Michael Anthony Gonzalez Blog

Daniel was seven years old, and small in stature compared to others his age, but he was strong willed and street wise. His father made sure of that. His father was hard working. He was an insurance salesman from a rough neighborhood in Bronx, New York.  He had always been a hustler and a tough one. In fact, while they lived in New York, one winter, a robber climbed into their apartment via the fire escape. His father beat the shit out of the robber, took his wallet and shoes, then threw him back out onto the fire escape to freeze; he was that tough. Daniel’s mother was strong too; she was a home maker and also a part time portrait photographer. His family moved often, so his father could always work new territories. When the family moved this time, it was to Florida and it was the first time Daniel seemed happy to relocate.
It was morning and the first day of school. Daniel sprang out of bed and got dressed.  Hurrying not to be late the first day, he ate breakfast, brushed his teeth and gathered his school gear. He kissed his mother good bye and headed to the bus stop.
Standing there in the hot sun, he was patiently waiting for the bus. He was nervous and a little excited to meet new friends. After all, the summer was lonely. His family was either preparing to move, moving or unpacking, which did not leave much time for the joys of childhood in the summer. Soon boys and girls began to arrive on foot with backpacks and lunchboxes. They naturally congregated in groups: the smart, popular, athletic, renegades and misfits.  Daniel stood in the shade smiling and conversing, superficially, to whomever would speak to him. He thought about which group he would belong to this time in his new surroundings.
Before long, a rusty black Chevy Nova pulled up, brakes squealing, and a hulk of a boy was dropped off by an overweight woman in a flower patterned mu-mu. The boy’s door creaked open. The tension of the group increased incrementally with every step he made toward them. Almost in unison, Daniel heard the group say, “It’s Todd.” Some pretended to say it casually; others with disgust, but the honest ones said his name in fear. Todd was nine years old. He had been left-back the previous year and he was not very happy about it. Then as if Daniel had a target on him, Todd walked directly to him.  He pushed Daniel to the ground and saying, “Punk! You’re standing in my spot.” His voice was raspy as if he smoked three packs of cigarettes a day.
Daniel scanned the crowd for support but found none. To maintain his pride, Daniel quickly rose to his feet and pushed Todd back. Todd responded, tossing Daniel around like a rag doll.  Punched, choked and insulted Daniel was beaten badly.  Fortunately, the bus arrived and startled the bully enough to release him. His pride bruised, eye swollen and clothing torn, Daniel made it through the day and ultimately found his way home.
When Daniel arrived home, he was eagerly greeted by his mother.  “What the hell happened, Daniel?” she cried. Before he could say a word, she rushed over to him and grabbed him, holding him tightly in her bosom. After hearing his account of events from Daniel, she helped him get cleaned up for homework and dinner.
While doing his homework, Daniel’s father came home and his mother quickly greeted him at the door and as mothers do and she began to explain everything in detail to him, as if she were there. Daniel sat nervously anticipating his father’s reaction.  Deep down, he knew what would be coming next. Then the world stopped and there was a pause of silence. His father turned, looking directly at him and screamed at the top of his lungs, “You let some bully kick your ass?” The walls shook.
Daniel’s father stormed over to him while unsheathing his belt, grabbed the boy by one arm, and strapped his back side over and over again. His father was too strong; he couldn’t escape. Enraged, his father, dragged Daniel into his room, slammed the door and beat him for some time.
Outside Daniel’s room, the only thing that could be heard was his shrieking and cries broken up by his father’s words of wisdom, “You don’t let anybody kick your ass! You hear me!” The last words heard from the room were, “Now tomorrow, you’ll go back there and kick his ass! I have my job to do and that’s yours! I didn’t raise you to allow this to happen to you or anyone else for that matter!”
The next two days Daniel was sent to the bus stop with the same directive from his father and the next two nights met with the same fate.  Daniel went to the bus stop with every intention of beating up Todd, only to be beaten again by him and then go home to be beaten by his father. Desperate, he even attacked Todd with a rock in his hand, only to lose again. He was lucky the bully hadn’t killed him.
