BARRIO NORTE 14 ST.

I became a Mexican at 13 when I went to live with my Dad. The year was 1979. My Dad had just bought and was still renovating a house just down from the corner of 14th St. and Washington near downtown San Jose. I was a bit of a pot-head and a budding troublemaker and too much for my Mom to handle with a 40 hour a week job. My timely expulsion from my racially un-diverse junior high in Los Gatos was what every one needed. I wasn't a bad kid I had just been untended a bit too long. Fell in with some bad kids. My Dad's backhand took care of that.

My Dad was a career cop who had a bit of a legend thing going on. All the cops I had ever met knew him and had a devoted type reverential awe towards him. Which was great for me in the coming years as it got me out of a lot of trouble in the coming years. Not serious trouble just stupid barrio kids stuff. My Dad and Mom divorced early and my dad had to moonlight a security job at the emergency room at the hospital down the block. He would work nights a lot but would always make sure we were fed and would usually swing by in his petrol car to check on us. 

Of Irish/German stock and on the shorter side I stood out in my new neighborhood, not to mention my ACDC tee, feathered long red hair and bell bottoms. I was a Stoner and a rocker from the other side of the valley.

I met the kid next door Eddie (Eduardo) and we hit it off immediately. He was of a lean wirey,  body type and had wavy combed back black hair. He was kind of a baseball jock which was the only alternative to the cholo look at the time. His parents were from Mexico and were doing well. His Dad was a garbage man in Palo Alto, a wealthy suburb of San Jose, and made great money. His parents would talk to Eddie in Spanish an He would respond in English. His Mom always had a bowl of home made refried beans and home made tortillas on the stove. The refried beans were not fatty at all and I have not found their equal yet.