The Big B, Juan C. Beltran [most inspirational books of all time .TXT] 📗

I am not sure when my grandparents moved out of their old house. I was born in 1993, and they were building their new home around 2002 or 2003. So they moved out around that time.
I lived with them for the first two years of my life – up until 1995. That’s when my sister was born, and my family had our own house. Although I do not recall much early childhood life living at my grandparents’ home (only through home videos can I remember), I remember growing up around them in a city called Pharr.
My aunt and uncle with their two girls lived in a small house behind my grandparents, and my other aunt and uncle lived right next door with their daughter and son, so whenever I went to visit the grandparents daily, my cousin and I got together most of the time when he was there. Back then, he and I were the only boy cousins. We played Nintendo 64, jumped on his trampoline, and watched T.V. Many times when trouble arose, we were blamed for most of the mischief – even though we had two older girl cousins (he was the third oldest and I was the fourth oldest) – because we were the only guys. Sometimes we’d tried to defend our cases, but grandma always believed the girls. It was okay. He and I never cried about. We always wished revenged. One day, it would come.
I’m not sure when it really happened – it could’ve been on the weekend; it could’ve been after school; it could’ve been during some school break or during the summer. My cousin and I were on the trampoline. He always jumped higher than I did, but I did cooler flips than him. The trampoline is a dangerous thing. It could be used for exercise, but yet it’s so fun and while you’re jumping up and down, the vision of your surroundings is not vivid, and you could easily get distracted. That’s what happened to us. He and I were talking, and laughing, and having height competitions. It was really a fun time, but in the midst of all this, I heard footsteps. They were quick running footsteps tapping softly on the sidewalk near the trampoline. Then I heard light giggling. My cousin and I stopped and turned our heads. We saw our five cousins, including his sister and my sister, running with our shoes heading to our aunt’s house. They stole them. It was pre-meditated. We knew it.
In a flash we jumped off the trampoline and started our chase. His house and our grandparents’ house was divided by a gate and connected by a gate door in the center. Following the sidewalk would lead you to that door. We reached it, pulled the handle up, but it wouldn’t budge. They’ve locked it. There was only one way to get across, and we were pros at it. We took two steps back and jumped onto the gate. We climbed over it in less than two seconds. Then, we were back in the chase.
We sprinted with all our might as if our shoes were our life. They were rounding the corner of our aunt’s house, and we were barely catching up to them. They got out of our sight. We let them go. My cousin and I decided to stop at the corner to catch our breath. I looked at my once white socks. They morphed into an ashy dark grey color, and dust was all over them. My mom hated it when I handed her very dirty pairs of socks to wash.
Next I remember there was a sort of mild splash and couple of low screams from the girls on the other side of the house. My cousin and I turned around and sort of jogged away from the corner detecting where the sound had come from. We stopped past our aunt’s house, and there they were – all five girls covered in mud. Mud was on the shins of their jeans; on the thighs of their shorts; on their elbows; on the collars of their shirts. They had run from the back to the side of the house where a mud puddle awaited. They tripped on it not knowing it rained the night before and the land they stood on was the only land not covered in grass. Despite each and every one of them full of mud with at least all their pieces of clothing having a stain, our sneakers they still held, were perfectly clean.
“Oh…shoot,” my cousin’s sister said examining her dirty self. And immediately, I broke out laughing. We both did. It was a beautiful sight, and God knew it was time to be on our side. We walked up to them and grabbed our shoes. Then we walked back and resumed laughing at them.
Our youngest cousin began to cry. The crying that is screaming and consecutive tears running in long streaks across the face – the kind of cry that forces you to put your hands on your ears because it is so annoying – that was her cry. Our grandma came out power walking from her house, and saw what the screaming was about. It made me laugh more because she saw them. Her eyes widen and her jaw dropped.
The girls started making their way out of the mud. “Que paso?” our grandma asked.
“They hit her,” lied the sister of our crying cousin as they came out the mud wrapped in each other’s arms.
“What! No we didn’t!” we shouted. “We weren’t even close to you!” my cousin added.
The other cousins joined in on the lie saying we did hit her. We just stayed there thinking what big fat liars. Our grandma went to go retrieve the still crying cousin. As she walked past us, she gave us the eye. All the girls followed her inside the house for showers and a new set of clothes. My cousin and I put back on our shoes.
I look back at it now and still laugh. Even though my grandma believed them and they won the battle, seeing what happened to them, I felt like we won the war.
That was a good memory, but now it’s fading with every new year. Those were good times. And the family continued growing older.
One afternoon, another aunt and I went on a stroll around the neighborhood. We left with my grandpa sitting in the white metal rocking chair outside the front of the house watching the trees and the birds. When my aunt and I came back from our walk, he had his head up and he was snoring. I told my aunt he’s like the grandpa from The Rugrats. She laughed. I knew it was just all a part of him getting old. Then, the family continued growing older.
My cousins’ parents got a divorce, and I wouldn’t be able to see him as often as I did for the rest of my life. We still keep in touch. Sometimes he would spend the night at my house, and sometimes I would spend the night at his.
My grandma and grandpa moved out of their house and into their new one along with my aunt and uncle who lived behind them in a neighboring city called Alamo. Them too I would not be able to see as often as I once did. But we tried for the first few weeks with my dad taking my sister and me for weekly visits. But as time progressed, weekly visits turned into monthly visits, and sometimes time would go with two months straight of me not seeing them.
After they moved out, it seemed as all troubles began: my parents fighting more. I knew they fought, but this time it felt like they fought more and longer fighting heavier fights and debates.
Once my grandpa retired from the concrete business, my dad took over and became boss. We started making more money, but that soon stopped because he wasn’t getting anymore calls for anymore jobs. There was no work for him or his employees, and J.M.B. Concrete became extinct. My mother had to go out and look for a second job. Bill sizes increased.
My grandpa grew sick. I’m not really sure, but I think he was diagnosed with diabetes, and they had to amputate his leg.
2004 was the year the Valley had its first snowfall in a hundred and nine years. And it was starting to feel like all good was coming back. But as I entered seventh grade, I didn’t care about school and I mostly kept to myself. I had friends, but I didn’t have a family.
I grew up in a small city called Pharr, Texas. I’m sixteen now, and things are way better: I read a lot, my parent’s fight less, I have more friends, and I’m happy. My grandparent’s moving out of their old house was a curse. But it was a transition from me being a young boy to a young man - from ten to thirteen. Now I’m here, and I’m fully a man. And I’m a strong man because of what I’ve been through in the past. I love my family. And when I make it big, I will remember them, and I will remember each and every moment I had with them – the laughter, the awkwardness, the sadness and hardships – because that made me.
Now when I visit my grandparents at their new home, they have that same white metal rocking chair in the front – it’s weathered and the paint is starting to erase, but I always sit on it and slowly rock back and forth. I close my eyes and listen to the calm whistle of the wind; the tree leaves rustling, and the new younger cousins playing in the back. It’s calm. I am at peace, but I still vow one day to leave Texas forever.