“But that year, the one I was born, he was busy in New York City. Wired us money & a name in his stead. Told Mamá to call me Camino.” —Elizabeth Acevedo,
I have just faint memories of my father prior to my arrival in the US from the Dominican Republic when I was 10 years old. It was also then that I found out my dad had been keeping my two half-sisters a secret. My parents were married and my mom already knew. Why she stayed with him is not a mystery, but that’s another story.
Meeting my half-sisters for the first time was awkward, to say the least. My dad took me where they lived – three blocks away from our apartment. I met their mother, who was nice to me. Vanessa and Stephanie were still dressed in their school uniforms which told me they were in a Catholic private school. I was shy, but perhaps a bit intimidated because they would speak English to each other and I couldn’t yet understand the language. Adding salt to the wound, I had been placed in a nearby public school and was moved down to the fourth grade, from fifth, where I had been in the DR.
When I listened to Elizabeth Acevedo’s I felt an instant connection. The description alone evoked feelings I hadn’t had in years. It describes the story of two sisters who had been kept a secret from each other by their father; Yahaira in New York, and Camino in Dominican Republic. It hit too close to home.
Camino’s story resounded with me most. Acevedo describes the beauty of the island, devoting verses to Camino’s love for swimming in the warm Caribbean Sea. The Callejon neighborhood where she lives, reminds me exactly of where I grew up. Further, Acevedo portrays Camino’s economic hardship in detail showing us what it’s like to live on the island, something I’m acutely familiar with. In the DR, my mom worked, but really, we survived on remittances from my father and aunts and uncles who had already migrated to the US. Camino has lived with economic insecurity even as her father paid for her schooling, and when she finds out about Yahaira’s existence, Camino is rightfully angry because Yahaira has led a privileged life, while she has had to struggle. I felt the same when I saw my half-sisters attended a private school, while I did not.
Growing up in a household knowing my father had another family caused a great deal of hurt. The betrayal was something I thought I would never let go of, but I had to. Clap When You Land resonated with me in a way that I never expected. Acevedo goes to the heart of the Dominican spirit showing how we grieve, love, connect and ultimately, forgive. I forgave my father. Even weeks after my initial listen, not a day goes by that I don’t think about Yahaira and Camino. —Edwin De La Cruz
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