Why I Hate Raisin Bran
"Ninos! Good morning!"
Time to wake up.
"Buenos dios ninos! You have five minutes, then line up for headcount!"
I didn't have to open my eyes to recognize the short, decidedly fluffy man who had startled me awake. I didn't even have to open my eyes to see him, standing in the open doorway at the end of the barrack, stubble faced and smiling broadly as always no doubt. He reminded me of Santa if Santa was Mexican. Our father today was Bernie Martinez, that made it the A-shift, and that meant no mistakes. Arturo was the shift leader for the next four days. Arturo the former Mexican Basketball League pro, Arturo the enforcer. I wouldn't mess with Arturo, although I got the feeling when he looked at me that he'd love it if I tried.
Before I knew it my bed was made, perfectly. It always amused me how subconscious it had become. When I was at home in America, my mother would have had a heart attack if I had even tried to make my bed. I guess things were a lot different here, it was perfectly silent. If some curious person had wandered close to the outside of that doorway behind Bernie, they would be startled in the least to learn that the room housed thirty five teenage boys aged 14 to 17. Not to mention that those particular children, who were now done making their beds and were instead standing in a perfectly straight line, feet together, hands at the sides, staring intently at the backs of each others heads, were there for behavioural problems. The silence in the room was as stifling as the hot dry air. I could never decide which burned my throat more.
They say that you are a product of your environment, or that the people you surround yourself with determine who you are. Some will argue that you are what you eat, or what you wear. Others maintain that it's the way you portray yourself, your manner of speech or the style of your hair that really matters. After all, Isn't perception key to identity? Imagine if everyone you knew had the same clothes, spoke with the same slang, had all of the same things and followed a schedule that was identical to your own. Nobody would stand out, and of course, neither would you. It's enough to drive a person crazy.
That was the horror of the place I had found myself in, Casa by the Sea in Ensenada Mexico, the worst place in the world. At least it was until the Federalies shut the place down a few years ago. I needed permission to speak, I had no personal belongings, toilet paper and clean water were a precious commodity. This day would be the same as yesterday and the day before, the same as tomorrow. Wake up, headcount, breakfast, school, group, lunch, headcount, school, PT, dinner, headcount, shutdown, repeat. Every day the same thing, the same clothes, the same rooms, the same people. Standing in line in the same order walking the same route, every morning the same bowl of Raisin Bran. To this day I still hate Raisin Bran.
"Really James? That's all you have to share about? Raisin Bran?"
It was group time, the time of the day where everybody in my family group would sit in a big circle, share about their lives, and talk about their feelings. Bernie didn't like what I had to share about today. Neither did a few of the kids in my family.
"You're being negative, you always focus on all the negative stuff Niño, por que?"
I'd heard it before, every day in fact. It was beginning to bother me, but lashing out in this place usually led to sitting Indian style in a corner for a few days, so we had all become pretty good at choosing our words. Not today though, I wasn't in the mood.
"Look Bernie, there's no way you can understand! You come here for three or four days, eat what you want, say what you want, go where you want, then you leave and go home to your family! What exactly am I supposed to share about!? Today I did the same thing as yesterday! I have nothing, I go nowhere! This place is like some sick awful prison camp and I really think that I'm losing my damned mind! Can you tell me how NOT to be negative!? Can you tell me what it feels like to have absolutely nothing!?"
There were tears in my eyes but I wasn't crying, or maybe I was, I didn't care. I knew Bernie was a good guy, that his wide goofy smile wasn't because he liked waking us up early and telling us what to do, he took pleasure in the thought that he was helping troubled kids get their lives on track. He always tried to make us laugh, he was the only father who did that.. I didn't care. He wasn't helping me. The uncomfortable look on his face was like a spur in my side, egging me on.
"Speak up Bernie! Can you!?"
"I can..." It wasn't Bernie's voice. It was soft, timid. The voice of a child younger than I was. His name was Anthony Phan, a quiet little Asian kid who didn't talk often, and never in group, never in front of everyone. There were tears in his eyes too.
"How long have you been here James?"
"I dunno, three months maybe?"
"I've been here for two years. Last week was my birthday."
"I... I'm sorry, I don't know how you stay sane man." I watched as a smile crept along his face, he pulled off his glasses and wiped his face on his sleeve, then he looked at me and said something I'll never forget.
"I know how you feel, they took away your stuff, and they tell you what to do. That sucks man, but you still have yourself don't you? Life isn't always fair, it isn't fair right now and it isn't always going to be fair once your out of this place, but learn to be happy with yourself, and you'll always be alright no matter what life gives or takes away. You can't base happiness on what you have, because at the end of the day, all you have is yourself. If you can't be happy with that, you won't be happy no matter how much stuff they give you."
