Not all my memories were bad, but the more I think about my life in Venezuela, I can't help but think only about them. Like the time I begged the lunch lady at the private school to let me eat for free because I was hungry. I didn't have money for some reason and I had to resort to begging for food. To this day I remember how small and inadequate I felt. Those felings never leave a person. I also remember when one of my parents friends took me by my legs and spun me around in the store. My head hit the corner of one of our display cases and nearly took out my eye. I still have the scar.
The store I keep mentioning is the only one I remember well because that was the one my mom usually worked in. It had a factory in the back which had rolls of fabric stacked all over and a sewing area where my mom's designs where produced by hand by an army of workers with sewing machines. The front had some display cases and a changing room. My mom always told me of stories of how I would go up to customers and tell them they were taking too long to decide and I would select the outfit. I don't have recollections of that, but it's my moms favorite.
One disturbing memory I had was of the time I received my first bicycle. I was at the store and one of the workers brought it in. I was so happy that I hugged and thanked the worker without acknowledging my mom at all. Althought I was being told that it was a gift from my mom, all I remember was the worker. I actually learned from that because I try to be with my children as much as possible because gifts can never replace the affection created by companionship. You see, this worker was always the one who would help my mom with any chore that related to me, and so as a child, my affection was always toward the worker.
Thursday, February 8, 2007
Tuesday, January 23, 2007
My Earliest Memories Part 1
I remember Caracas as a very poor and dirty place. My earliest memories are of me and my Mom at home in the back room leading to the yard. I was playing with blocks and my mom was ironing. The reason I remember this is because there was a large black moth above the door leading back into the house and I was afraid to go near it. I would just sit there and stare at it thinking that it would shoot something at me as I was crossing the threshold. I had to be no older than three at the time.
I spent a great deal of time in that back room. It was the place where the toys were so I naturally spent most of my time there. As a general purpose room, it also was where the cleaning and laundry supplies were stored, and as such it worked out well to have me play there while the laundry was being ironed and folded. I remember playing with the iron when no one was watching me. I was fascinated by the steam it produced from the bottom and was always looking to do it myself. Apparently I was also fascinated by electric plugs since I remember sticking a folded paper clip into an outlet in the room and electrocuting myself. As I remember it, the sensation was quite mild but the current flowing through my entire body was completely engrossing. I don't remember how many time I did this, but I know I did it at least once.
I also remember jumping off the roof of the back room while pretending to be Superman. I had the cape and all! I must have been around five at the time. Again, nobody was watching me so I figured that this was a good way to pass time. The room was one story tall so I must have jumped about 10 to 12 feet down. The funny thing was that I put cushions on the concrete path between the room and the grass to break my fall but I ended landing on the grass instead. I think it hurt but I don't remember. I do know that I only did this once.
The reason I had so much alone time was that while my Mom and Dad where working 14hrs a day at the store and factory, I was being watched by Columbian nannies which really had no interest in my welfare. Instead they left me alone, and as long as I didn't kill myself, they let me do what I wanted. I ate dog biscuits, wandered alone in the neighborhood, played with dead rats - you know, fun stuff.
In Venezuela, and in the tropics in general, everything grows big. The plants are big, the bugs are big, and the rats are the size of cats. Across the street from my house was a vacant lot with overrun grass and shrubs and that's where I would sometimes play soldier. I would run around making believe there were soldiers firing at me and I would evade their bullets by diving and jumping and then I would fire back and get them. Well, during these evasion maneuvers I would sometimes stumble on some dead rodent. Sometimes they were half eaten by local dogs, cats or mountain lions which would come down the slopes form behind our house, but most of the time they were just lying there dead. I would poke it with my rifle (a stick) to see if it was still alive or something but they never were. Usually at that point I would just look around to see if there were any more and call it a day.
Sometimes the nannies would take me for a stroll to the local park by our store on Savannah Grande. As I remember it, the park was a monument to the Bolivian Revolution or something. It had a giant reflecting pool in the middle with ornamental pillars along the perimeter. There were also elevated sections on the side and back which overlooked the main pool. They had winding stairs leading to them on which I used to roll my toy cars off. For hours I would play on my own with my toy cars while the local nannies gathered to do anything else but supervise the children. One time a small boy approached asking me if he could play with one of my toy trucks. As soon as I gave him my truck, he ran off across the street and that was it. I remember thinking that he was going to be run over, but he wasn't, and he got my truck. I was very upset, but this would just be the beginning. Over the years I saw my mom's purse stolen so many time that she stopped carrying any valuables in it and simply use it as a decoy. To this day most of her valuables are carried within the safety of her brazier and socks. Every time her purse was snatched I would just stand there crying, completely helpless.
I remember one time when I came home with the nanny only to find that it was in the middle of being burglarized. That was a scary experience for me because there was never such a sense of urgency or fear from any of my nannies before. All I know is that she ran out with me to the local health clinic and we stayed there for a while. Unfortunately, this was not the only time we were burglarized. I was later to find out that we were often burglarized by the boyfriends of nannies who were fired or even the local police. Venezuela was certainly a corrupt and scary place to grow up.
