The Start of Something Truly Remarkable

August 30^th, 2009; the start of something truly remarkable. I came to here to Washington D.C. with my girlfriend, two parents , youngest sister, niece and nephew. We drove in my mother’s Nissan Quest and even with that size, I’m sure my family thought it was pretty crammed in the back. Regardless, we were here and after about 6 and a half hours, we finally got into the city of politics. I remember the look on my mother’s face as we drove into the city and saw the poverty. Coming from civil-war era Nicaragua, I was surprised to see the reaction on her face and I knew in her head that the poverty really made an impression on her; negative as it may have been. “David, this is worse than Nicaragua” she said to me. I just laughed and shrugged it off believing in my head that she was just exaggerating and not yet able to come to terms with the fact that this city was where I’d spend the next 4 months of my life. After seeing the poverty stretch on and on, it hit me like I ran into a brick wall; all these agents of “advocacy” and “representatives” in this city of Washington D.C., and no one here to stand for the men in the cardboard boxes or the families in the rundown buildings. This city radiates opportunity and power and yet no one seems to mind the lack of opportunity or power among the communities we saw on our way up. And I thought MY poverty was bad growing up; these people truly were the ‘have-nots’ in this country. They had NOTHING but clothes on their backs and their families by their side.

I figured that we leave Thursday night so that we get to D.C. Friday morning and have plenty of time to sleep and tour the city come Friday night. My parents weren’t major fans of the city on Friday so they opted to just stay in the hotel and watch after the girls and my nephew in the hotel pool. It was a beautiful hotel, I must say; far more illustrious than what we’re used to. The area the hotel was in wasn’t bad; it was in downtown D.C. and one or two blocks from Chinatown so there was plenty to do and see. My girlfriend Jeanelle and I got dressed to go site see. Little did I know that this night would bring me motivation I’d never experienced and inspiration I’d never known. There was something glorious about everything I saw that night; the lights, the buildings, the Potomac, the statues, the memorials, the nightlife; everything gave off an aura that I had only vaguely imagined in the past. I was like a child in a toystore; I wanted to see everything. Everything was much more beautiful than in the textbooks. Photos didn’t do them justice.

Come Saturday morning, we were up and out. My parents had realized that this part of the city wasn’t all that bad; it was actually beautiful and exemplified a side of American culture that they had never known in Danbury, Connecticut. My nephew, Isaiah was a grumpy little one that day, he didn’t want to do ANY walking and had we brought a stroller, no doubt in my mind he would’ve been in it all day. We saw the Lincoln memorial which really made an impression on my mother and I. Those words written in stone had me thinking all day and reinforced the idea of liberty. I couldn’t make out an impression from my father; he tends to keep his thoughts to himself and as great of an impression he might have attained from the Lincoln memorial; he kept it all in his head and just decided to soak it in and keep it in. My sister Sheyla, even at 13, was too young to understand the significance of political figures like Abraham Lincoln and the significance of historical events like the civil war or slavery. Even today, I’m not sure what went through her head. She has an imagination all her own. My niece Natalya on the other hand, enjoyed it and marveled at just how big the Lincoln Memorial was.

From there, we went to the Vietnam Memorial. Of all memorials I had seen on this day, none came close to how much of an impact the Vietnam Memorial made on me. I got there and as we were walking up, it hadn’t looked very large in size but as we got closer, we saw how big this was becoming and what really blew my whole family away was how we worked our way from the outside in and realized how big the wall was and how small the names were. The small sized names bothered me; not because they were small but because even at its size, it needed a large space to get all the names of the men and women who died. These weren’t just names or casualties of war; these were real people with real lives and real families that they left behind; never to live or see again. An old teacher of mine that I kept in touch with had a roommate who passed away during the Vietnam war. He told me once that ever since he passed, he felt guilty over his death. I wasn’t sure if he had his closure but I wanted to do something for him since I was in the area and visiting the memorial myself. Jeanelle told me that the park rangers give out Vietnam Memorial letter-headed papers and graphite for visitors to sketch over the names of the fallen men. I found the man’s name on the wall. Thomas Carothers. I never knew the man; I’ve never even seen a picture of him or a story about him. I just know this man, Thomas Carothers, existed and people like Mr. Scalzo truly missed him and remember him to this day. I sketched the name and gave it to Jeanelle to give to Mr. Scalzo for me.

After the Vietnam Memorial, we all walked around the city for a little while just seeing what we came across. We eventually got to the Air and Space museum. Now my child-like fascination with the city on Friday night was nothing compared to my father’s fascination and admiration for what he saw there. This wasn’t a family event for him; he wasted no time and ran off without us to see all the planes, spaceships and machinery the museum had to offer. He didn’t want to take any pictures of us but he was quick to ask us to take a picture of him with the Apollo module or a spy plane behind him. What a nerd. When I told him I found out there were flight simulators in the museum, he ran like we didn’t have 2 hours before the museum closed. I decided I’d fly and he’d control the turrets. That day, I realized I have no business even thinking I could become a pilot. I flew horrible. It was fun until my dad kept going back and forth about how he would have done better. I stood my ground and told him I’d pay for us to do it again and we’d switch places. So we did and needless to say, he did worse than me. Of course he wouldn’t admit it though, we’re talking about my father here.

The night came to an end and before I knew it, Sunday morning was here and it was time that I finally moved into my apartment. It went by fast. Too fast. I didn’t get a chance to put my thoughts together and come to the realization that this was going to be home for 4 months. Regardless, as soon as everything was put into the apartment, that was that; we said our goodbyes, good lucks, see ya soon’s, and love you’s. That moment, although I had not known it at the time, was the moment I had waited for my whole life. I’d been waiting for this my whole life. My dreams had become my reality. The American Dream is alive; maybe not alive and well, but alive nonetheless and I am living testament to that. I’ve worked so hard to get here to have this opportunity. My parents have worked endlessly to grant me opportunity and I’ve worked tirelessly to make something of myself and get my foot in the door. Now that I had done just that, I thought to myself, “Now What?” August 30^th, 2009; The start of something truly remarkable.