There are certain memories that become like childhood scars that will forever stay, just like the one I have on my left shoulder of a vaccination I got when I was a child. I don’t remember what it was for. What it was preventing, that, is certainly forgotten. It’s there and I always believed that all humans carried with them the scar of a shot that prevented a certain illness on a shoulder–until– until I came here, to the United States. Here I saw bare shoulders scarred free. The comical thing to me now, is that whenever I saw someone bearing a spot of shiny dime size skin on their shoulder, I thought, well, they must be Dominicans! My 10 year old self was so cute then!
This particular memory, the one I’m about to tell you, it’s one that I tell the story of every year around this time.
I was born twice.
Ok, not really– I mean, seriously, couldn’t I come up with a better line?
I have two birth days!
And this is no exaggeration.
I was born, according to my mother, January 7, 1984.
I was also born, according to my birth certificate, January 15, 1984.
Make sure you tell people that your birthday is el quince de Enero, January 15th, my mom would always tell me.
And I, well, I never really questioned why I would always get hugs and kisses on the 7th, but had to tell important people that I was born the 15th. When I finally wondered why in this world was I the only child with this particular problem I finally asked:
Mami, porque?
Why, you may wonder? Well, from what my mother tells me in between giggles, it turns out that the place where I was born– and I say place because I’m not sure if I was even born in a hospital (it is all a mystery)– you didn’t fill out the paperwork (?) on the day your child is born. So yes, I was really born the 7th from what my mother remembers. But on the 15th? That was an interesting day for my dad.
You see, my dad — may his spirit dance un buen merenguito with baby Jesus in heaven– did not go to school. And trust me, this is something I’m really not ashamed to admit. My dad never learned to read and write. He did learn numbers, which later in life helped him understand if he won the lotto ticket or not. Many of my fondest memories with him is sitting on our dining table helping him perfect his signature. He would look up triumphantly as he finished making a swirl on the tail of the A on Azcona. If you would picture the face of a parent after uncovering a peek-a-booed-face, that was my dad’s face.
Whether or not this has anything to do with January 15, 1984, I have no idea. When my dad went to fill out my birth certificate he did not remember that I was born on the 7th.
Dude, my dad forgot when his daughter, his only daughter, was born!
I ain’t mad though. Sometimes I don’t know ANYTHING! It happens!
When I picture my dad, that day of January, on a sunny day– or maybe it was raining and as his horse galloped to the office (?) where he would register his second child, his first and only baby girl, maybe, maybe there was too much rain that stressed him out so much that he forgot. Despite whatever the day’s condition, I picture him walking in to this baby registration office and asking if someone can help him fill out a birth certificate. And someone lead him to a desk where a person sat behind a typewriter asked him for these facts:
Nombre: Julia Esmeralda Azcona
Padre: Julio Azcona
Madre: Juana Azcona
Lugar de Nacimiento: San Jose de Las Matas, Republica Dominicana
Fecha de Nacimiento: _ _ / _ _ / _ _ _ _
Maybe he scratched his head. Maybe he thought, well, it was certainly some time last week, but when? Maybe, the person behind the typewriter grew impatient, because maybe, my dad was too stressed because of all the mud on his pants from riding a horse all the way to the office while raining and the man behind the typewriter suggested to put down today’s date? And what’s today’s date? My dad would ask, today is January 15, senor.
And thereby was stamped with a metal seal my birth certificate! Not with the right date, but the date my dad rode his horse to this baby registration office. My dad happily galloped back home holding in his pocket a thin piece of typewritten form that my mother later unfolded while holding me on a rocking chair and when she saw the date of my birth she asked my dad why? And he raised his hand up in the air as he often did with a smile on his face, and said, eso no e na’. That’s nothing! And my mom laughed while she rocked me to sleep.
This is the story I’ve been told, but I added what I imagined my dad did that January 15, 1984. I don’t really know if he went by horse, but my memories of him are mostly of him and his beloved horse.
Who knows what really happened? Who knows if I was really born the 7th? Who am I? What am I doing here?
The important thing is that I’m here! I think
Today is my birthday. It has been a lovely snowy day. It has been a normal day. I have turned 27, though it will be official the 15th. And though it was just like any other day, I have thought of my dad all day more than ever. I miss him so much and I hope that I make him smile with the scrapbook of memories I keep of him in my heart and mind. Lord knows, its been hard not having him around.
So grateful for the camera that captured this.
Happy 27th Birthday to me!
by Julia Azcona
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