Sir Dyno's book "midst of my confusion"
- Thread starter datfrenchmane
- Start date
Chapter one
Paragraph 3
I never knew how thirsty a vato could get after getting blasted. Drinking the water gives me strength to hold on a little longer. I rip my shirt to clean my bullet wound as best as I can. It's not as bad as I had thought, but I'm losing a lot of blood. I search the room and find a first aid kit with just enough bandages and gauze to hold back the bleeding. I sit on the old dusty couch and think of everything I've done in my life to build up to this point. I grab a new video tape and put it into the camcorder. I reach into the bag and find a fully charged battery. I want no interruptions while I tell my story. I take a long breath as I sit back and try to relax on the couch. I prop the machine on a small table facing me and push the record button.
Paragraph 3
I never knew how thirsty a vato could get after getting blasted. Drinking the water gives me strength to hold on a little longer. I rip my shirt to clean my bullet wound as best as I can. It's not as bad as I had thought, but I'm losing a lot of blood. I search the room and find a first aid kit with just enough bandages and gauze to hold back the bleeding. I sit on the old dusty couch and think of everything I've done in my life to build up to this point. I grab a new video tape and put it into the camcorder. I reach into the bag and find a fully charged battery. I want no interruptions while I tell my story. I take a long breath as I sit back and try to relax on the couch. I prop the machine on a small table facing me and push the record button.
Chapter One
Paragraphs 4 and 5
This vida is so crazy. I guess I could try to justify all my actions to you. But instead, I'll let you be the judge of it all. Sometimes there is no right or wrong en esta vida. It all depends on the situation. Let me start from the beginning of my story, even though it's a beginning much like every Chicano I've known. Please be patient with me....I'm not a storyteller. I'm just a Crazy Vato doing what I can to survive. Let me introduce myself. I was born with the name Joaquin, but the homeboys call me Loco.
"Viva Zapata! Viva Pancho Villa!" my father would yell to me when I was a child. I would laugh and shoot into the air with my old western cap gun. I never grew up playing cowboys and indians. For me, it was playing revolutionaries against soldiers. I loved to hear my father tell me stories about Pancho Villa.
Paragraphs 4 and 5
This vida is so crazy. I guess I could try to justify all my actions to you. But instead, I'll let you be the judge of it all. Sometimes there is no right or wrong en esta vida. It all depends on the situation. Let me start from the beginning of my story, even though it's a beginning much like every Chicano I've known. Please be patient with me....I'm not a storyteller. I'm just a Crazy Vato doing what I can to survive. Let me introduce myself. I was born with the name Joaquin, but the homeboys call me Loco.
"Viva Zapata! Viva Pancho Villa!" my father would yell to me when I was a child. I would laugh and shoot into the air with my old western cap gun. I never grew up playing cowboys and indians. For me, it was playing revolutionaries against soldiers. I loved to hear my father tell me stories about Pancho Villa.
Chapter One
Paragraphs 6 & 7
"Pancho Villa was a big man mijo! He would take on anybody that got in his way." Then he would pick me up and hug me. And as he sat me down, he would look at me very seriously.
"That's how you have to be when you grow up, mijo. Los hombres like Zapata and Villa helped our Raza. They were men of honor and respect. They fought and died for what they believed in."
Paragraphs 6 & 7
"Pancho Villa was a big man mijo! He would take on anybody that got in his way." Then he would pick me up and hug me. And as he sat me down, he would look at me very seriously.
"That's how you have to be when you grow up, mijo. Los hombres like Zapata and Villa helped our Raza. They were men of honor and respect. They fought and died for what they believed in."
Chapter One
Paragraph 8
I would imagine a big man with bullets across his chest with a big sombrero and boots, riding across the mountains of Mexico helping familia's and kids. My father also told me stories about my great grandfater, about how he was killed during the Mexican Revolution of 1910. My great grandfather was bringing our familia to safety to the United States. Once he brought them to Texas, he went back to fight for freedom and land that the rich had stolen. He never made it back to Texas. My familia heard rumors and stories that he was killed and thrown off the train that was heading back into the U.S. Some say he died in the battle of Leon, Guanajuato against the Federales.
