Precious Cargo
A Tumble to Remember
Being proud of being poor was part of my dad’s personality. He kept receipts and showed them off like trophies. He’d correct me whenever I showed interest in material things. He’d say, “The only thing of value is values.” He wanted me to take control of my life, independent of stuff.
On the other hand, my mom tried to shield me from it. She never hesitated to buy me another McDouble or McChicken and taught me how to sneak into movies at the theater. She wanted me to take control of my life and enjoy it, regardless of money. I only wanted them to worry less about money because it forced them to work constantly. They had no idea how I was doing at school or what I was up to every night. They couldn’t. The price of staying home with me was too high. That meant taking control of my life was up to me.
I was a little boy on summer break with nowhere to go and nothing to do, and they did the only reasonable thing an immigrant couple had at their disposal: they’d send me to Peru. I don’t know how they afforded it. Maybe it was through Paper Plane Airlines, but I went from every summer growing up. At first, I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay home, watch cartoons, and eat American fast food, but my dad said staying home was a waste of time. We only had one TV, and he didn’t like cartoons, so I needed to leave the house and start filling my…