But the fourth day came and Daniel’s father didn’t speak to him that morning. Daniel, beaten in body and spirit, went to the bus stop and waited for Todd to do or say something to him but it didn’t happen, not even a dirty look.  Maybe it was because he saw something else in Daniel or he just learned to respect him for his heart in fighting and not giving up. All the boys and girls at the bus stop didn’t say a word. They all just looked at the two boys, as if they had all been through the beatings with them.
When Daniel came home from school that day, his mother and father greeted him at the door.  Both of them looked like, the cat that had just eaten the canary.  His mother spoke first and said, “Your father has something to tell you.” Then she looked over at his father and said, “Go ahead, tell him.” She shoved Daniel’s father toward him.
His father, who had been so frustrated with him and beat him so badly, looked at him with loving eyes and said, “Boy - we signed you up for Karate classes, so we won’t have to have you getting your ass kicked anymore. Son, I hope we can work this out ‘cause people will come to depend on you someday and you’ll have to be prepared. ”
His mom then chimed in with, “This is going to be a sacrifice for the family. You’ll have to make sure to get your homework done and be ready for class every Tuesday and Thursday evening.” The only thing that ran through Daniel’s mind in that moment was, “Now I can get my butt kicked every Tuesday and Thursday night. Great!”
Daniel went to that Karate school for five years. He excelled in learning his forms, all the vocabulary, but he was especially talented at sparring.  He loved to spar. In fact, he went on to earn several medals.  He fought every ranking boy in the state and won or placed in every competition his father and Instructor entered him in.  The only thing that could ever keep Daniel away from training or competing was when his father went out of town for business. He and his father had a special bond and he would never compete without him there watching.
Then, one day, after several years of this routine, Daniel came home from school.  As usual, he did his homework and waited for his mother and father to come home.  It got late and he was worried, but he maintained his usual evening rituals.  Done with his homework, he fixed himself some macaroni and cheese, took a shower, practiced his karate forms and got himself ready for bed.
A few hours past and Daniel heard keys at the front door. He got up from bed and went to greet his parents.  It was only his mother.  Moving very slowly, she entered the dining room area.  There was a deep sorrow in her face.  Her shoulders slumped over and head hanging low. She looked exhausted and from the mascara running down her cheeks had obviously been crying.
Daniel asked, “Mom, where’s Dad?”  As she was taking her purse off her shoulder, she fell to her knees from the weight of the message she had to deliver.  The boy rushed to her side, threw his arms around her and helped her into a chair.  His mother began to weep heavily, covering her face in her hands.  There were tears welling up in his eyes from feeling his mother’s pain. He couldn’t understand what his mother could possibly be so upset over.
Then before she could say a word, Daniel asked the question, his voice cracking under the pressure of what he was about to ask, “Is Dad okay? Where is he?”  There was a long and painful pause. His mother burst into tears again, weeping harder than before. Daniel had his answer.  His heart was beating loudly and time stood still.  His mind was swimming in emotions, images of his father and all the memories. He sat down beside her. Then his mother began to tell him what had happened.
She told him the police called her at work.  They told her that her husband tried to help someone that afternoon and unfortunately was killed in the process.  They said it looked like he had an appointment to see a customer. When he arrived there, he saw the front door forced open.
From what they could tell, he walked in and found the suspects leaving through the back door.  He then must have walked to the back to see where they went; he stumbled upon his customer lying face down in a pool of blood.  He ran after the suspects through the yard and caught up with one of the suspects, who according to witnesses, was having a difficult time fitting the goods into the back of his car.  He then bravely spun him around but the guy had his gun tucked in the front of his pants. He pulled it out and shot him, right there in the middle of the street.
He was reported dead at the scene.  The officer told her that her husband was brave and because of his unselfish act, he slowed the criminal long enough for witnesses to get a good description and as a result the robber was now in custody. His Dad had done a good job.
