My father was able to find work in Washington D.C. working for Catholic University as an engineering professor. He earned his B.S. at Villanova University in Pennsylvania. We moved into a two bedroom apartment just outside the D.C. city line. At this time there were only eight children living at home. The two oldest children were at a convent and seminary. Three were staying with family friends in other parts of the country and one was still in Cuba, not allowed to leave because of her political views. We had five boys in one room and three girls in the other. My parents slept in the living room using a fold out bed. We had one bathroom. Many times I had to piss in the kitchen sink because one of the sisters was using the bathroom and I could not hold it any longer. The management only allowed two children per apartment so we had to share the pass for the swimming pool. Two would enter and then pass the card through the fence to the next pair.
This is where I had my first accident. I borrowed a bike from a friend. I did not know how to ride yet, so I started at the top of the hill on a street. Sure enough, I landed in a ambulance being rushed to the hospital. I still have a scar on my face from that and the doctor had to skin-graft some skin onto my knee. This was to be the first of many trips to the hospital. My nick name was changing from "pollo flaco" to "wild pony".
The first day of school, St. John's, my dad dropped me off on the way to work. I did not know any English so I sat on the school steps and watched. The very first thing the nuns did was to tell me to spit out my gum. I knew I wasn't going to like school. I memorized the route from school to home. And I ran away from school many times that first year. The nuns would send the patrol boys after me but I out ran them home. By the time they showed up at the door, my mom would say, leave him alone; he doesn't have to go to school if he doesn't want to. Even though I was only five, I had to attend 1st grade because the school did not have a kindergarten, plus I knew no English.
At Easter the older students hid eggs and baby chickens around the campus. The first graders were allowed to hunt for them. I found over 20 eggs and 3 chicks. The nuns told me I had to share with the cry babies that found none. I did not like this concept and ran home. By now my older brothers had joined me at St. John's. So now rather then the patrol boys, they would send my brothers after me. I beat them home too. My brothers got smart after a while and pretended to follow me home but they would just tell the nuns that my mother told them I could stay home.
At the end of the school year, I was so excited because at graduation I got a "2" thinking I was going onto 2nd grade. But all it meant was level 2 of 1st grade. There were three levels of each grade.
Things got better when my father bought our first house in Hysteville, Md. It had five bedroom and a real neighborhood. After two years in first grade, I started 2nd grade at Lady of Sorrows. A much nicer school and my little brother Fred joined me.
One day we were suppose to memorize the Our Father and I told the teacher I knew it but I did not. We were told to go outside in the hallway and one by one to recite it for the class. I prayed so hard that something would happen. The girl in front of me puked and I was saved. That was my first lesson in the power of prayer.
I got into my first real fight. I had the boy in a headlock. The teacher pulled me off and when I looked at the boy his face was completely blue. I prayed very hard and promised never to fight again. I have always been able to talk myself out of fights since then, except for a few exceptions.
[ I had coached this team well. We knew how to play hard. Any player that ever threw a punch knew that he would not play for me. I looked into their eyes and they were all waiting for the last great play. They knew I had one and that it would work. I looked around and caught the other team huddled around their coach. I caught the eye of the score keeper. I knew that he would give me a few extra seconds during this time out. I could trust him to know the rules and not to start the clock until the ball touched my player's hand. I saw the Headmaster and Athletic Director standing behind the bench smiling. They also knew I had a play. They had watched me grow and mature over the years. The losing years as well as the winning years. Sometimes I loved and enjoyed the losing teams more than the winning teams. Those players needed me more.]
In 5th grade, I fought my best friend Richard Strong by a creek over a neighborhood girl named Beverly Holmes . She was the first one to tell me girls had three holes and I argued with her that I had eight older sisters and they only had two holes. Today, I have forty-eight nephews and nieces to prove me wrong. She wanted to marry me but I told her I couldn't because I was Catholic and she was only a Christian. Well I threw him into the water three times and he would not quit. Beverly walked away with Richard consoling him and I stood there triumphantly but with no girl. Again I learned fighting was not the right way. Win or lose.
In 9th grade, I again fought my best friend Sam Blick. Actually we were boxing with gloves. Every year we had an arm wrestling contest in front of all our friends and I would beat him. So we were boxing for fun and he caught me with a rabbit punch on the back of the neck. I don't remember much after that except my other friends told me that Sam hit me two or three extra times as I was falling to the ground. Twenty years later Sam and I are still good friends and he invites me to see Orlando Magic basketball games and I invite him to see the Tampa Bay Bucs football games.
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