To Vincent and Nick

I had two best friends in the fifth grade.  Nick was a light-complected, spiky blonde haired and light eyed Mexican kid.  He lived half a mile down the street from me, and I became a regular guest at his household.  His family always provided me with warm company and a good meal.  He had two younger sisters, a caring mom and a tough loving dad.  Both were hardworking and both loved their family.  I would come over about three times a week and pretty much loiter and sleep over at their apartment.  It was a small place, but homey.   Nick and I did the normal 10-year-old activities around the complex; play football, perform WWF moves on each other, run around and throw chunks of sand at other kids and say Tag! You're it!  Every now and then, we'd get mad at each other, cuss and say mean things, maybe get into a fist fight, but we always stayed friends. 

My other friend was Vincent, whom I met while playing pogo.  I was about to get into a fight with a boy regarding a pogo ball when Vincent showed up to defend his younger brother.  Somehow we became friends after that.  Funny how boys operate.  My mom wasn't very fond of him though.  It wasn't because he was a bad kid.  It was the fact that he was black.  She had her purse stolen by a black man once, and since then she stereotyped all black people as purse snatchers.  To her dismay, I brought him to the house almost everday to pick up my allowance before heading out to his place.  I slept over there often as well.  I remember at times there were four of us crammed in a bunk bed, laying head to toe, but I was happy because he had a good family.  His mother was kind, and his step father seemed to have his head on straight.  They ate together at the dinner table, had sleepovers with their cousins, and played in the house like normal kids.  Both Nick and Vincent's families gave me the sense of safety, comfort and guidance that came from having siblings and parents around, even if they were borrowed. 

On the weekends, we'd all take a trip to Golfland to enjoy the money I'd saved all week.  I was pretty good at saving.  On the weekdays, knowing that I could find ways to get fed for free, I didn't bother spending any money.  By the time Saturday came around, I knew I would have $50, sometimes $75 if I saved well, to spend.  Sometimes we spent it all on Saturday, getting $20 worth of tokens, buying junk food, and splurging the rest at the music store in the mall.  Sometimes I'd skip all that and buy video games for the Super Nintendo, which I also bought.  That one took a couple months worth of saving.

Sometimes, saving money just wasn't enough to get what I wanted.  I was a huge fan of Legos at the time, but it wasn't something I could easily afford.  Without consultation or training, I learned to be a thief.  I started small, with things that could fit in my pocket; candy bars and trading cards.  Then I moved up and started using my 10-year-old innocent school boy look, with my backpack as my accomplice.  Through Toys R Us, I quickly amassed a large collection of expensive Lego sets, remote control cars, and handheld video games, which I shared with my friends.  Morals played no part in it, and it made me happy that I could offer my friends something in return for all they had given me.  They certainly didn't question where it came from, and when their parents asked, I just said my mom bought it as a thank you for letting me hang out all the time. 

Stealing from Toys R Us, Kaybee Toys, and grocery stores became habitual.  Either my age or my innocent look kept anyone from suspecting anything, because I got away with a lot more than I should have.  It's not to say I never got caught.  I did once, by a Lucky's employee.  But he just reprimanded me and asked, "Is this what they're teaching kids these days at school?"  He let me go, but he probably shouldn't have.  This would have been the opportune moment to correct my bad behavior and set me on the right path.  Nobody did, and instead, I learned how to be more tactical in my methods.  My mother never asked where I got my toys from, and I didn't feel I owed her an explanation.

 

After just six months of living with my mom, I grew to be very self-reliant.  I understood that I couldn't depend on her for certain things, especially anything involving her time.  Our relationship became strained, and I soon only saw her as a source of funding.  Sometimes she would cancel our Sundays for a date, and sometimes I would ditch out on her.  I slept over at my friends' houses more, and I was often gone for two or three days at a time, switching between Nick's and Vincent's.  Of course, Mom didn't object.  When Christmas arrived that year, Vincent's family offered to take me on a family trip to Santa Rosa, a city two hours north.  I faked my mom's consent. For an entire week, I spent Christmas vacation surrounded by family.  I amusingly became the target of some friendly ribbing by the elders.  So what part of the family are you from? they would tease.  I enjoyed it, and not once did I feel out of place or unwanted.  For presents, I received a bright yellow walkman, the Boyz II Men's Cooleyhighharmony tape, and a Cross Colours sweater.  I was fortunate to have them in my life. 

It’s too bad we all lost touch.  I've tried to find them, but with all the privacy settings on Facebook, there's been no luck.  Perhaps if this story could be forwarded, I could reunite with them and finally show my gratitude for the great childhood they've given me.  That's Nick and Vincent, who attended Terrell Elementary, San Jose in 1992.  Should you come across them or someone who knows them, please forward them my contact information.  Thanks.

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