Chapter 4

We think sometimes that poverty is only being hungry, naked and homeless. The poverty of being unwanted, unloved and uncared for is the greatest poverty. We must start in our own homes to remedy this kind of poverty.

~Mother Teresa 

What does a 40 oz Coors Light, two bottles of Red Stripe, two bags of chips and a bacon, egg and cheese have in common?

In addition to being purchased at my father's bodega, each of these served as breakfast for four different people.

My dad didn't escape the stereotype of a Dominican owning bodegas. 

On a side note, I find it amusing that in New York we call them bodegas because in DR we actually call them colmados. Bodegas literally translates to wineries.  

Back to the point.

Today, I had to hold the fort down at the bodega as my father was taking his oath of allegiance in becoming a U.S. Citizen and my brother was sleeping comfortably in his bed. Many of the customers were surprised and asked if I was Carlos' daughter. They can only tell because I bear a striking resemblance to my brother who regularly works there. They probably can also tell because I don't know the prices to any of the items, was painstakingly slow at the Lotto machine and have a terrible ear for accents. I have a fascination for accents (and culture in general) and have many failed attempts trying to speak in one. However, there's something about my auditory sense that can't translate the patua. So my day consisted of plenty of "Pardon?' and "No, Junior looks like me. I'm the older one."

My dad has his regular customers borderline employees: Jason, Taliban 1 and 2, Colombia, and Belize. 

Jason is the handyman that does many favors for my dad and is Jamaican. Taliban 1 is a Rastafarian, Trinidadian mechanic that schools my brother with his own philosophies of life and loves my mother's arepas. Taliban 2 is unrelated to Taliban 1 but they are close friends. He's also a Rastafarian but is Guyanese. (I'm going to go ahead and assume these nicknames came about due to their long dreads nestled in a turban. Disclaimer: the whole neighborhood calls them these nicknames. Pardon ahead of time should I offend anyone). Colombia is a rambunctious, obese man from whom my dad buys his sneakers from and I think you can guess where he's from. Belize, my favorite, is an older gentleman with flawless mocha skin, snow white hair and pearly whites. He's always well dressed with a matching Kangol hat. When you talk to Belize, within seconds you feel relaxed because he's so soft spoken, always beaming with joy and shows the utmost respect to everyone and anyone that enters my dad's bodega. 

Oh and I forgot to mention my dad's employee, Shabba who happens to be Puerto Rican.

I don't think anyone knows their real names but what I do know is that all of Latin America and Caribbean shops at my pop's bodega.

Day in and day out, these group of men show my dad such strong loyalty as if they grew up together. When they're not doing odd jobs they're with my dad, joking around, drinking beer and everything is just irie. Every major holiday my father makes my mother cook feasts so he can feed his friends and customers: his 2nd family. If you calculate all the days and hours my father works, he actually spends more time with them than with his own family.  Of course it upsets me but then today I realized these are such good-hearted, wholesome individuals that only want the best for my father and brother. They would fight for them if they had to. 

Funny side story: while on vacation my father had left his huge van parked across the street from my home. When it came time to turn on the van, the van wasn't functioning. So Taliban 2 and Jason came to fix my dad's car. The homeowner, from which my dad was parked in front of, was complaining to Taliban 2 and Jason that the van should've been parked several inches forward so he can have more space to go into his driveway. Today Taliban 2 was furiously retelling the story, how he was so upset because a house could've fit in that space and how he was ready to rough up this man. 

My dad's bodega serves as an important place of gathering. From the little kid who gives his pocket change full of lint for a Hershey's cookies and cream, to the miserable man who doesn't want to pay $0.50 for a plain roll. From drug dealers to the old Haitian lady who religiously plays her lotto numbers swearing this time will be her big break. My dad's customers may be impoverished economically but they're rich of experiences, personality, love and most importantly respect. Everyone tells me how much they admire Carlos and how my pops helped them out when they didn't have money or food. I guess all that time away from home was worth it and all I could do is embrace my extended family.

Lesson Learned: You may never know how much you can learn from someone or the effect they may have on you. I'm a true believer that everything happens for a reason. If you subtract from somewhere, it must be added elsewhere.