A chosen path..

Lookin back at what life was like, I had it good. In a barrio that never seemed dangerous despite the stabbing here and the drugs over there. My perspective wasn't one of right or wrong, poor or rich, brown or white, privileged or unfortunate, or minority or majority. My neighborhood growing up was Duranes. For me it was apple orchards, street football games, a piece of a porno mag under rock across the street, a mud ball fight, and tattoos.
This photo is a photo of my playground. Sports were iconic. It meant status, respect, and popularity. Marijuana was normal. I remember hearing stories of vatos being stabbed, and being afraid to grow up and believing I would eventually get stabbed. The photo below captures the park bench where a reporter, when I was a kid, was listening to a group of cholos describe how they stabbed and were stabbed, almost romanticizing it. I remember vividly, one of my uncle's friends pulling his shirt up revealing a scar on his side, right below his lat, with the tattoo of the Virgen on his back. I remeber thinking how cool, but fuck, it must hurt. Every cut I got as a kid I would in my head ask is this how it will feel when I get stabbed. I remember thinking as a youngster which tattoo I was going to get Jesus or La Virgen. Life didn't seem dangerous nor reckless. It was, was it was. It was exciting. Death didn't scare me, but pain...yeah that was scary. School wasn't learning, school was daycare. School meant I got to play sports wearing a uniform. I remember my favorite t-shirt was that of a little brown kid holding a diesel and it said Chicano power. I didn't choose my color. I remember the fun-est times of my life were stealing apples from the orchard, riding to the mall in my uncles 57 Chevy, and the smell of fresh tortillas from my grandmas kitchen.

Now that I am educating myself this is what I want to remember. I don't feel a need to remember the language I wasn't taught. I don't feel a need to recover an education I left behind. I feel proud of lack of exposure to trends. I choose to learn what I need now, and have no regrets for getting a late start. I didn't have the best role models but the ones I had are what I worked with.

Mostly I feel confused by what I feel I was supposed to be, what I have seen, and what I would like to be. I look around at the men I have as role models and realize I am on my own course now. I have begun a new path. It feels like there aren't any role models for me. I have chosen a route that rejects the status quo. Things that are important to me, are left festering. I feel a void for leadership. I feel a void for Chicano leadership. I feel a void for that righteous attitude that can hold onto the New Mexican history and plan action against this American infiltration. I refuse the bad ass route. I refuse the cholo and prefer the curandero. I look at the people I admire and they are either from a different generation, dead, or unfamiliar to me. I don't have a Chicano mentor. Most books I read are authored by a white men. Most community leaders are politicos or Mexican. Most community leaders are from somewhere else.