Carmen worked for my parents in Cuba, the place where I was born. I do not remember her since we left when I was only one. I have a vague memory of waving to her from a car when my family and I were leaving Cuba. However, I cannot say if this is a real memory or one picked up from a picture.
I was told she tried to cornrow my thin white blond hair that stood straight up like static was hovering over my head. She was unsuccessful in her attempts, though my hair did eventually settle down like in this picture.
I was told that Cuban black beans and rice was my first solid food. Carmen labored to push it through a sieve to make it like a mush that a baby could eat.
For years after we left Guantanamo and Carmen behind, I would request for my birthday meal – black beans and rice with bacon or pork added when I was older. No sieve was needed by then.
By the time I left home for college, this tradition had been dropped.
The squeaky toy you see in the picture above failed to capture my attention. I seemed to be focused on the off camera scene. Carmen’s dress looks appropriate for a U.S. naval base.
When I was five and living in Newport, Rhode Island, I had to go before a judge, in his private chambers, to become a naturalized citizen. My parents were not allowed to be present during his questioning. Both my parents were American citizens, and we were living on a military base, so this seems strange to me. When I was a much older adult I was informed by a Department of Motor Vehicle employee that this was no longer a requirement.
movingforwardslowly 