This book is dedicated to the precious memory of my loving brother, Carlos Acosta. He taught me how to take care of things.

Preview audio:

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“Wake-up, Ramon, wake up!” said my mom as she touched my shoulder. It was that time again, five-thirty in the morning. This was the time that I had to start getting ready to go work in the fields and be there by 6:30. Summers were pretty much the same, Monday through Friday, working ten hours a day, chopping and hoeing weeds in the cotton fields. What made it even more challenging was doing all this work under the hot sun of the summer days! Clouds were our best friends, because on occasion, we would get some shade.

This was the way of life for my family. My brothers, Carlos, Chon, and Manuel Jr., and my sisters, Mary and Josie, spent many of our days working in the fields to help our family. Our entire family needed to work in order to earn enough money to help support the family and to help my dad so that he could buy us school clothes and school supplies. My dad was grateful for the work of chopping weeds, and farm owners needed their cotton to be free of weeds come harvest time. The way I saw it, we helped the cotton industry by ensuring the fields were free of weeds.

With our very own hoes that Dad gave us, I chopped each weed with pride. I made the most of the hard days by daydreaming and listening to music with my small pocket radio. Since I was nine years old, my summers were just as I described, except for one dreadful year that I will never forget!

Before I tell you about the year I’ll never forget, let me tell you why we worked on farms and not in the city. My father was a migrant worker. A migrant worker is someone who works jobs that are found mostly on farms such as picking cotton, harvesting vegetables, and picking grapes and other fruits. These types of jobs don’t really require a formal education or even a high school diploma, and they don’t pay a whole lot either!

My father, Manuel, was a very smart, honest man and a hard worker. He was the oldest of seven children. In order to help his dad, my grandfather, he only went to school until the third grade. He never learned to speak English, but he did this work in order to help support his parents and brothers and sisters. When he grew up and got married, he wanted to make sure that his children had the opportunity to go to school.

The jobs my father worked on were seasonal, meaning they were jobs that lasted only a few months. If a job ended, he would find another and then another. Sometimes, it was necessary to move to other places or farms to get work. Because he had to follow the job opportunities, we had to move from one school to another. I remember moving to three schools in one year! Being a migrant family, we lived in seven towns while I was growing up, but my parents always made sure that we never missed school.

Now, let me tell you about the year I will never forget! It was the end of summer, and I was so excited for school to start! I was about to be a fifth grader at Jefferson Elementary School. Fifth graders were not just the older kids at the school, but they were the only students that were in charge of being school patrols.

Being a school patrol was a huge honor. As a fourth grader, I couldn’t wait to be a patrol. You see, patrols wore a white belt with a real shiny badge. The belt went around the shoulders and the waist. Patrols were responsible for letting students and parents cross the street. Each patrol carried a sign that was used to stop traffic.

The principal, Mr. Teske, trusted his patrols and knew them by name because he appreciated their help. So, on the first day of school, I was up early and decided to sign up to be a patrol first thing! My thought was that if I was the first one to sign up, I would be the first patrol on duty.

Before school, my mom always had breakfast ready for us. She prepared us scrambled eggs, beans, chili con carne with homemade tortillas, and sometimes as a surprise, sopapillas! But, I was so excited to sign up, that I quickly made myself a burrito of eggs and beans and quickly told my mom that I was leaving early for school. My mom probably thought I left early because I was nervous for the first day, but you know the real reason!

My dad drove our truck to his job location, so my brothers and sisters and I had to walk to school. It took us about twenty minutes to get there. By the time I arrived at school, I noticed that so many students were already there. I entered the building and headed straight to the office. As I neared the office, I noticed there was a long line of students waiting by the principal’s office.

There seemed to be at least thirty to forty-five students in line already! I also noticed that some of the students were fourth graders. I thought to myself, “Could this be the line to purchase lunch tickets? Could the sign-up line for patrol be somewhere else?” I decided not to get in the line and to go ask the secretary where the sign-up for patrol was.

Mrs. Wilson, the secretary, was not the friendliest person. As I was about to ask her where the sign-up for patrol was, she looked at me and pointed her finger and said, “Young man, you need to get to the end of the line! You cannot cut in!”

“But Mrs. Wilson,” I said, “I’m not buying lunch tickets, I just want to sign up for patrol.” She stared at me and again told me to go to the end of the line. I was confused and wasn’t sure what to do. Luckily for me, Mr.Teske, our principal, saw me and gave me the news that made my heart sink!

Mr. Teske noticed my confused expression and walked towards me. His glasses were always sliding downward, so when he talked to you, his eyes gave you the feeling that he was upset. “You need to get in line,” he said. He looked at me again, and as his fingers touched his chin, he remembered who I was from the previous school year.