After that day I had my ups and downs at Casa by the Sea, but what Anthony told me stayed with me the entire time. When things seemed like they were absolutely unbearable I would remember his words. I knew I finally understood what he meant around the time my birthday came around. Anthony had long since left the program and I managed to make the most if the entire awful, repetitive, monotonous day. At group my friend asked me how I could be in such a good mood on my birthday when I didn't even get anything. I replied with the story of that day I lost my temper and I repeated Anthony's message.
"At the end of the day, all you have is yourself, and if you can't be happy with that, you won't be happy no matter what life gives you."
We called it program time and it was the same for everyone. One month ahead of you felt the same as four months behind you. Someone would come and in a few weeks they were our brother. Someone would leave and before you knew it, they'd been gone for months. Eventually of course, everybody went home. When my time came I was pulled from my group by Arturo one hour before noon, and brought to a room I had never been in before. Two doors on opposite walls and a couch in between. Nothing special, yet it was a disorienting feeling. I lived here for a year, yet I had no idea of this rooms existence. It filled me with a sense of freedom. I knew what was on the other side of that far door, the parking lot. I was waiting for a driver. Just being allowed in this room meant I was really finally going home. I sat down on the couch and remembered I'd been handed a piece of paper. It was a feedback form, I almost laughed. Did they really want me to tell them what I think of this program? I stared blankly at that form for fifteen minutes. Despite everything I had been through, all of my complaints, despite being so filled with anger and frustration, I couldn't think of a single negative thing to put on that piece of paper. Finally the far door swung open, my driver came into the room, and it was none other than Bernie. I had never seen him smiling wider.
Bernie drove slower than I would have thought but I didn't mind. This was my first car ride in a year, I had no problem sitting quietly and staring out the window at the mountains as if it was my first time seeing them. It wasn't until we were somewhere outside of Tijuana when Bernie spoke up
"You are going home Niño. Are you excited?"
"Nah, I'm actually gonna miss the Raisin Bran." We got a pretty good laugh out of that one. "Now listen to me Niño," he began still chuckling, "I want to tell this to you. I have seen a lot of boys come and go, some changed and grew and some stayed the same, but you Niño, you have come very far. You were in this program for one year, but you grew ten years. You have become a man, I'm proud of you." There was a smile on my face and there were words racing around my mind at that moment, but I couldn't think of a damn thing to say.
"Ninos! Good morning!"
Time to wake up.
"Buenos dios ninos! You have five minutes, then line up for headcount!"
I didn't have to open my eyes to recognize the short, decidedly fluffy man who had startled me awake. I didn't even have to open my eyes to see him, standing in the open doorway at the end of the barrack, stubble faced and smiling broadly as always no doubt. He reminded me of Santa if Santa was Mexican. Our father today was Bernie Martinez, that made it the A-shift, and that meant no mistakes. Arturo was the shift leader for the next four days. Arturo the former Mexican Basketball League pro, Arturo the enforcer. I wouldn't mess with Arturo, although I got the feeling when he looked at me that he'd love it if I tried.
Before I knew it my bed was made, perfectly. It always amused me how subconscious it had become. When I was at home in America, my mother would have had a heart attack if I had even tried to make my bed. I guess things were a lot different here, it was perfectly silent. If some curious person had wandered close to the outside of that doorway behind Bernie, they would be startled in the least to learn that the room housed thirty five teenage boys aged 14 to 17. Not to mention that those particular children, who were now done making their beds and were instead standing in a perfectly straight line, feet together, hands at the sides, staring intently at the backs of each others heads, were there for behavioural problems. The silence in the room was as stifling as the hot dry air. I could never decide which burned my throat more.
They say that you are a product of your environment, or that the people you surround yourself with determine who you are. Some will argue that you are what you eat, or what you wear. Others maintain that it's the way you portray yourself, your manner of speech or the style of your hair that really matters. After all, Isn't perception key to identity? Imagine if everyone you knew had the same clothes, spoke with the same slang, had all of the same things and followed a schedule that was identical to your own. Nobody would stand out, and of course, neither would you. It's enough to drive a person crazy.
That was the horror of the place I had found myself in, Casa by the Sea in Ensenada Mexico, the worst place in the world. At least it was until the Federalies shut the place down a few years ago. I needed permission to speak, I had no personal belongings, toilet paper and clean water were a precious commodity. This day would be the same as yesterday and the day before, the same as tomorrow. Wake up, headcount, breakfast, school, group, lunch, headcount, school, PT, dinner, headcount, shutdown, repeat. Every day the same thing, the same clothes, the same rooms, the same people. Standing in line in the same order walking the same route, every morning the same bowl of Raisin Bran. To this day I still hate Raisin Bran.
