Book Review

I’m pretty sure this is my first time blogging about a book but there’s a first time for everything. This book is unique, first of all it is a memoir and second of all it is a memoir of a man who spends 5 years in a maximum security prison. This eye-opening look at the prison culture is moving to say the least. It is written by a man named Jimmy Santiago Baca, He is a published poet and has written screenplays.

Though this is a required reading (English 10) I really do love it. I’m not through all of it yet but I should finish by Wednesday (when we have to) and have my final say about the book.

Here is a photo of the book titled: A Place to Stand

and the author:

I would definitely recommend it, but be advised that since it is a memoir about his life and time spent in prison it isn’t pretty (foul-language at play here) so be aware that this is not appropriate for children or those who do not wish to read dirty language.

UPDATED Memoir- Five Little Words

Five Little Words

 “Dad smells like the catwalk,” I said. I did not know it then, but I had uttered the five words that would end my parents’ almost fifteen years of marriage. It seemed like such a harmless phrase said to my mom one day after coming home from school . . .

My dad worked as an LVN (licensed vocational nurse) at a nursing home. When he was not at work, he was at home sleeping, or out partying with his friends ‘Harold’ or ‘Doug’. Harold was a tall, lanky man with copper colored hair who came around the house occasionally to comment on how much I had “developed”. Doug was adopted; he ran a music studio out of his garage. One time when we visited his ‘studio’, a big rapper was leaving while smoking a marshmallow-scented cigar. Doug was short and wore thin wiry glasses. Sometimes the only time I saw my dad was when he was with these so-called friends.  

I have never had much of a relationship with my father. Sadly, my sisters and I hardly ever saw him because of his busy “work schedule”. He often pulled double shifts at the nursing home and on eight-hour days napped in his beat up car during lunch. Even on Christmas morning after opening presents, he would go straight to bed while my mom took my sisters and me to the movies with a gift certificate from my grandma; she must have known how he gets after a long, tiring, morning of opening gifts with his four children.

    Another Christmas that would be forever emblazoned in my memory happened after my parents had divorced; I was forced to spend Christmas Eve with my sisters and dad at Downtown Disney in Anaheim. Usually this would be a fun time because there was shopping, plenty to eat, and validated parking. I was not excited or very happy about spending this holiday with my Dad, especially since my grandfather was in the hospital because he just had a heart attack. I often opted out of spending time with my dad because it was never a fun time. He would make a mean comment that would later make me cry, or he would simply be in a mad mood whenever he was around. A call came in on my cell phone—my mom. I answered, “Hi Mom, what’s up?” “M? Tell your Dad that he needs to go see Grandpa Bob at the hospital. He’s not doing well and you guys need to come home so he can spend time with him.” “Okay.” I said before hanging up, relieved to have an out of this dysfunctional family event. A single Dad spending forced time with his daughters on Christmas Eve did not seem like the picture perfect Christmas depicted in the movies or on Hallmark cards. Dad did not seem moved by the bad news. “He could die tomorrow…” I ventured. “Good, I hope he dies.” That was my Dad’s response. I could not believe what he just said. Sadly, it was not a surprising side effect of his frequent mood swings to be nasty like that unexpectedly. Whether it was karma or whatever force of the universe, my grandfather did pass away the next day—on Christmas.

    At the beginning of their marriage, my mom was a homemaker. She was a stay at home mom with my sisters and me. I remember her reading to me before going to bed every night and doing my homework with me when I was very young. She even stayed home with me on Easter morning when I woke up with red dots covering my body—the chicken pox. She later explained to me that she obtained a babysitting job around the time I started junior high, because my dad never gave her any extra money other than what she earned herself. She was often forced to steal money from his wallet when he was sleeping to buy us groceries, school pictures, or even cookie dough for a school fundraiser (it is a good thing my dad never believed in banks and carried cash). Throughout the course of their marriage, she became obese and unhappy due to the emotional and physical abuse she received from my dad. One night when I was sleeping over at a friend’s house, I could not sleep that night for no specific reason. When I returned home to my dad gone, I found out that he had slapped my mom across the face and she called the police. This unfortunately was not the first incidence of physical abuse from my dad towards my mom.  

