Roosevelt Stories(Chapter of the Week)


Ethan Jae Roberts, Club Writer/Entertainment writer

The Ferocious Five


Oscar Perez

Albuquerque, New Mexico

I feel so big now! I just turned eight, and I feel great! I live with my Abuela and Abuelo instead of my parents for some reason; at least they give me candy and pozole, so I’m happy. I was bigger than the other kids, but it didn’t bother me because Abuela says that being big makes me strong.

Abuelo usually drives me to school, but this time, Abuela drove me. She used to be a bus driver back in Mexico, so she was a good driver who made a lot of money driving others around. I asked her in Spanish, “Can we go to McDonald’s after school?”

“Sure, Mijo,” she replies, smiling. We arrive at Albuquerque Elementary, my school. We made it there at around 7:35. I jump out of the car; Abuela gives me a kiss on the cheek and sends me off.

I walk inside the building, and there walks by one of my classmates. His name was Ivan. He was white, and he didn’t like me, let alone Hispanics in general. He walks up to me with a sour expression on his face. “Where did you come from?”

“Here,” I reply.

“No. Where did you really come from?”

“I was born here,” I said, “My parents are from Mexico.”

“Are they immigrants?” He asks.

I shrug, not that I knew the answer to that. “What’s an immigrant?”

“Do you even belong here?”

“What do you mean? I’ve always belonged here.”

“If your parents are from Mexico, then you should go back,” Ivan crossed his arms.

“Why? I was born here.” I started to feel weird about myself.

“Go back to Mexico, you fat, disgusting immigrant!” Ivan pushes me, to a point where I fall over.

“Mr. Ivan!” a teacher intervenes. She pulls him away from me and helps me up. “Is everything okay, Oscar?”

I felt some tears in my eyes, but they retreated. “I’m fine,” I said, “I just feel weird…”

“It’s okay to feel that way, Oscar, just know that I’m here if you need anything.” she tells me.

Later that day, Abuela stuck to her promise. We went to McDonald’s, but I didn’t feel like eating or playing with the other kids. “What’s wrong, Mijo?” she asked.

“Abuela, where did I come from?” I asked her.

“You were born here, Mijo,” she replies, setting her tea aside, “Why?”

“Some kid told me that I didn’t belong here.” I explained.

Abuela gave me a suspicious look. “Were they white?”

I nod.

“Let me know if this happens again,” she said, “I will come up to the school and show the kid who they’re messing with!”

I smile. “Gracias, Abuela.”