“Wait, I remember you. You are the student who doesn’t like cheese, and you never eat all your food.”

I was so embarrassed, and yes, I was really picky about the food I ate. What was served in the cafeteria was not that appealing, and I especially didn’t like cheese. In the cafeteria, Mr. Teske would stand by the trash containers and check our lunch trays making sure we ate all, or most, of our food served at lunch. Some of the cafeteria food just looked a little strange to me. Mr. Teske didn't understand that I was just used to Mom’s food; tacos, burritos, chili con carne, frijoles, tortillas, and hot salsa!

I dreaded emptying my tray because our Mr. Teske would always make me go back to the table and eat a little more. There were times when I wanted to throw-up from forcing myself to eat foods I didn’t like. As you probably guessed, the worst part of the day for me was eating lunch! I was forced to come up with a creative solution to get through lunch. I managed to find a way to sit next to my friend, Pablo, who was twice as big as I was and LOVED to eat. If I didn’t like something on my tray, he gladly ate it. We were best buddies in the cafeteria!

My mind raced from thinking of the cafeteria to waiting in line to sign up for patrol. Mr. Teske pulled me to the side and told me that the line for patrol sign-ups was the long line I saw when I entered the building. “But Mr. Teske," I said,“that cannot be the line, because there are fourth graders in it!” Mr. Teske looked at me a little annoyed and gave me the worst news I could have imagined! He told me, “Ramon, you must not have received the information that went out to parents, but fourth graders are now going to be allowed to sign-up for patrols at Jefferson Elementary.”

I didn’t know what to say, or think, or ask. Mr. Teske went on to tell me that fourth graders would be on patrol in the fall and fifth graders would be on patrol in the spring. Now, I had to wait until January to be a patrol. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper. But, I made myself go to the back of the line. Just like everybody else, fifth graders, and yes, fourth graders, I signed up for patrol.

I kept busy in the fall, trying not to think too much about the patrol situation, but it was hard not to. Every morning and afternoon, fourth grade patrols would make vehicles stop so that we could walk across the street. Some patrols looked at me, and it almost seemed as if they were making fun of me. I was probably just frustrated, and I knew my day would come!

To pass the time, I studied and studied, and on Saturdays, my family had to go to the cotton fields and pick cotton. Talk about hard work! First, I had to pull long sacks made of heavy canvas, then I picked the cotton to fill the sacks. When it was full, I put the sack on my shoulders and took it to the weigh area. Finally, I had to climb a ladder with my sack of cotton and empty it into the open trailer. And guess what, after all that, I had to do it all over again! That might explain why I really loved school!

Later on, as I grew older, I learned to appreciate my parents for having me work hard at such a young age because I appreciated being able to go to school and not having to work day in and day out like my father had to all his life.

The second semester came, and we returned from our Christmas break. It was called a break, but as you probably figured out, I had to work, even in December! This time, it was trimming fruit trees and on occasion, helping my father at the cotton gin (a cotton gin is the place where all the cotton that is picked is gathered, compacted and converted into bales of cotton to be shipped to manufacturing companies that make clothes or anything made of cotton).

My excitement for coming back to school in January came from knowing that my week of becoming the school patrol was near! I had a pretty good idea that I would be the first patrol chosen for fifth grade. Why? Because my last name begins with “A”, and I’m usually always first in assigned seats, roll call, etcetera!

The office had a special bulletin board strictly used to list the patrols for the week. The names of the patrols were all printed in large black letters. I went straight to the bulletin board and read the names of the patrols for the week. My heart was beating fast with excitement! I saw the first name; Melanie Vasquez. “Hmmm,” I thought, “maybe they will let a girl go first.” I read the second name; Abraham Saenz. I didn’t understand what was happening. The other two names listed were not even close to having an “A” in their last name!

I quickly went into the office and asked our friendly, not so friendly, secretary why my name was not on there. “Who are you young man?” asked the secretary.

“My name is Ramon, I mean Ramon Acosta,” I said proudly. I added, “Are we not supposed to go in alphabetical order?” The secretary looked at me, smiled, and then told me that Mr. Teske decided to begin naming patrols with the last letters of the alphabet to the first.

What was gong on? It seemed like everything was against me! Could it be that I wasn’t meant to be a patrol?

Every Friday, I would check the bulletin board to see if my name was on the list. Finally, two weeks before school was out for the summer, my name was on the list for being the school patrol. I must have stared at my name for an hour before heading home. I couldn’t run fast enough! I was so excited to tell my mom that I was finally going to be the patrol at school!