    My dad left to his parents’ house one night and that was the last straw for my mom. Working it out was no longer on the table. She was already hanging on a thread. We quickly moved into an apartment in West Covina and my grandpa hired a lawyer. About a year later, it was all over—supposedly.  

    It was now my mom’s job to support her four children; she did not have my dad’s help. We never received a penny of child support from my dad, except the occasional load of junk food that he called groceries. This consisted of Big Red soda, generic soda by the twelve pack, and Hostess Zebra Cakes galore. After calling and saying, “be there in thirty minutes” he would pick us up hours later and drive us around with a tall can of beer between his legs sheltered in a paper bag in his silver BMW from the 80s. He also quit his job once he learned that our child support was garnished from his wages automatically. My mom eventually filed a restraining order when he jumped onto our balcony and broke into our locked apartment when she was not home.

    We moved again, I started high school, my sisters started at a new private school, and my mom got a new job as a preschool teacher at a Christian school. I started a new high school without any friends, turned 16 and did not get a car or my driver’s license. I graduated high school with a bit of pomp and circumstance then the rest of my family moved away to Colorado while I went to college in Fresno near my grandparents the minute I graduated from high school. My grandparents were the only family I had left that were nearby.

    Presently, my sister Hanna is the only one who keeps in contact with my dad out of sheer sympathy. He still lives with his mom in her garage working the occasional under the table job for drug money and some warm beer. My other sisters are in Colorado with my mom and new step dad who were recently married in February.

    The catwalk I described at the beginning of my story was a place parents would drop off their students at Alvarado Middle School to avoid the front of the school, which was habitually overcrowded due to the quickly expanding city. It was a long, skinny walkway filled with shrubbery on both sides of the metal fence littered with trash. This is the place people did drugs, mainly smoked pot. My dad had a drug and alcohol problem that he battled with his entire life and continues to deal with today. This was not all—he also had mental health issues that when he did not address, worsened his addiction problems. What I said that day about the catwalk made my mom realize it was no way to raise her four children with an abusive, alcoholic, drug addict for a father. I know my mom regrets staying with my dad so long but she does not regret marrying him. Without their marriage, neither my three sisters nor I would be alive. My whole family can agree on that. The popular saying “every cloud has a silver lining” has always rung true in my life.

    To anyone who thinks drugs are “harmless” and do not take them seriously I urge you to think again after reading my story. They destroyed my family. Although it may not seem like it after reading my story, the divorce of my parents was a huge loss in my life and the life of my sisters and mom. Marijuana is a gateway drug and it does destroy lives and break apart families. Although it may seem that this was a terrible experience, I count it as something positive in my life. I am healthy, happy, and without addiction problems so I am happy all this happened and taught me how serious addiction really is.

Memoir

Five Little Words

Many years ago when I was thirteen years old, a budding teenager, and an awkward person in general. I said something that would change my life forever. I did not know it then, but I had uttered the five words that would end my parents’ almost 15 years of marriage. “Dad smells like the catwalk.” It seemed like such a harmless phrase. My honesty got me more than I had bargained for; it was not the first time, and it would not be the last. My parents certainly did not have the perfect marriage after all…

My dad worked as an LVN (licensed vocational nurse) at a nursing home. When he was not at work, he was at home sleeping, or out partying with his friends ‘Harold’ or ‘Doug’. Harold was a tall, lanky man with copper colored hair who came around the house occasionally to comment on how much I had “developed”. Doug was adopted. He has a music studio out of his garage. One time we visited a big rapper was leaving and smoking a marshmallow scented cigar. He was short and wore thin wiry glasses. Sadly, my sisters and I hardly ever saw him because of his busy “schedule”. Even on Christmas morning after opening presents, he would go right to bed while my mom took my sisters and me to the movies with a gift certificate from my grandma; she must have known how he gets after a long, tiring, morning of opening gifts with his four children. My younger sister A’s room was right next to theirs—she heard the fighting every night that would eventually turn her into an angry person who would hold all her emotions inside. This had an effect on my sisters and me as well. We would not realize it until many years later.