"Really James? That's all you have to share about? Raisin Bran?"
It was group time, the time of the day where everybody in my family group would sit in a big circle, share about their lives, and talk about their feelings. Bernie didn't like what I had to share about today. Neither did a few of the kids in my family.
"You're being negative, you always focus on all the negative stuff Niño, por que?"
I'd heard it before, every day in fact. It was beginning to bother me, but lashing out in this place usually led to sitting Indian style in a corner for a few days, so we had all become pretty good at choosing our words. Not today though, I wasn't in the mood.
"Look Bernie, there's no way you can understand! You come here for three or four days, eat what you want, say what you want, go where you want, then you leave and go home to your family! What exactly am I supposed to share about!? Today I did the same thing as yesterday! I have nothing, I go nowhere! This place is like some sick awful prison camp and I really think that I'm losing my damned mind! Can you tell me how NOT to be negative!? Can you tell me what it feels like to have absolutely nothing!?"
There were tears in my eyes but I wasn't crying, or maybe I was, I didn't care. I knew Bernie was a good guy, that his wide goofy smile wasn't because he liked waking us up early and telling us what to do, he took pleasure in the thought that he was helping troubled kids get their lives on track. He always tried to make us laugh, he was the only father who did that.. I didn't care. He wasn't helping me. The uncomfortable look on his face was like a spur in my side, egging me on.
"Speak up Bernie! Can you!?"
"I can..." It wasn't Bernie's voice. It was soft, timid. The voice of a child younger than I was. His name was Anthony Phan, a quiet little Asian kid who didn't talk often, and never in group, never in front of everyone. There were tears in his eyes too.
"How long have you been here James?"
"I dunno, three months maybe?"
"I've been here for two years. Last week was my birthday."
"I... I'm sorry, I don't know how you stay sane man." I watched as a smile crept along his face, he pulled off his glasses and wiped his face on his sleeve, then he looked at me and said something I'll never forget.
"I know how you feel, they took away your stuff, and they tell you what to do. That sucks man, but you still have yourself don't you? Life isn't always fair, it isn't fair right now and it isn't always going to be fair once your out of this place, but learn to be happy with yourself, and you'll always be alright no matter what life gives or takes away. You can't base happiness on what you have, because at the end of the day, all you have is yourself. If you can't be happy with that, you won't be happy no matter how much stuff they give you."
After that day I had my ups and downs at Casa by the Sea, but what Anthony told me stayed with me the entire time. When things seemed like they were absolutely unbearable I would remember his words. I knew I finally understood what he meant around the time my birthday came around. Anthony had long since left the program and I managed to make the most if the entire awful, repetitive, monotonous day. At group my friend asked me how I could be in such a good mood on my birthday when I didn't even get anything. I replied with the story of that day I lost my temper and I repeated Anthony's message.
"At the end of the day, all you have is yourself, and if you can't be happy with that, you won't be happy no matter what life gives you."
We called it program time and it was the same for everyone. One month ahead of you felt the same as four months behind you. Someone would come and in a few weeks they were our brother. Someone would leave and before you knew it, they'd been gone for months. Eventually of course, everybody went home. When my time came I was pulled from my group by Arturo one hour before noon, and brought to a room I had never been in before. Two doors on opposite walls and a couch in between. Nothing special, yet it was a disorienting feeling. I lived here for a year, yet I had no idea of this rooms existence. It filled me with a sense of freedom. I knew what was on the other side of that far door, the parking lot. I was waiting for a driver. Just being allowed in this room meant I was really finally going home. I sat down on the couch and remembered I'd been handed a piece of paper. It was a feedback form, I almost laughed. Did they really want me to tell them what I think of this program? I stared blankly at that form for fifteen minutes. Despite everything I had been through, all of my complaints, despite being so filled with anger and frustration, I couldn't think of a single negative thing to put on that piece of paper. Finally the far door swung open, my driver came into the room, and it was none other than Bernie. I had never seen him smiling wider.
Bernie drove slower than I would have thought but I didn't mind. This was my first car ride in a year, I had no problem sitting quietly and staring out the window at the mountains as if it was my first time seeing them. It wasn't until we were somewhere outside of Tijuana when Bernie spoke up
"You are going home Niño. Are you excited?"
"Nah, I'm actually gonna miss the Raisin Bran." We got a pretty good laugh out of that one. "Now listen to me Niño," he began still chuckling, "I want to tell this to you. I have seen a lot of boys come and go, some changed and grew and some stayed the same, but you Niño, you have come very far. You were in this program for one year, but you grew ten years. You have become a man, I'm proud of you." There was a smile on my face and there were words racing around my mind at that moment, but I couldn't think of a damn thing to say.