Skip to main content

Halfway Juan


Late June in the 1980's, us kids wouldn't be able to play with a full team of sort -of two hand touch football on Saint Anthonys Parking lot. Many of the boys would be on that twelve hour trip to South Of the Border for fireworks. The dads would go and buy a huge load of fireworks that were illegal to have in Jersey. They went down to that funny looking gas station in South Carolina. About a hundred miles out from this place, large cheesy billboards would announce that "Pedro" with his funny sombrero can't wait to see you at South of the Border. Many of us Cuban folk also know Pedro as the exact halfway point from Union City NJ(Cuba North) and Miami Fl(Cuba South) on the 95 Interstate.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

My dearest and son

A Memoir of sorts Part 1.

 I come from a background of divorce and grit. My young mother, with dreams bigger than her reality, married a much older man. He was an airline pilot in Cuba, his third marriage, and I’d be the last of his many kids. He was 64 when I was born, my mother in her early thirties. The man was tired, worn out. They divorced when I was three, in New Jersey. Immigrants, scraping by with hard work and blue-collar jobs. My father took whatever work he could find, mostly driving trucks. The communists in Cuba had torpedoed any real chances for future success in the United States. My two brothers and I ended up on public assistance. Then my mother started dating another man, and that’s when the real chaos began. Drugs and alcohol stormed into our lives, ushering in years of domestic violence, drama, and constant moving. New schools, new roach-infested apartments every six months. One day, a neighbor had a garage sale. We couldn’t afford much, but my eyes lit up when I saw a trunk full of draw...