After Daniel heard his mother’s story, he cried.  He and his mother both wept in each other’s arms. The man who led them, taught them, provided for them, protected them and loved them was gone. Just like that, he was gone, and it hurt worse than anything they could have ever experienced.
Daniel never really got over it. For the next few years, he found himself in many fights.  He fought everyone whenever he thought someone needed help and sometimes for no reason at all. The principal would often call the house and tell his mother that although he was always trying to help, it wasn’t appreciated that he was always getting into fights. His mother never said anything to Daniel about the calls. Every time she tried, she’d think of his pain, and then she’d just ask him how school was going and they’d both just carry on.
One day, as he walked home with the usual group of boys, he saw a couple of seniors in high school harassing a boy he knew. The boy had walked home with him before.  It was Elvis.
Elvis wasn’t really his name, but the kids in school gave it to him because he was a little slow and he would always sing Elvis Presley songs. He sang them on his way home; every day. No one ever had a real conversation with Elvis because he never talked. He just sang Elvis songs. He did so with fervor and in full accent and all.  Elvis knew every song and every word.
When Daniel saw this, he was furious.  Fist clenched, he walked toward them and when he got just past them, he turned around and attacked them from behind. Then he beat them off Elvis, punching them in the ribs, jaws and ears from behind.  The moment Elvis found he was free, he ran far and fast; all the way home.  All the boys Daniel was walking home with ran too. These boys were too big and too much for them to handle but Daniel fought hard and did well…for awhile.
But then he was quickly overwhelmed. The tables turned and they started beating him good.  One held Daniel’s arms while another boy pounded at his mid-section.  Daniel felt every rib as they cracked under the volley of punches. Finally, as cars honked their horns and started stopping, the brutes dropped him to the ground and abandoned their attack.
Weeks later after Daniel recovered, he found himself walking home from school and Elvis came, walking up next to him and singing as usual.  Daniel loved Elvis for his innocence and turned to smile his way.  Elvis looked at Daniel and for the first time he spoke. Elvis said, “Why did you do that?  You got all beat up.”  Daniel smiled at him and replied, “Because it’s my job.”  He and Elvis walked home and Daniel listened blissfully to Elvis’ rendition of “Blue Suede Shoes”.
Over the next few years, Daniel calmed down a bit.  He learned to control his temper more and approached school with a more serious conviction than ever before.  He was in college now. He still lived at home and helped out around the house as much as he could. His mom was working full time now, which didn’t allow them to see each other very often. Daniel had become a hard worker and an excellent student.
One night, Daniel went to a local college bar with a few friends. It was the local bar everyone from school let loose at on Wednesday nights.  Looking for nothing more than to catch a good buzz and maybe get lucky, Daniel and his friends walked up to the crowded bar.  His friends went in first with Daniel trailing behind.  The bar was so crowded that night; you couldn’t see five feet into it.  It was wall to wall students and locals, drinking and dancing.
The music was blaring so loudly that you could hear it thumping from a mile away.  Just as Daniel was about to hand over his cover charge, he looked the crowd over. As he did, the heads and bodies, beers and wine coolers, guys and girls all separated and formed the perfect view, allowing him to see straight through to the back of the bar. He looked passed the dance floor to see the most beautiful women he had ever seen.
Then he saw his future life flash before his eyes. In a rush of images, he saw his own wedding and a beautiful baby.  He saw friends and family together at the reception.  He saw a beautiful redhead, tall and slender with bright green eyes and all he could do is walk directly to her.  In his mind the music was muffled, the crowd faded out of focus and the walls melted away. He asked her name and she replied, “Angela.”  That night he met his soul mate and seven years later they had their son.
They were a nice family.  Angela was a beautiful wife and caring mother, Daniel an excellent husband and father.  The fights had been over for Daniel for so long, they were reduced to stories over wine with friends.  Angela and the family really calmed him.  Daniel worked at the docks on the local farmers produce market and Angela became a grade school teacher.  They knew they were going to have to both work hard to teach their son good values and provide him a good life.  As a new family, they always traveled together. Daniel always insisted that the family do everything together. He was fanatical about it at times. He even insisted they go together to make simple errands.
