We often hear people talk of the miracle of life. They’ll say it’s a miracle we’re here. While I do not dispute this whatsoever I think some of us being here worked out a little easier than others. Some people were planned out. Others were created through likely circumstances. Then of course there are accidents, mistakes and very surprising people who walk among us. I feel like I am one of those people. I feel like it is truly a miracle I am here.
Once upon a time a girlfriend who had already known me for several months asked; “Where did you come from?” It wasn’t the first time I was asked that question. The answer is that’s a long, complicated story. For the benefit of those who do not have much time I’ll tell you that I came from Ramon and Audrey. For those of you who have more time… well, let’s go back to 1973.
My father was a very private, very quiet man. It seemed like for him to get into talking about anything he had to have a few beers in him. Once in a while when I was getting close to adulthood he’d have a few and tell me something about how he met my mom or how I came to be.
My father had gotten divorced some time before I was born. He had 6 kids already and he was a steel worker at Bethlehem Steel. Around 1973 he met my mom who was either 19 or 20. He was around 48. Yes, that's quite a difference. My father wasn’t exactly thrilled to be away from his family most of the time and he often coped with this by going drinking with friends. My dad always handled bad news, rough days and anger this way.
My mother was a high school dropout who didn’t even get out of the 9th grade. She ran away from home a lot and was the black sheep of her family. Since she was past 18 she could do what she wanted and that meant hooking up with guys and staying with them for days or weeks at a time. She wasn’t very smart or even streetwise but she was kind and more importantly she would do anything for those who simply were kind to her… a trait that I’ve inherited.
My father often frequented a few Virginia street bars. The Virginia street area was and still is a heavily Puerto Rican populated neighborhood. It was easy for him to find his friends around there, often huddled around a bar pool table. It was at one of these bars where he met my mom. I would love to know how they met exactly but I was never told the story. On the surface these 2 people had absolutely nothing in common except a moment in time. I’m sure my dad was lonely in those days and my mom, well as I said, if someone was nice to her she’d show great kindness and loyalty to them.
At some point in late 1973 my mom became pregnant for the first time. I’m not sure if it was planned. From the bits and pieces I’ve heard over the years I’ve always been under the assumption that it was not. My father, being the honorable and traditional guy he was, married her in April of 1974 when she was almost 6 months along. When I think about all the deadbeat dads out there who hit it and quit it I have to tip my cap to my father. Although he probably saw it as something he had to do there are many men out there who consider the same situation as negotiable.
Adding to the considerable pressure my mismatched parents must have felt was my Grandmother on my mom’s side. Or maybe I should say grandparents although I never heard much about my grandfather’s role in all of this. My grandmother on the other hand was strongly against me even being born. She pushed my mom hard to get an abortion. I’m sure she didn’t like the idea of my mom, as helpless as she was, to have a child, let alone one with a mysterious man more than twice her age.
Complicating it further was the fact that she hated my father because he was Puerto Rican. She thought an interracial baby was an abomination and that I should never have been born. It’s something that sits with me to this day. I’ve always been pro choice but I certainly understand the other side of the issue due to my own circumstances.
Despite her objections to my arrival, after I was born she always treated me well. She was and is still quite racist but I love her. She will hardly speak ill of anyone in my presence because I think she knows that I do not share her beliefs and I would get upset if she did. When I hear about the things she says from other people I can only shake my head. Someone that old, a Polish immigrant set in her ways is not going to suddenly see the light. There isn’t much I could say to convince her otherwise. I leave it at that. I also don’t think she knows that my parents told me about how she felt before I was born and the types of things she did and said. I’ve never discussed that far back with her and I never plan to. Let’s just say that it is over and I’m really glad they didn’t cave in to the pressure.
With all the madness going on in their lives and with the lack of having anything in common or even being able to relate to one another they stayed together and started a life together… quite possibly because of me. In the early morning hours of August 7th 1974 (2:31am to be exact) when my mom was one month short of 21 and my father was one month short of 49 a handsome little guy named Edwin Ray was born. One of my father’s other sons was named Raymond Edwin so I don’t think the name was much of a stretch from my father’s other kids.
As I grew I watched my father age further and reach the point where playing sports with my dad wasn’t going to happen. I saw other kids whose dads were only a generation ahead while my father was at least 2 in front of me. They could play with their sons, teach them things and even relate to them about pop culture or life. My father and I often had trouble understanding each other but I think we did the best we could. There was love there so many times he’d reluctantly bend or I would just accept something he said. I was stubborn just like him so we’d butt heads on occasion but I always had a respectfulness towards my parents that I had learned along the way somehow.
Growing up in my neighborhood I watched many of my friends die, go to prison, and get hooked up with gangs and seedy people. I watched many neighborhood girls get pregnant far too early and fall into the same trappings. While I was friendly with many people in the neighborhood I never got in too far. I never went with a friend if he was on a trip to do something illegal. I wouldn’t touch the neighborhood girls beyond a little making out. Despite everyone falling down around me I stood unaffected by the poverty, ignorance and immaturity that took many of my friends from me. I don't know, maybe those things took me away from them.
As I became a young man I discovered many qualities in myself that my friends didn’t have. At the time it made me less cool in their eyes and I took a great deal of ribbing over it, especially about my feelings of being respectful towards women. That philosophy made me the object of ridicule but I didn’t mind. While I had several friends who engaged in them I could not have any part of one night stands or quick hook ups with women. I had the opportunity on more occasions than I can count on one hand and every single time I turned it down. It just doesn’t work for me. Sex is meaningless to me without deep feelings. And don’t get me wrong, I love sex. I think my appetite for it is stronger than most but somehow I knew, even when I was young and hormones were running wild, to do what I perceived as the right thing. I learned very early that I couldn’t lie to myself.
Besides, I’m the worst liar you’ll meet. I’m terrible at deceiving someone because I can’t hide it. If I even try to trick you I always fess up moments later when I start giggling, making ridiculous faces or saying things in an obvious tone that gives me away. I’m also terrible about keeping secrets from people, especially if they are secrets about me. I don’t have many and if I know someone well enough I won’t have any.
I think about my life and why I am how I am. People will occasionally inquire about where I’ve come from and now you know despite knowing most of the details I often wonder the same thing. I think about why I have such strong morals and deep loyalties towards those I care about. Maybe the circumstances of your arrival directly affect the quality of your stay on this earth. I think about how I got here, what I’ve had to go through and all the wisdom I’ve collected on the way. Perhaps this is why I’ve developed a strong sense of honor, respect, loyalty and love for life and all people. I can’t help it… I’m an honor baby.
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