My Story in Lists|Places I've Lived Part I

I take great pride in the fact that I'm true Californian, 2nd generation at that. Both my parents were born in this state, all my brothers and sisters, my children and now my grandchildren. I've also been blessed to have lived in other states and other countries and I can emphatically say that there is no place like the United States of America and no place like California.

My first memory of home was a little house on Red Bird Lane in a working class community called Pico Rivera. I don't remember much about the interior of the house.

I have vague memories of the kitchen with a high chair, a bedroom and looking at my brother in his crib. I remember most vividly the spacious backyard with the brick wall that kept us safe. 

I have vague memories of the kitchen with a high chair, a bedroom and looking at my brother in his crib. I remember most vividly the spacious backyard with the brick wall that kept us safe.

Within the confines of that yard was a swing set and a kiddie pool. Those were happy times.  And looking back, I realize that there is not a memory that I have of those times in which my sister, Elizabeth is not a part of.

Sometime in 1964, our little family did something daring at the time. We moved to Brazil. I'm sure my mom and dad must have been pinching themselves as they readied for the trip. By that time, my dad had worked his way into a solid job with an engineering company called Fluor and he had an opportunity to take a short time assignment in Sao Paulo, Brazil.

I was not even 3-years old at the time and my brother, Victor was merely an infant, but I remember little tiny snippets of the trip there. The walk down the hallway in the hotel we had to stay at in Mexico City. The silver creamer that held the milk for my cereal. Even at my age, I knew there was something exciting about that. The smell of the hotel.

I also remember little snippets of our time in Sao Paulo. Waiting for my mom to come home from the store while we stayed at our apartment with the housekeeper/babysitter. The Yoder's, another American family who was there, too, coming over to visit. The kitchen table.

I'm sure it was hard for my mom, being in a foreign land with three children under 5-years, away from family and friends in a time where there wasn't instant communication. And generally when we've lived overseas, the work hours are longer than state side so I'm sure she held the house down more than usual, but someone she persevered.