The Children of Sanchez by Oscar Lewis Page B

home.
Señorita
Lupe, my first teacher, was strict and would throw the eraser at anyone who was out of order. Once she gave me such a blow with a ruler that it broke on my wrist.
    That year I met my friend Santiago. He was my guardian angel in school, and used to protect me. When bigger boys hit me, right away I’d tell Santiago, and he would go after them. But he wouldn’t help me against younger boys. He’d say, “Aren’t you ashamed to cry? If he’s smaller than you, beat him up!” Santiago taught me to defendmyself, to swear and use dirty words, and he told me all about what you do to women.
    I stayed in that school until the fourth grade. It was there that I got my nickname,
Chino
, because of my slanty eyes. Roberto entered the first grade when I was in the third and from then on I got into lots of fights because of him. Poor kid! Even when he was little he had a hard time! He was always getting into trouble. At recess I would see them dragging him, crying, to the principal’s office to punish him for something, and I would get angry and interfere.
    My brother once came to my classroom crying and with his nose bleeding. He said, “Francisco, the Pig, hit me, for nothing at all.” Without a word I went to the Pig’s room and said to him, “Francisco, why did you hit my brother?”
    “Because I wanted to, and so what?”
    “Well, hit me,” I said, and he hit me. I went at him and gave him a very hard punch. He lunged at me with a knife and if I hadn’t ducked he would surely have cut my face.
    They sent for my father; unfortunately it was a Wednesday, his day off, and he was at home. That afternoon I was afraid to go into the house, and stood looking through a crack in the door to see what mood my father was in. But he didn’t hit me that time. He only told me to avoid fights as much as possible.
    One Mother’s Day, I came home singing a song we had been rehearsing in school. “Forgive me, dear Mother, because I can’t give you anything but love.” My father was at home and he seemed very proud and happy about something.
    “No, son, we can give her something else, because just look at what I bought.” I saw a little radio standing on the wardrobe.
    “How nice,
papá
,” I said. “Is it for
mamá
?”
    “Yes, son, it’s for
mamá
and for you, too.”
    That’s how my father spoke to me then. He had won on his lottery ticket and bought it with the prize money. Afterwards, I came to hate the radio because it caused arguments in the house. My father got angry with my mother for playing it so much. He said it would get out of order and, “Nobody pays for anything around here except me!” He wanted the radio on only when he was at home.
    After my mother’s death, my grandmother took care of us for a while. I loved her and, after my mother was gone, she was the onlyperson who really, truly loved me. She was the only one I went to for advice, the only one who cried if I didn’t eat. Once she said, “Manuelito, you are very willful and you worry me. The day I die you will see that no one else will cry to make you eat.”
    My grandmother never hit us, though she sometimes pulled my hair or my ears if I refused to go with her on an errand. My
mamá
had hit us more, especially Roberto, who was very mischievous. Why, once, when my brother wouldn’t come out from under the bed when she called, my mother grabbed the iron and shoved it at him. It hit him right on the head and raised a big bump. Compared to my mother, my grandma was a symbol of tenderness.
    My father got along well with my grandma; that is, they never had differences. She taught us to respect him because he fed and supported us. She was always saying that we should appreciate having the kind of father we had, for there were few like him in the world. She gave us good advice about everything and taught us to respect the memory of our mother.
    Sometimes my aunt Guadalupe took care of us. One evening my
papá
sent us out to buy candy. I think