Paragraph 8
I would imagine a big man with bullets across his chest with a big sombrero and boots, riding across the mountains of Mexico helping familia's and kids. My father also told me stories about my great grandfater, about how he was killed during the Mexican Revolution of 1910. My great grandfather was bringing our familia to safety to the United States. Once he brought them to Texas, he went back to fight for freedom and land that the rich had stolen. He never made it back to Texas. My familia heard rumors and stories that he was killed and thrown off the train that was heading back into the U.S. Some say he died in the battle of Leon, Guanajuato against the Federales.
Chapter One
Paragraphs 9 & 10
As a child, it was exciting to think that my great grandfather was involved in that struggle. I used to tell myself that when I grow up, I was going to be like my great grandfather. Or maybe even like Villa or Zapata. I was confident that I would make a difference.
"Jefito, when I grow up I'm going to be just like them! I'm going to make it better for us," I would say. My father would just smile. How serious could he take me? I was only 5 years old. Now that I think back, I don't think he ever realized that I meant to do what I said. As a child I didn't need comic book heroes or cartoon heroes. I had real life heroes, men not afraid to die, men that stood for our Raza, that stopped at nothing to make it better for Mexicans. All of that changed though, once I started first grade in a predominately white school.
Paragraphs 9 & 10
As a child, it was exciting to think that my great grandfather was involved in that struggle. I used to tell myself that when I grow up, I was going to be like my great grandfather. Or maybe even like Villa or Zapata. I was confident that I would make a difference.
"Jefito, when I grow up I'm going to be just like them! I'm going to make it better for us," I would say. My father would just smile. How serious could he take me? I was only 5 years old. Now that I think back, I don't think he ever realized that I meant to do what I said. As a child I didn't need comic book heroes or cartoon heroes. I had real life heroes, men not afraid to die, men that stood for our Raza, that stopped at nothing to make it better for Mexicans. All of that changed though, once I started first grade in a predominately white school.
Chapter One
Paragraph 11
"Beaner!" is what I heard as I was getting off the bus at school. I remember looking back at the kids and not even knowing that they were putting me down. I had never heard that word. But by the fourth grade, I knew I was different. I was raised to be proud of being Mexican, but I was never taught to hate any other race. These kids didn't know about Villa or Zapata. They didn't know about the struggles my Raza had gone through. In class we would study about men like George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Christopher Columbus, about the great things they had done. Not once did I hear about my heroes. It made me feel as if my people hadn't done anything great.
Paragraph 11
"Beaner!" is what I heard as I was getting off the bus at school. I remember looking back at the kids and not even knowing that they were putting me down. I had never heard that word. But by the fourth grade, I knew I was different. I was raised to be proud of being Mexican, but I was never taught to hate any other race. These kids didn't know about Villa or Zapata. They didn't know about the struggles my Raza had gone through. In class we would study about men like George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Christopher Columbus, about the great things they had done. Not once did I hear about my heroes. It made me feel as if my people hadn't done anything great.
Chapter One
Paragraph 12
In fourth grade I learned about "American" history in school. But I was learning my own history, from my father, about Vatos like Cesar Chavez and Rodolfo "Corky" Gonzales. My father named me after Corky's poem titled 'Yo Soy Joaquin.' I was taught about the Chicano Movement during the 60's, when brown berets were worn proudly with fists up high. Raza fighting for their rights. I learned about Cesar Chavez and the UFW march from Delano to Sacramento the capitol of Califas. Once I asked my fourth grade teacher if she could teach the class about Cesar Chavez. She acted as if she didn't know who I was talking about. I never brought it up to her again.
Paragraph 12
In fourth grade I learned about "American" history in school. But I was learning my own history, from my father, about Vatos like Cesar Chavez and Rodolfo "Corky" Gonzales. My father named me after Corky's poem titled 'Yo Soy Joaquin.' I was taught about the Chicano Movement during the 60's, when brown berets were worn proudly with fists up high. Raza fighting for their rights. I learned about Cesar Chavez and the UFW march from Delano to Sacramento the capitol of Califas. Once I asked my fourth grade teacher if she could teach the class about Cesar Chavez. She acted as if she didn't know who I was talking about. I never brought it up to her again.