During this particular hectic holiday season, Daniel and his family went shopping at the malls, picking up gifts for friends and family.  They were out all day and were exhausted.  On the way home, Angela asked to make one more stop saying, “Honey, you mind stopping at SuperSaver, I just want to pick up something else for your mom?”
“Do we have to do it now? Can’t it wait? I’m tired and I think our baby boy is out cold.” He replied. He added, “Anyway, haven’t you gone a little over budget this year?”
“Well, I know what she means to you and I know you’ve mentioned before about how hard the holidays are on her since your father passed on.” Angela replied.
“Yeah, I get ‘ya. We’ll make the stop.” he said.
Then Daniel started to think about his father again and a flood of memories entered his mind, as they drove down the busy streets. Then out of seemingly nowhere he said, “My Job,” and  Angela looks over at him and asks, “What was that, Honey?” and he repeated himself, “My Job”.  Angela losses her patience a little and says, “What are you talking about…my Job? What’s that suppose to mean?”
Daniel sat up straight in his seat. He smiled and told his wife about how his father used to tell him how his job was to take care of himself and anyone else who needed help, and how he took it so seriously.  He told her a few stories about the fights and the day it all started. He told her how the bully at the bus stop, when they first move to Florida, beat him up and how upset it made his father.
Just then, they pulled up to the store’s crowded parking lot. He drove around looking for the best spot and Angela asked him jokingly, “Are you still on the job?” He smiled and said, “Of course I am.” He stopped the car, leaned over and kissed her and then kept going looking for a spot. Angela sat up straight in her seat and looked at him with her eyes fixated on him.
Daniel turned to Angela and asked, “What am I getting? I’ll go in and get it. The baby is asleep and you’re tired.” Angela replied, “Why don’t you grab the video she mentioned last week and those chocolates that she likes…and another roll of wrapping paper.”
“Okay, I’ll only be fifteen or twenty minute’s max.” he said and turned to look at the baby. He smiled at them and ran into the store.
Once inside, he picked up his mothers chocolates and video. Next he picked up the wrapping paper and then thinking of Angela and the baby, he grabbed the crackers the baby likes and the chocolates Angela likes. Daniel got in one of the many long lines that night. He made it through, paid for his items and walked out.
As he walked through the parking lot, he saw a man and women struggling, and began to walk in their direction. Angela sees him from the car and wonders what has his attention. She sat straight up, mouth open. Daniel got closer and realized, she’s getting robbed or worse, so he moved faster. Angela frantically exploded from the car but clung to the door. She couldn’t move and leave the baby alone.
The robber punched the woman, knocking her down to the floor. Angela cried out, “Daniel!” but he couldn’t hear her and continued pursuing the man on foot. She sees the robber running ahead of Daniel and other shoppers in the lot began to take notice too. Crowds began to form, men and women with their packages all walking toward the action. They all watched Daniel’s pursuit of the assailant.
Angela, in tears, cried out again louder than before, “Daniel, please! No!”  Daniel is gaining ground the guy fast. The assailant zigzagged between cars in the lot. From the crowd, the men begin to move toward the chase. Angela‘s screams woke up the baby and now he’s wailing. Daniel caught up to the assailant and grabbed a piece of his jacket. The guy yelling back as he’s trying to tear it away from Daniel, “What the fuck are you doing, man?” Daniel screamed back, “My fucking job.”
Just then the man turns around and revealed the chrome of his gun. Three shots ring out. The crowd falls silent. Daniel falls to the ground and in his mind sees every fight he was ever in. He sees the bullies again. He sees the victims. He sees the high school boys attacking Elvis. He sees the countless fights of his life. He sees his mother, his wife, his baby and finally his dad.
Daniel put his hand over the wound in his belly and lifts it in front of his face to see the blood. The crowd catches up and Angela brakes through them with the baby in her arms. She kneels down and pulls him close. The three of them, covered in his blood now, were sitting on the asphalt, and all she could say was, “Honey, It’s going to be okay, you did your Job.”