I spent a great deal of time in that back room. It was the place where the toys were so I naturally spent most of my time there. As a general purpose room, it also was where the cleaning and laundry supplies were stored, and as such it worked out well to have me play there while the laundry was being ironed and folded. I remember playing with the iron when no one was watching me. I was fascinated by the steam it produced from the bottom and was always looking to do it myself. Apparently I was also fascinated by electric plugs since I remember sticking a folded paper clip into an outlet in the room and electrocuting myself. As I remember it, the sensation was quite mild but the current flowing through my entire body was completely engrossing. I don't remember how many time I did this, but I know I did it at least once.
I also remember jumping off the roof of the back room while pretending to be Superman. I had the cape and all! I must have been around five at the time. Again, nobody was watching me so I figured that this was a good way to pass time. The room was one story tall so I must have jumped about 10 to 12 feet down. The funny thing was that I put cushions on the concrete path between the room and the grass to break my fall but I ended landing on the grass instead. I think it hurt but I don't remember. I do know that I only did this once.
The reason I had so much alone time was that while my Mom and Dad where working 14hrs a day at the store and factory, I was being watched by Columbian nannies which really had no interest in my welfare. Instead they left me alone, and as long as I didn't kill myself, they let me do what I wanted. I ate dog biscuits, wandered alone in the neighborhood, played with dead rats - you know, fun stuff.
In Venezuela, and in the tropics in general, everything grows big. The plants are big, the bugs are big, and the rats are the size of cats. Across the street from my house was a vacant lot with overrun grass and shrubs and that's where I would sometimes play soldier. I would run around making believe there were soldiers firing at me and I would evade their bullets by diving and jumping and then I would fire back and get them. Well, during these evasion maneuvers I would sometimes stumble on some dead rodent. Sometimes they were half eaten by local dogs, cats or mountain lions which would come down the slopes form behind our house, but most of the time they were just lying there dead. I would poke it with my rifle (a stick) to see if it was still alive or something but they never were. Usually at that point I would just look around to see if there were any more and call it a day.
Sometimes the nannies would take me for a stroll to the local park by our store on Savannah Grande. As I remember it, the park was a monument to the Bolivian Revolution or something. It had a giant reflecting pool in the middle with ornamental pillars along the perimeter. There were also elevated sections on the side and back which overlooked the main pool. They had winding stairs leading to them on which I used to roll my toy cars off. For hours I would play on my own with my toy cars while the local nannies gathered to do anything else but supervise the children. One time a small boy approached asking me if he could play with one of my toy trucks. As soon as I gave him my truck, he ran off across the street and that was it. I remember thinking that he was going to be run over, but he wasn't, and he got my truck. I was very upset, but this would just be the beginning. Over the years I saw my mom's purse stolen so many time that she stopped carrying any valuables in it and simply use it as a decoy. To this day most of her valuables are carried within the safety of her brazier and socks. Every time her purse was snatched I would just stand there crying, completely helpless.
I remember one time when I came home with the nanny only to find that it was in the middle of being burglarized. That was a scary experience for me because there was never such a sense of urgency or fear from any of my nannies before. All I know is that she ran out with me to the local health clinic and we stayed there for a while. Unfortunately, this was not the only time we were burglarized. I was later to find out that we were often burglarized by the boyfriends of nannies who were fired or even the local police. Venezuela was certainly a corrupt and scary place to grow up.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
My first post!
Wow, my first blog post! What should I say? Well, maybe an introduction would suffice for now. My name is Steven Elias. I was conceived in Florida to a Gail Fritz and adopted at birth in 1969 by my mother and father, Sophie and Solomon Elias. As an infant I moved to Venezuela where my parents, for over 25 years, ran a factory which produced women's and children's clothing for Macy's, Lerners and other big fahion retailers. They also had a retail operation of their own which was run under the name Fredericks. When my father died in 1975, my mother was left alone to run the business and raise me. It was very difficult undertaking which would completely consume an average human being, but being a holocaust survivor, my mother fought her way through the difficulties and eventually buried my father, sold the business and moved us back the the US in 1978 to be with her sister, Roma.
Roma lived in a humble split level ranch in Valley Stream, NY with her husband Nathan Obenzinger. Spanish was my first and only language and since we lived in a middle-class non-hispanic neighborhood, I had an incredible difficult time assimilating to my new environment. I went to the local public school and was beat up on a regular basis because they thought I was Puerto Rican. Eventually my mother had to transfer me to a private school so that I could have a more normal upbringing.
These formative years were very difficult for me and I think that I will elaborate on them in my next post.
Roma lived in a humble split level ranch in Valley Stream, NY with her husband Nathan Obenzinger. Spanish was my first and only language and since we lived in a middle-class non-hispanic neighborhood, I had an incredible difficult time assimilating to my new environment. I went to the local public school and was beat up on a regular basis because they thought I was Puerto Rican. Eventually my mother had to transfer me to a private school so that I could have a more normal upbringing.
These formative years were very difficult for me and I think that I will elaborate on them in my next post.
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