 years old. One of my girlfriends, Ines, had a phone. Her number was six. One number only to dial…ONE. It was amazing to me to live these moments and watch technology begin to change right before my eyes and hands. We did not have television as children. It came to my hometown in the early 1970’s. I was one of the guys who helped install a pole on top of the hill so Belen could have television reception for the first time. Our crew was Pacho Pinto, Segundo Pinto, Benito Zarate and a few others but I cannot recall all the names. I never enjoyed a moment of television in my hometown because my family and home didn’t have television and a few months later I left on my journey to the United States. A few decades later, all of Belen has access to television and many channels and news opportunities. Before this time, we were kids and we wanted to date or party. We had trips to the countryside usually on Sundays and go beside a river and take a dip in very cold water, light up a fire and make some food, including melcochas something similar to taffy. The most famous taffy in the United States is from Atlantic City and the saying is it’s the best because they use salt water, but I will always think my melcochas is best because cooking over a fire, diving in the river and joking or singing with the girls was the very best thing. We didn’t use liquor or drugs, it was pure fun. My mother told me if I had sex or removed the virginity of a girl, the police will come, handcuff you and take you to the police. Then a honor guard would escort you to the church for marriage…no questions asked. This was the law of the land in Belen and we were NOT going to violate our parents or this law. We were allowed to kiss, hold hands or a small touch…never anything more intimate. First base would be touching an arm, second base a small kiss (maybe even a French kiss) and third base maybe to touch a boob or the vagina. There would never be a homerun…this was the end of the passion. Between our eyes we always had a STOP sign that said…BE CAREFUL…DO NOT GO ANY FURTHER or you get punished or screwed up. During dancing the guys and girls if they got to close it was said it could cause orgasm. You go to the bathroom and clean yourself up…but you never say anything to anyone about this. Remember we were all young and your hormones are on fire and when dancing it really heats up and I presume it happens to the girls as well. Again, it was not discussed but when the hormones flame up…it happens. The trips we took to many places around the town were joyful events to share laughs or sorrows and sometimes the girls or even the boys would get into a squabble over jealousy but our friendships would never end, we always make up and move on.

Looking back on my youth in this very interesting town of Belen, Boyaca located in a beautiful valley adorned with hills that in many ways where considered majestic. It was amazing to see the beauty of the simple living. We enjoyed every single day. We would often go exploring & once in a while we would hike to the Tibet. Sometimes guys and girls but usually the guys. It appears easy to conquer the peaks of the hills but in reality it’s quite difficult. It’s a challenge for your feet and your knees but hiking the hills give you a sense of a real accomplishment for a young man. It gave you the feeling of grandeur. When I would go to the Tibet I would carry a notebook not to write to my hardship about conquering the hill but to make paper airplanes and throw them and watch the current of air take them away. The airplane would fly for a long time and I would try to watch the air moving the airplane which is not really possible but what is possible you could see the wave of the plane and we thought it was extremely cool to see this. At one time I had an airplane that was mechanical and could fly therefore I wanted to see if from the Tibet I could make it fly even a bigger flight but it didn’t work out and it crashed. I was very disappointed but I continued to experiment with my paper airplanes and that was good enough at the time. Being able to see the panoramic views of my hometown was so spectacular. Occasionally we would wander too far away and we could see the entire frame of my hometown. These images will forever be in my mind. As a kid to have this opportunity is very interesting. We didn’t have the technology of today so we entertained our minds and bodies with such things as this and the memory of this cannot be removed from my memories. As we get older you think you can go back to those hills and revive that memory of what you did as a child. I decided to do exactly that in 2016 while visiting my family for the holidays. My nephew Miguel, a friend who happens to be a Captain in the military, another friend of his decided we would pack a sack and make this climb. I asked my sister for a good breakfast and we packed some supplies of snacks and water to make this climb. I knew the day would be full of adventure yet difficult. I was the old geiser of our small crew…the old man but I was so excited and we left the town at 8 a.m. for our day. I told the family we would be back in early afternoon and off we went. We started our climb and the higher the climb the thinner the air. The town itself is 3,812 meters above sea level but when you go higher and higher you can start to feel it in your body. I maintained a slow pace as I realize my age and I must be careful. However, I when I turn to see the younger men I notice they are very short of air also. Halfway up our climb we were already out of water. It came to mind that for me…I have lived for many years at sea level in Florida and now I was climbing a huge height. We were all struggling a little bit but we made our way going slow and sure. At long last we reached the pinnacle of the hill and it took us almost four hours, a long time but the view still was amazing. From my childhood to current as an older man, the view was breath taking and my eyes fill with water of amazement that once again I successfully made the climb. We ate our small portions of food and laughed took photographs and discussed the journey back down the hillside. I built a rock structure and carved my name into a rock with the date as a memory for anyone else who climbs this hill might see that I was here. I realize this will be my last time to climb this hill in my lifetime. We begin our decent and you think to yourself the stones roll downhill with no problems…well incorrect…in my opinion going down was more difficult than going up. Hard on our knees and there is not a pathway, only trees and bushes and you lose footing easily. Very unstable footing for all of us. No matter which direction you go there is a type of sawgrass that cuts into your skin. In some places the bushes were taller than us and in order to break them down was a big job and no matter which way we turned there were more challenges. It would appear we had made some headway and we would look around to see we’d only gone a small distance. The journey downhill was treacherous and took us about four hours or more to get down. We had expected the entire trip to be about four hours instead it was over nine hours and we didn’t have any cellular reception to notify our family. We were tired and your mind says rest, rest, rest but we knew the family was waiting for us and we continued forward. Seeing our car at the end was a celebration. We can make it home. Exhaustion, joy, feeling overwhelmed were just a few of our emotions. To tell this story to our family…what we thought was going to be a quick hike up the hill became a huge journey for us older farts. What an experience to share. Being on top of this hill made me look around to all the hills I had conquered as a child and say to myself & the others…I’ve been to all these hills. I know in my heart I won’t be climbing this area ever again but I can proudly say I survived the hike up the Tibet as an old man to recount my many memories as a child. This is priceless.

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Goalkeeper

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Youthful Memories

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CHAPTER TWO

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My Younger Years

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M y youth years hold many more types of memories. The exploring, the farm life, the hard work, and my developing into a young man…with a few love stories. Remember I shared earlier that intimacy was not allowed so my love stories in my hometown consisted of dancing or hanging around with friends that might like you. Later, when I was older and had started working in Buccarumunga with my uncle I was introduced into another chapter of becoming a man. Remember the culture in South America is very different and we were educated in a very different fashion. I realize even as I write this that it’s very unusual for many people but this was the way for us. While working for my uncle digging the channels and trenches for pipelines, I was working very hard. My cousins worked other jobs but we all worked together. One Saturday night they (my cousins) invited me to go where we could meet girls and have a good time. I agreed to go and we went to the Street 61 in Buccarumnga. I later find out that everyone knows about Street 61…it’s where the House of Ill Repute is. My cousins told me we would go the cantina and we would enjoy music and have a drink. The music was playing on the juke box or wurlitzer and they told me to enjoy a drink. The Wurlitzer played the music very loud and there were many beautiful girls around the room and on a bench towards the back of the room another group of lovely girls. My cousins told me to have a drink and select a girl because she wants to become your friend. I notice that all the girls were very friendly and wearing very skimpy clothes. My cousins were really watching my reactions. I was feeling a little happy and a little worried, I didn’t know what to expect. I was a very shy young man and very naïve in these adventures. Everything was so loud and the signs were very bright and everyone seemed very happy here. The girls seemed