F
frank12
Guest
As many know, i have a brother who is full Dominican. He and i share the same father, but have different mothers. He is such a unique, funny, crazy, intelligent, weird, frightening, and adventurous man that i eventually got around to writing his life story.
He made such an impression on people here in Ohio when he arrived in 1972 that his reputation proceeds him wherever he goes. He's a big man....as tall as he is wide, as stronger as he is smart. In high school, he was a math genius and star running back. He won a full ride scholarship to play football, but chose the Army instead.
He was an excellent boxer and won a lot of money when the Tough Man competitions came to Ohio in 1983. He was also hyperactive and prone to jumping off of things, but at the same time could solve any math equation; he especially excelled at calculus and derivatives.
I'll share several chapters here from the book i just wrote about him. If you feel like it's too much of a plug for the book, feel free to delete it. (on the cover of the book are photos of him boxing so that you can get an idea of what he looks like)
Chapter 5 (Hunting for Dinner)
When Papin first arrived in America, he looked like Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies. The first time I saw him he was holding several dead Canadian geese while standing alongside our Dominican father. At this point Papin did not speak English. He did not wear shoes. In fact, before landing in the USA, he’d never worn shoes. He’d gone barefoot or worn sandals like all the other impoverished Dominican kids growing up in the 1950’s and 60’s.
We lived on Rockford Avenue, near Julienne High School, in the Five Oaks neighborhood of Dayton, Ohio when Papin arrived in 1972. It was the first week of January and 30°F outside. Papin was standing in the snow, barefoot, holding onto the Canadian geese he and my father had caught by hand.
It was very odd to see someone standing barefoot in the snow in the wintertime.
Both Papin and our father, Federico, had stopped at a state park on their way home. My father had been excited to show Papin how easy it was to catch food in America. They grabbed so many Canadian geese they ended up giving quite a few away to our neighbors.
Our crazy neighbor, no stranger to hillbilly ways or hunting for survival, approached and said, “Looks like your father has caught too much dinner again.”
It was so easy to catch dinner that neither Papin nor my father could understand why the parks in Ohio weren’t jammed full of people picking up fast food. How could Americans just drive past well-fed Canadian geese, ducks, turtles, rabbits, and squirrels? People coming from Third World countries were very excited by the wild ducks and geese standing alongside the road. Papin and my father couldn’t believe their luck. This experience left such an indelible impression upon my brother that he refused to “pay” for meat for the rest of his life.
In the Dominican Republic, wild animals do not stand alongside highways, roadways, or parks. And Dominicans are always hungry. So, in their eyes, only an idiot would ignore free food waiting to be grabbed and cooked.
Neither man understood the logic of driving past free food any more than they understood the logic of the concept of “hunting seasons.” To a person from a Third World country, every day is hunting season. For my father and brother, hunting season was seven days a week, twenty-four hour a day. And so was fishing season. They never understood the concept of paying for a fishing license. They simply opened their eyes and looked around. If there was deer, fish, geese, ducks, or fish in the vicinity, then it was hunting or fishing season.
I remember standing in our garage watching my father and brother pluck feathers from Canadian geese and ducks while a huge pot of boiling water simmered in the corner. Our neighbors were in shock at the amount of food my brother and father brought home and cooked every day.
Neither my father nor brother understood that there might be consequences from taking “free food” (their term, not mine) from state parks, lakes, and rivers. They believed animals were for eating. Papin ran after Canadian geese and ducks barefoot, killed them, and plucked out their feathers as easily as someone else might pick dandelions in their front yard.
For someone from a poor country, driving past free dinner was incomprehensible, a form of decadence. They believed that only millionaires or very stupid people would drive past wild Canadian geese and ducks and not take them home for dinner.
It wasn't long before my father and brother Papin started bringing home road kill as well. Neither of them could drive past fresh road kill—especially deer—without stopping their car and putting as much as they could into their trunk or on the roof, or securing it to the front hood like a hood ornament. They were like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and Dayton seemed to them like Whoville. They simply couldn’t believe their good luck.
Sometimes my father would stop at a phone booth to phone my mother and ask her to start the water boiling. They were so eager to get home and eat they could barely contain themselves.
After learning English, Papin began telling the other kids at school about his experiences back in the Dominican Republic. He’d done a lot of crazy things to survive in that Third World country. But no one believed him. His stories seemed far-fetched. The other fifteen year olds had no clue what goes on in a Third World country. For them, hearing Papin’s stories was like watching Twilight Zone.