Another Christmas that would be forever emblazoned in my memory. After my parents had divorced, I was forced to spend Christmas Eve with my sisters and dad at Downtown Disney in Anaheim. Usually this would be a fun time because there was shopping, plenty to eat, and validated parking at Downtown Disney. I was not excited or very happy about spending this holiday with my Dad, especially since his dad my grandfather was in the hospital because he just had a heart attack. A call came in on my cell phone—my mom. I answered, “Hi Mom, what’s up?” “M? Tell your Dad that he needs to go see Grandpa Bob at the hospital. He’s not doing well and you guys need to come home so he can spend time with him” “Okay” I said before hanging up, relived to have an out of this dysfunctional family event. Dad did not seem moved. “He could die tomorrow…” I ventured. “Good, I hope he dies.” That was my Dad’s response. Whether it was karma or whatever force of the universe, my grandfather did pass away the next day. Since this moment, Christmas was never the same and to this day, I cannot enjoy Christmas.

At the beginning of their marriage, my mom was a homemaker. She was a stay at home mom with my sisters and me. I have memories of her reading to me before going to bed every night and doing my homework with me when I was very young. She even stayed home with me on Easter when I had the chicken pox. My mom was a babysitter by the time I was in junior high. The baby’s name was Crystal. My mom, sisters, and I all loved her and even fought over who got to hold her on occasion. My mom took care of her from the early morning before she took us to school until the late evening long after we came home. She later explained to me she had that job because my dad never gave her any extra money than what she earned herself. She was often forced to steal money from his wallet when he was sleeping to buy us groceries, school pictures, or even cookie dough for a school fundraiser (it is a good thing my dad never believed in banks and kept cash). Throughout the course of their marriage, she became obese and unhappy due to the emotional and physical abuse she received from my dad.

My dad left to his parents’ house one night and that was the last straw for my mom. Working it out was no longer on the table. She was already hanging on a thread. We quickly moved into an apartment in West Covina and my grandpa hired a lawyer for my mom who did not have enough money to do so herself. About a year later, it was all over—supposedly.

It was now my mom’s job to support her four children. She did not have my dad’s help. We never received a penny of child support from my dad, except the occasional load of junk food, he called groceries. This consisted of Big Red soda, generic soda by the twelve pack, and hostess zebra cakes galore. He would pick us up hours later after calling, saying “be there in thirty minutes”, and drive around with a tall can of beer between his legs sheltered in a paper bag. That deserved father of the year award. He also quit his job once he figured out child support was garnished from his wages automatically. My mom eventually filed a restraining order when he jumped onto our balcony and broke into our locked apartment when she was not home.

I started high school, my sisters started at a new private school, and my mom got a new job as a preschool teacher at a Christian school. I started a new high school without any friends, turned 16 and did not get a car or my driver’s license. I graduated high school with a bit of pomp and circumstance then the rest of my family moved away to Colorado while I went to college in Fresno near my grandparents. They were the only family I had left that were nearby.

Presently, my sister Hanna is the only one who keeps in contact with my dad out of sheer sympathy. He still lives with his mom in her garage working the occasional under the table job for drug money and some warm beer. My other sisters are in Colorado with my mom and new step dad who were recently married in February.

The catwalk was a place parents would drop off their students at Alvarado Middle School to avoid the front of the school, which was habitually overcrowded due to the quickly expanding city. It was a long, skinny walkway filled with shrubbery on both sides of the metal fence littered with trash. This is the place people did drugs, smoked pot namely. My dad had a drug and alcohol problem that he battled with his whole life and continues to battle with today. What I said that day made my mom realize it was no way to raise her four children with an abusive, alcoholic, drug addict for a father.

I know my mom regrets staying with my dad so long but she does not regret marrying him. Without that marriage, neither my three sisters nor I would be alive. My whole family can agree on that. The popular saying every cloud has a silver lining has always rung true in my life because of what happened in my life.

To anyone who thinks drugs are “harmless” and do not take them seriously I urge you to think again after reading my story. They destroyed my family. Marijuana is a gateway drug and it does destroy lives, I am proof of that fact. Although it may seem that this was a terrible experience, I count it as something positive in my life. I am healthy, happy, and without addiction problems like my dad so I am happy all this happened and taught me how serious addiction really is.