On Friday night I read on Facebook that the BBC had
announced the death of Fidel Castro.
Frankly, at the time I did not know how to react. I had kind of put him in the back of my mind;
not thinking about him at all. I started
thinking back to my childhood, how he had influenced all our lives. A lot of memories surged.
One of the first memories I have as a child in El Reparto
Nautico in Cuba was going to my grandfather’s house, it was across the street
from my own. Someone said ¿Que
tiempo lleva hablando? (For how long has he been speaking?). Fidel Castro was speaking to the nation. He did this often. To me it just meant one thing, my parents and
grandparents and most of the neighbors would be in a bad mood. As a 5 year old in 1963 I did not like Fidel Castro
for many reasons. That was just one of
them.
I have a large family.
At the time we were seven siblings.
The family had been separated. My
parents, not wanting Robert to be placed in the “pioneros” (pioneers), sent him
and my sister Teresa to the United States via the Peter Pan Project in
1961. Robert was 8 years old at the time; Teresa
6. I would not see them for 4 years. I also had 11 paternal cousins which lived in
the same street. All of them had left to “Miami”. This was another reason I did not like Fidel.
I vaguely remembered my aunts and uncles. Tia Futi lived in the corner. She used to make boniatos. Tia Amada and Tio Aristides lived at the
entrance to el rio Qiuibu. This was in
the same neighborhood but further south from our home. My dad
would go sometimes to get coconuts from the back of their house. They had moved to Miami. The current occupants, my dad knew, and would
let him get the coconuts. Tio Lulo and
Tio Eduardo, I remembered better.
Perhaps it is because they lived next door and I would spend a lot of time with their kids. All of them were now in Miami. I had four other cousins who lived in
Vedado. We would still see each other
on Sundays and had a lot of fun together.
In 1965, they would leave for Monterey Mexico two days before we left to
Madrid, Spain. I always thought we
would see each other in Miami. My mom
told me in the Airport in La Habana that they were going to stay in
Monterey. I was even more worried since
they had taken my grandmother, abuela
Julia, with them. I would not see those
cousins again for a long time. Another
aunt had to leave for Bogota, Colombia; since Tia Maria was a nun, she was
thrown out of the country. I heard my mom and dad talking about having to
hide her in the house. Another uncle and
aunt went to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.
The neighborhood I grew up in was idyllic. I remember walking in the north sidewalk and
I could see the Caribbean Sea. I could
not believe that 90 miles from there, is where most of my family was living. My
neighbors kept getting replaced. I
would go to sleep one night and the next day I had different neighbors. One night Tio Eduardo and Tia Irene were
replaced by Anita e Isaac. Another night It was Tio Lulo and Tia China. Although most of the new neighbors were
great we had to be careful what we said.
One would never know which neighbor was ñángara and which
one was gusano. One time Carlos
and I were playing with two cans and a string (communication device) and
commenting on how horrible the regimen was.
Someone overhead us. Luckily they
were gusanos. They spoke to my mom and
dad, because they worried that a ñángara would overhear us. This is how many people would end up as
political prisoners. The children would
then be raised as pioneros. We had to be very careful what we said, even
while playing with our friends. Our
friends were just children but they could repeat what was said to their
parents. Having to be that careful in
expressing ourselves was not pleasant.
For this reason Carlos and I never went to school in Cuba. The teachers would try to get information
from the students and see if an intervention was needed. Once you were a pionero, you would be
brainwashed into a different way of thinking. You would then always be a pionero.
My father would play Dominos with his friends at “La Casa de
Arias”. On the way home and walking
around the neighborhood he would talk about each of the houses. We would go by la casa de tio Eduardo, la
casa de tio Lulo, la casa de tia Amaya, ……Every house now had another family
living in it, a different family. I
blamed Fidel for separating my family and spreading them all over the
world. I still do.
In 1965, my mom, dad, brothers and sisters, Abuelo Arturo, and
Abuela Maximina all left for Spain. We
stayed in Spain for three months and arrived in Miami on November 15,
1965.
I cannot say that I long for my life in Cuba. My life is good. My brothers and sisters and their families
are well adjusted, each with their own set of problems, dealing with them as
best they can. I cannot say that
because of Fidel we have had a rough life; although it is different to be sure.
When Castro took over in 1959, my parents were 31 and 29
years old. They were just getting
started. They were raising a family. Dad used to work in the aqueducto (which I
guess was the water company). He worked
there until someone saw a picture of “La Caridad del Cobre” on his
windshield. He was told to remove it or
lose his job. He lost his job. I have the letter from the government official
stating that el camarada Roberto Lopez del Valle was fired due to the incident.
My dad was not allowed to work. I do not
even know what my dad’s life was before Fidel.
I was two when the revolution occurred.
I know the family lived comfortably. I remember a closet full of squash
racquets. He would still play sometimes. I am not sure how we were able to
survive. I guess we still had some resources. My dad would take us to a farm. There I actually milked a cow. I always wondered if it hurt the cow when I
did that. My dad would take Carlos, Turi
and me to ride horses. My mom was busy
raising us. She would usually stay home.
Mom and Dad would come into the United States to live in Miami, raising 7 children,
two of which they had not seen in four years.
They had no jobs. My dad worked
as many as three jobs (I am not exaggerating) but usually only two to make ends
meet. He started as a dishwasher, then
barboy at a Miami Beach Hotel. He also worked in a photodeveloping studio, at another
hotel as a bell captain, then as an elevator operator. My mom began babysitting for the guests of the
hotel. Afterwards she would work all
night at a factory, then at the Post Office.
Mr. Castro’s revolution caused my parents to change overnight from a
couple, just getting started, raising a family to a couple facing adversity,
literally working their lives away to bring a better future to their
family. Their suffering, the trials they had to go
through; for these I do blame Mr. Castro.
I never again saw my dad trying to get coconuts from the
yard. I never again saw him play
dominoes with his friends. I seldom saw
him play squash or Jai Alai. We never
again rode horses with my father pulling the reins.
Mom and Dad have since passed away. Somehow, with the help of the church and the
American Government, they were able to make it possible for us to attend
private schools and for all of us to graduate from college. I am very proud of my parents and my family.
I know a lot of people and their families have suffered much
more than I have as a result of Mr. Castro’s revolution.
Today I am thanking mom and dad for what they did for us.
I do not really know why I am writing this. It is just that when I heard Mr. Castro had
died it brought a lot of these emotions back. I felt I had to write about it.
