To the Band of Brothers: November 20, 2020
Good morning!
I grew up in a house that was located in South Miami. It was my “hood.” It was on those suburban streets that I would ride my bike looking for fallen mangos and avocados. I would collect them to sell to neighbors for a quarter. I know a quarter doesn’t buy much anymore, but, when I was in my early teens, a quarter paid for several things. With a quarter you could play Space Invaders or Donkey Kong at the entrance of your local Publix while your mother shopped for groceries. With a quarter you could buy a packet of baseball cards and chew on the stale powdered bubble gum strip that came with it.
It was on those suburban streets I would drag my lawnmower, knocking on doors, asking people to let me mow their lawn for $10. I would charge $15 if they wanted their weeds wacked. I remember how more often than not I would do a terrible job, but people would pay me anyway because they were nice in the 80s and figured effort was greater than the result.
It was also on those suburban streets I would toss footballs and baseballs, kick soccer balls, and hit tennis balls with my friends until the sun set. It was then that I would hear my mother screaming from the front door of my house ordering me to come in and finish my homework or get ready for dinner.
My house was on one of those suburban streets. I have fond memories of it. It was to that house that a couple of my brothers and my sister were brought to from the hospital after coming into the world. It was in that house where I held my first party and held my breath wondering if my friends would come. It was in that house where I would sit in front of the television set on Saturday mornings watching Skipper Chuck, Captain Kangaroo, and Thunder Cats with a bowl of cornflakes and condensed milk for breakfast.
From my perspective, that house was a huge mansion. I could hide all kinds of things everywhere. I knew every nook and cranny and every nook and cranny was filled with plastic toy soldiers, Hot Wheel race cars, and Star Wars action figures. That place was my playground, my realm, it was my home and I remember how sad I was when I finally moved out of it. It was for a good reason. I was 19 and had been accepted into the Jesuit seminary. I had to move out in order to follow what I knew was God’s will for me. It was a good move, a necessary move.
Over 30 years have gone by since then and just yesterday I was in the neighborhood and decided to drive by. The suburban streets look pretty much the same, but the house is different. They’ve changed the color, paved the front yard, and placed a fence around the property. The giant paper tree that served as my fort for several summers, and was my father’s biggest headache because of how much the bark shed, has been cut down. The carport has been closed and turned into a study or guestroom or den. The house looks smaller, it doesn’t look the same. Then again, neither do I.
Auspice Maria
BELEN JESUIT PREPARATORY SCHOOL
500 SW 127th Avenue, Miami, FL 33184
phone: 305.223.8600 | fax: 305.227.2565 | email: webmaster@belenjesuit.org
500 SW 127th Avenue, Miami, FL 33184
phone: 305.223.8600 | fax: 305.227.2565 | email: webmaster@belenjesuit.org
Belen Jesuit Preparatory School was founded in 1854 in Havana, Cuba by Queen Isabel II of Spain. The task of educating students was assigned to the priests and brothers of the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits), whose teaching tradition is synonymous with academic excellence and spiritual discipline. In 1961, the new political regime of Cuba confiscated the School property and expelled the Jesuit faculty. The School was re-established in Miami the same year, and over the next decade, continued to grow. Today, Belen Jesuit sits on a 30-acre site in western Dade County, only minutes away from downtown Miami.