We lived in Ozone Park, New York.

It was after the winter died down and the rains came.

The rain would often flood the lowlands

and this time it did. Father had been gone,

off working the past few days.

When he returned this time, my brother and I

followed him. We always did when he was gone

too long. We followed him up the stairs

we wandered around, while overhearing

the catching up mom and dad did; that’s how we did too.

We heard the grim tone, they muttered under

breath. It was dark and the topic was too.

The mood was theirs and we followed as young boys do.

Down the stairs again and round the front, then

down the drive way . We found the back door to

the basement. We didn’t know why we

had plastic bags and newspapers in hand.

We had each other. The door was opened; father opened it.

The door’s paint chipped white and gray flakes.

The white flakes overlapped the gray.

And we went through the doorway.

My eyes, my mind, my body couldn’t have been prepared. No one could.

The smell was death. The cages meant to protect

them had become concentration camps.

They were once on top of the roof but we

brought them in to protect them from the cold and rain.

Now they lay at the bottom of cages

feathers, beaks, carcasses, and blood.

Some blood was pink and washed away.

Blood the colors of the sun, at end of day.

I saw rats too and the remains of rats and one

even ran through the scraps; fleeing

the scene of the crime. My father, my brother and I

We stood there; we now knew what we had to do.

Tears in his eyes and mine and my brother’s too.

It was just yesterday we were sending them far

in flight. Round and round they flew.

When they’d return we’d pick up one or two

more pigeons. Father taught us that

cared-for birds always return with more. So we

cared and loved these birds best we knew.

We protected them from hunger, cold and rain.

But couldn’t do anything to stop the pain

they must have endured. And we wept as we cleaned

Each body grabbed; I saw that bird in flight

way above the clouds and often out of sight.

And they always returned home. The feathers

we swept. We cleaned the basement, side by side.

My father, my brother and I

And we were one in our grief.

There were no boys or men

There were only pigeon keepers.

by Michael Gonzalez

A cold day

Returning from school

Mom in the window

Warm light surrounds her

An embrace and the scent of baking bread

Opening the oven

A burst of hot air escaping

Gathered at the table

The first slice is for me

A cold day

Returning from work

Wife and kids in the window

Warm light surrounds them

An embrace and the scent of baking bread

Opening the oven

A burst of hot air escaping

Gathered at the table

The first slice is for them

By Michael Gonzalez

Its pitch black. The curtains are drawn. 6:29 am and the alarm clock is about to sound. The dreams have all ended and it’s another day in the jungle. The alarm sounds…light jazz. I love Spyro Gyra, so I let it play while I sit up and begin my morning meditations and breathing exercises. Then, I slide out from the covers and dangle my feet over the edge of the bed, searching for slippers and sliding my feet into them one at a time.

It’s now 6:47 and I walk into the bathroom to take the morning leak but forget to lift the lid and ended up pissing on the seat. I quickly wipe it up with a wad of toilet paper and follow it up with the bleach infused wipes I keep in the nearby cabinet. Sliding back the curtain with one arm and wiping the crud from my eyes with the other, I twist the hot water on and let it run while I brush my teeth. Then, like clockwork, the TV automatically turns on, preprogrammed for channel 7 news. The TV is my indicator its 7 o’clock and I’m running a little behind. I quickly jump in the shower and while scrubbing myself with a fresh luffa, I overhear the TV reporter explaining the status of at least three different wars. Then while washing my hair, she’s reporting how there’s a rapist on the loose, who has victimized several women in my neighborhood. After that, the anchor starts reporting on the price of fuel and how it’s affecting the cost of nearly everything and finished up with a congressman who was being indited for selling military secrets to the Chinese. While drying off after the shower, I’m overhearing the two of them patronizing each other while reviewing the local sports scene. Following that feel good love-fest, they turn it over to the weatherman, who proceeds to report on this year’s hurricane forecast. I believe his words were, “This may be the worst season for named storms in 10 years”. While shaving, I listened to a report that 1 out of 100 children are diagnosed with autism and how some parents have reason to believe it had something to do with the vaccination shots they were given to enter school. Finally, while getting dressed, I overhear the traffic report and there’s nothing but delays, delays and more delays.

