These were my early memories growing up in El Salvador in the 1970s.
As far as I can remember back, my earliest memory goes to when my younger brother got baptized. I must have been about three years old. The whole family went to the main cathedral in San Salvador for the baptism. We were all together celebrating, and then, before I knew it, I was alone. I was left behind.
Years later, my mother told me that it even made the news on the radio. My grandma Mamita heard the broadcast out in the countryside—the radio signal goes everywhere—about a little infant who had been left behind at the church, and every time they asked him what his name was, he would just keep crying. My grandma Mamita didn't even realize at first that it was her own grandson; it was only later that my mom told her that I was the one who had gotten lost that day!
As for that day at the cathedral, I remember a Catholic priest took me in. I sat there crying and crying until they were finally able to calm me down. They offered me food, and I still remember it was a plate of spaghetti. Right in the middle of eating, I looked up, and there was my dad walking through the door to pick me up. Once the family got home and realized I wasn't there, they panicked, rushed back in a hurry, and found me at the church. Looking back, that was a scary moment, I think.
When it came time for kindergarten, I didn't know what to expect. Today, kids seem so much more advanced with colors, numbers, and what's going on around them, partly because of social media and how parents prepare them. But back then, I just walked into a classroom with a bunch of children I didn't know and teachers who were supposed to teach us. I don't even remember if I learned anything there.
All I know is that I was very shy. I've never been very social until people get to know me—once they really know me, they tend to like me because they see who I am. But starting school was a shock. I had accidents and I had to go clean myself. It happened several times, and I think even the teacher got tired of me. I don't know if I wasn't fully potty trained or if it was just pure nervousness from being surrounded by strangers.
They would send me to the bathroom to go clean myself, and I had to clean my own shorts. It was pretty embarrassing because the other children would tend to judge me because I had so many accidents. But there was a very nice housekeeper there who would walk me over and say, "Go wash yourself over there at that sink, and rinse your shorts or your underwear." It was humbling, but it's funny to look back on it now.
Up until then, I was always used to being surrounded by the people who loved me. My closest circle was my father, my mother, and my brothers, John and William. We were also super close with Tía Marí, Tío Carlos, and my cousins—Reinita, Irmita, Lilita, Carlitos, Pedro, Elvirita, and even Angélica, a prima I hardly remember from when I was an infant, but who later reached out to me on Facebook Messenger to tell me, "I don't know if you remember me, but I used to hold you in my arms when you were little." That was my safe world.
Growing up, school also had its bright moments. I remember we had a school activity in kindergarten where I dressed up like a Cherokee to represent the legendary indigenous figure of our country, Indio Atlacatl. My dad was right there helping me, showing how much he cared about our education. I wore traditional clothing and a feather headdress, and my dad even made me a homemade bow with an arrow to complete the whole suit—it was awesome! I remember I completely shocked everyone in the classroom because nobody expected me to transform like that.
That school year eventually culminated in my kindergarten graduation. I was only about five years old, and the ceremony was held at a big local auditorium. For the big day, we wore a tiny cap and gown—my cap was so small it sat right below my shoulders, and my hair was sticking out in all directions in the pictures! I still remember having a picture of my dad and me holding my graduation certificate. Photographers were everywhere back then; being a photographer was a real business where you could hire someone to take a picture of your son, and they would sell you the physical print right on the spot.
That was my life, you see. That was my life from an infant all the way through kindergarten.