Most people—including Papin’s teachers—considered Papin’s stories to be fabricated and grossly embellished. They thought he had an over-reactive imagination or was high on drugs.
He made such an impression on people here in Ohio when he arrived in 1972 that his reputation proceeds him wherever he goes. He's a big man....as tall as he is wide, as stronger as he is smart. In high school, he was a math genius and star running back. He won a full ride scholarship to play football, but chose the Army instead.
He was an excellent boxer and won a lot of money when the Tough Man competitions came to Ohio in 1983. He was also hyperactive and prone to jumping off of things, but at the same time could solve any math equation; he especially excelled at calculus and derivatives.
I'll share several chapters here from the book i just wrote about him. If you feel like it's too much of a plug for the book, feel free to delete it. (on the cover of the book are photos of him boxing so that you can get an idea of what he looks like)
Chapter 5 (Hunting for Dinner)
When Papin first arrived in America, he looked like Jethro from the Beverly Hillbillies. The first time I saw him he was holding several dead Canadian geese while standing alongside our Dominican father. At this point Papin did not speak English. He did not wear shoes. In fact, before landing in the USA, he’d never worn shoes. He’d gone barefoot or worn sandals like all the other impoverished Dominican kids growing up in the 1950’s and 60’s.
We lived on Rockford Avenue, near Julienne High School, in the Five Oaks neighborhood of Dayton, Ohio when Papin arrived in 1972. It was the first week of January and 30°F outside. Papin was standing in the snow, barefoot, holding onto the Canadian geese he and my father had caught by hand.
It was very odd to see someone standing barefoot in the snow in the wintertime.
Both Papin and our father, Federico, had stopped at a state park on their way home. My father had been excited to show Papin how easy it was to catch food in America. They grabbed so many Canadian geese they ended up giving quite a few away to our neighbors.
Our crazy neighbor, no stranger to hillbilly ways or hunting for survival, approached and said, “Looks like your father has caught too much dinner again.”
It was so easy to catch dinner that neither Papin nor my father could understand why the parks in Ohio weren’t jammed full of people picking up fast food. How could Americans just drive past well-fed Canadian geese, ducks, turtles, rabbits, and squirrels? People coming from Third World countries were very excited by the wild ducks and geese standing alongside the road. Papin and my father couldn’t believe their luck. This experience left such an indelible impression upon my brother that he refused to “pay” for meat for the rest of his life.
In the Dominican Republic, wild animals do not stand alongside highways, roadways, or parks. And Dominicans are always hungry. So, in their eyes, only an idiot would ignore free food waiting to be grabbed and cooked.
Neither man understood the logic of driving past free food any more than they understood the logic of the concept of “hunting seasons.” To a person from a Third World country, every day is hunting season. For my father and brother, hunting season was seven days a week, twenty-four hour a day. And so was fishing season. They never understood the concept of paying for a fishing license. They simply opened their eyes and looked around. If there was deer, fish, geese, ducks, or fish in the vicinity, then it was hunting or fishing season.
I remember standing in our garage watching my father and brother pluck feathers from Canadian geese and ducks while a huge pot of boiling water simmered in the corner. Our neighbors were in shock at the amount of food my brother and father brought home and cooked every day.
Neither my father nor brother understood that there might be consequences from taking “free food” (their term, not mine) from state parks, lakes, and rivers. They believed animals were for eating. Papin ran after Canadian geese and ducks barefoot, killed them, and plucked out their feathers as easily as someone else might pick dandelions in their front yard.
For someone from a poor country, driving past free dinner was incomprehensible, a form of decadence. They believed that only millionaires or very stupid people would drive past wild Canadian geese and ducks and not take them home for dinner.
It wasn't long before my father and brother Papin started bringing home road kill as well. Neither of them could drive past fresh road kill—especially deer—without stopping their car and putting as much as they could into their trunk or on the roof, or securing it to the front hood like a hood ornament. They were like the Grinch Who Stole Christmas, and Dayton seemed to them like Whoville. They simply couldn’t believe their good luck.
Sometimes my father would stop at a phone booth to phone my mother and ask her to start the water boiling. They were so eager to get home and eat they could barely contain themselves.
After learning English, Papin began telling the other kids at school about his experiences back in the Dominican Republic. He’d done a lot of crazy things to survive in that Third World country. But no one believed him. His stories seemed far-fetched. The other fifteen year olds had no clue what goes on in a Third World country. For them, hearing Papin’s stories was like watching Twilight Zone.
Most people—including Papin’s teachers—considered Papin’s stories to be fabricated and grossly embellished. They thought he had an over-reactive imagination or was high on drugs.