It was a magical time. I think I already told you about it.

I’ve come to do Third grade. Remember the first day at school. The

young handsome Principal…he was probably 35 years old. The school

patio. Surrounded by palm trees I had never seen before. All around

was greenish. Densely greenish. The air smelled and tasted as sea salt.

It was 8:00 AM. To me that was a radical surrounding ambiance.

Used to smog from cars in Guadalajara from cars passing by on my

block…and it was warm. In the middle of September. After listening to

one of Sousa’s beautiful pieces ( I have never heard before…) we went

into our classrooms. I remember it as if it ( had been yesterday ).

I had a barrel of a pen with me and a small note book. And an inkwell.

In green color. I already knew how to read and write. After five hours

( and half an hour in between for lunch ) we were sent home with our

school home work. It was a piece of cake. I went for two other kids

from my block to find out who would go with me to the beach.

One of them was Pancho. The kid I had fought the day before.

And we went to Playa Norte. Two kilometers away. Barefoot. With no

shirt. Just our shorts. Stayed at the beach till the sun went down.

Walked back home all wet. My Stepmother fed me with fish and beans

and went to bed. Next day I would repeat the same sweet routine.

Day after day week after week moth after moth till we we went back to

Guadalajara.

EO