Billy the Kid.

I don’t care who you are and where you come from, somebody helped you get to where you are today. For me, it was many people who had a hand in helping me see what was possible and helping me stay on track, even after getting off course. I cannot count how many have had their hands in mentoring me and guiding my life, but what I can tell you is who gave me everything. Enter Billy the Kid.

Dear Billy, lol. I think it is funny that I call you that because that is one thing that I remember about you when you took me and my family in and made us yours. Many years ago in the Dominican Republic, a young mom, her son, and two other little girls were about to board a plane (not a boat like some of you may still think) to make it to the United States of America, the land of golf courses and tennis, so we thought based on the images we were being fed through our eyes. I fully expected to land and be welcomed by whoever married my mother. Even though I had a blue passport, you managed to bring the family over to live the immigration dream in America which, unfortunately, looks much different today.Yo, pensaba “no se quien es este tipo pero vamos” (that’s called Spanish ;) for the small percentage of you that do not know that black and brown people also speak Spanish).

Billy the Kid shows up and I was like, “huh!?” Why is this gardener looking dude that looks like he was also working on his car laying on cardboard out on the street hugging my mother? Wait, is this William (who I was secretly calling Billy the Kid cuz of the western movies I enjoyed at a young age, plus Billy is short for William, so I learned)? Handyman William and the fact that there were no golf courses around our trailer park bummed me out. “Well, it’s him”. As that started to sink in so did the fact that the time machine I would often play in actually worked but this time it shot us to America where I quickly learned about color racism, actual rednecks, and what’s a redneck without the KKK. Yes, that would be the Ku Klux Klan. You can read more about that on this link (link).

I began my life in this country with a stepfather since my biological one was being a fuck up somewhere in Venezuela (actually I don’t know if he was actually doing that, I just grew up thinking that because I’ve never been in contact with him, don’t even remember him to be exact). I heard that mom had to defend herself after he tried to hit her and homegirl threw a hard Vicks Vapor rub little blue bottle at him. You know, the type that you can hold like a grenade and (boom) right in the side of the head. He must have forgotten that she was actually tough. I don’t condone violence but a man should never hit a woman. So good job, mom. So we left Venezuela and we headed back to the DR (that’s short for Dominican Republic for those of you who may not be up on DR slang). Billy the Kid all of a sudden had the task/inherited responsibility of making sure that I stayed out of jail (you know, the not being white thing) and he preached to me that no matter what I was doing, to be passionate about it. (Sorry Billy, I cannot give you complete credit for teaching me how to be passionate, that’s a God-given gift). However, I can and will credit you for me being the man I am today. If you know me, like really know me, you have seen or experienced that I listen with more than just my eyes. Recently, I’ve been thinking who was truly influential in my life; who should be given credit for building and guiding me from the get-go. Who should be admired for helping me the most, giving me, buying me, not telling on me, beating the shit out of me, loving me besides you, Billy, and you never expected anything.

I remember being interviewed years ago and being asked who my hero was. The interview happened around the time when I was half the man that I am today (which was only like five years ago, actually). I answered, “Billy the Kid is my hero because until he came into my life, I had no real male father figure to look up to” (to read more about that click here and read (all of my women). Billy, I’ve never told you this and I know you don’t have an iPhone like most do, you prefer your $12.99 trap phone (before it was called that), so Mami, (for you that listen to too much reggaeton, this is not the same type of Mami that they talk about, it’s my mother) please read it to him.

William, you the real MVP, dawg.

You made sure that my mother was a mother to all of us crazy kids. You made sure that she was able to stay at home to look out after us. I mean, when we came into the US, I think they may have skipped us when they were handing out the Welcome to the USA, Land of the Free and Home of the Brave workbook (because they don’t give one out). You practically killed yourself trying to make us all happy. You’ve done this all of your life and have never gotten much credit for this (that’s called manning up).

You have always taken care of us even when you didn’t know what the fuck you were doing. But you were there, yelling from the top of your lungs is what people thought you were doing, but to us, that was just your normal voice volume. We got used to it eventually.

You were either the godfather of the IDGAF club or you were just in love with the Lord so much that you needed to sing so loud in the church choir that the entire church heard your tone deafness but whatever - you killed it (lol). You were the loudest singer in the entire world and you did not care how bad you were. And of course, you were in the church choir so every Sunday we alllllll got to hear how bad you were. But damn, you tried so hard.

When I would have a nightmare or the monsters in the closet were out to get me in the middle of the night, I would just go in your room with my pillow and blanket and lay on the floor in your and my mom’s room. The first time you found me you almost killed me, yes, but then after that, you would just pick me up and lay me on the bed. Many of those actions made me trust that you cared.

You bought me my first bike. A yellow bike that had matching yellow pads with black stars. I was very pumped about that because then I could do wheelies by Veronica’s house to see if she would like me. It worked, so thanks.

You taught me all about work ethic because I would always need to/have to work harder than the others. You taught me the meaning of keeping your word, which seems to be a lost art these days. You worked and still work your ass off. Always. Work ethic and keeping my word are probably two of the skills I use on a regular basis. I remember riding my bike around our neighborhood and finding a lawnmower that I took and towed home (you know, gotta be resourceful ;). Well, you taught me how to fix a mower and that became my first job, mowing lawns in the neighborhood for $8.00 a lawn (front and back of course).

You are the reason why I never really wanted to find my biological father and you did a very good job of raising me. You, who never went to college, worked a number of jobs at one time so I could have a safe living environment, and even though you have many faults, I look at myself and think about everything you gave me that money couldn’t buy. I wish I was like you in many ways.

Not sure if there is a place with white pearly gates, but if there is, you’re going to be a longtime resident.

I’ve always hesitated going to Venezuela to go look for this fool called my biological father partly because you were doing such a good job with us. That is, until recently. During the holiday season I made the decision to go and travel to Venezuela to go meet him with who else, my mother. Don’t worry, I’ll tell him all about you ;)

Well done, William (aka, Billy the Kid). Look what you built. Thank you.