I look at the clock and its 7:15. I turn the TV off and rush into the kitchen to make a bowl of granola with yogurt and a cup of piping hot green tea. After forcing that down and nearly scolding my mouth with the tea, I fumble around for a few minutes looking for my keys and then rush out the door. On my way to the car, I bump into Mrs. Johnston, who was wandering the walkway aimlessly and without any greeting, tears in her eyes, proceeds to tell me how her husband, that recently was retired, is in the hospital now due to a massive heart attack while taking a dump last night. Unfortunately, while she’s telling me this, I look down at my watch and notice it’s now 7:26 and I’m late. So in my best most comforting voice, I tell her how sorry I am and that I was running behind but would visit them right after work.

I am finally in the car and its 7:29. I can hear my heart beating. I have to be at my desk with my terminal on by 8 o’clock or Walter’s going to give me a real hard time. He loves to bust my chops and I’m sick of it. I put the key in the ignition and turn it with no results. I try it again and again; wasting precious moments in denial but the battery is just dead. So I quickly put the car in neutral and push it into the street. Lined up with the road ahead, I begin to push off with my feet but in my loafers, I don’t get much traction. Finally, I get it moving along at a good enough speed to attempt jumping into the car and dropping the transmission into gear. Clunk. Sputter. Putt. Nothing happens as the car grinds to a halt. Sweating now and my ankles, quads and arms sore from the effort, I try again but again the car doesn’t start. Then I remembered what that guy on TV said last night when I couldn’t sleep, “Circumstances do not make a man, they reveal him.” I then took my wallet out and placed it on the roof of the car. I took my phone out and placed it on the roof of the car. I took my watch off and placed it on the roof of the car. I then rolled up my sleeves, pulled up my pants, unbuttoned the top couple of buttons of my shirt and proceeded to push the car again. Faster and faster I pushed it until with great relief I found the end of the road. Fortunately the road here sloped downward at a most advantageous angle. The speed was finally enough to give it another go. I jumped in, pushed the clutch in, put the car in gear, and then released the clutch while stepping down on the throttle and voila, the car started.

It’s 7:43 and my work is twenty-five minutes away. If I take the Turnpike and speed a little, I might make it. Maybe the old man’s running late himself or maybe he’s out sick today. I’m going to be okay. I turn the air-conditioner and radio on. I look in the review to check for cars and see a cop following close behind. I try driving my best and being as calm as possible but I can see he’s on his radio and focused on me. I see his lights go on and I suddenly feel the tension in my spine building. I pull over and put the car in neutral ‘cause I’m afraid the car won’t start again. The cop walks over to my window and asks to see my license and registration. I look for my wallet and realize I put it on the roof of the car. It’s gone and so are my phone and watch. I try to explain the story to the officer but he realizes my car is still running. In a great voice demands for me to shut the car off but before I can do anything else he rips me from my car through the window and throws me to the ground. My heart is pounding and I instantly begin sweating profusely. Faced down in the dirt and gravel, I begin to explain my situation and the officer allows me to get up. When I get to my feet, I can see his watch and its 8:05. I’m greatly disappointed that after all my efforts to make it to work on time, I have failed. Then I hear the officer’s radio and the dispatcher begins describing the rape suspect I overheard being reported on TV this morning. With every word the description began to resemble my very stature and clothing. Without my identification, what was going to happen to me? As I think about my scenario, I begin to sweat again. Then the chest pains set in and I start to feel light headed. I raise my hands to my head. I am being overwhelmed with a feeling of light-headedness. The officer misinterprets my movement and draws his gun…Three gun shots ring out.

Soon after I hear the gun shots, its pitch black again. The curtains are drawn. 6:29 am and the alarm clock is about to sound. The dreams have all ended and it’s another day in the jungle. The alarm sounds…light jazz. I love Spyro Gyra, so I let it play while I sit up and begin my morning meditations and breathing exercises. Then, I slide out from the covers and dangle my feet over the edge of the bed, searching for slippers and sliding my feet into them one at a time.

The End

written for a Creative Writing Class

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

Your playing small doesn’t serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking so

that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine, as children do.

We are born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us, it’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,

we unconsciously give other

people permission to do the same.

As we are liberated from our own fear,

our presence automatically liberates others.”

- Nelson Mandela