Grin And Bear It

0 | Meet The Kids

My earliest memory is one that played over in my head regularly. At three years old I had only started to experience the soft warmth of a smile. From that moment on I never wanted anything else. It was one of the most impactful moments of my life. Until I grew up I didn't fully know how.

I can't remember everything I've ever done, every mistake I ever made. I remember the people I hurt though. When I hurt them the most and how easily I broke someone I loved the most without realizing it. It never occurred to me what I was really missing or how giving myself so freely to the wrong people kept me from the right ones.

I just wanted someone who felt like I felt.

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April, 1996

I fought the whole way as my mother pushed me through the towering door of daycare. The white walls stopped outside, replaced by pale yellow with trees and random animals drawn hidden in grass. That's the only thing I enjoyed about this room. The other children screeched and ran around playing with one another. You couldn't distinguish one conversation from another.

I didn't like it there.

I pulled on her hand as she tried to leave through the door without me, "I wanna go wit'chu, mamá."

"Estarás bien, mijo." She bent over so that I could face her at eye level. Her bright brown eyes shown on me with a sad understanding, "Mamá needs to work."

She knew my time there wasn't easy but there was nothing she could do. All the other children were just like me: There because their parents worked in this hospital but didn't have the money to pay someone to watch them. My parents made plenty to live comfortably. I think they just weren't ready to leave me alone with a stranger when we just moved to Texas. We had no family near, not many friends, and my parents only just started working for the hospital.

They left me instead with a bunch of children I didn't know, all older than me. I never spoke to them. Not that I didn't want to. Whenever I tried they gave me this look that shut me up. They looked at me like I was an idiot.

I don't blame them. I had a strange way of talking at three years old. Since we moved right as I was learning to speak, mom and dad chose to teach me a mix of English and Spanish. They thought it'd give me a leg up to know two languages early. Really all it did was confuse the other children who only spoke English. Back then my still developing mind couldn't differentiate the two languages and I got made fun of for my horrid, childish, Spanglish. So I just stopped talking to them altogether.

Mom sighed as I stared at the floor and placed a warm on my cheek to force me to look at her, "Ser bueno. Quédate aquí, don't make me go look for you again."

Her rouged lips formed a tight, regretful smile. The usual glimmer in her eyes wasn't there. She was tired from long work hours, finishing her schooling, and also taking care of me. Even at that tender age I knew I was a handful. I never meant to be. My body took me places before my mind could tell me no.

I needed to be good there though. Mom was stuck in a trial phase as a basic care nurse while she finished her psychology degree. If I made too much of a fuss they could both get in trouble. I still managed to escape that forsaken place on more than a few occasions. I made sure to stay out of the way and only bothered the nurses who looked the least busy. I just wanted someone to talk to who would listen to me, whether they understood me or not.

Mom or dad always found me in the end and brought me back to that prison. And I listened and begrudgingly obeyed orders. They usually made it up to me when one of them finally took me home at the end of the day. I couldn't ask for more attentive parents really. Sometimes I felt guilty for it.