#tb 5 years ago…

Bradford Ramon Antonio, age 11

brad 2011

There he sleeps, that child of mine. I’m sure he’s dreaming about all the things he wants to do in his young life. His innocent life. His right-now life.

Sunrise to sunset, that kid is on-the-go either physically, or mentally, or (of course) both those things at once.

The minute he hops out of bed, he puts on his favorite baseball cap. Angels! At the same time his feet begin to shuffle. Swish! He slides his left foot across the wooden floor, kicking it straight out in front of him. While that foot dangles in the air he quickly raises his knee, and just as quick he stomps that foot back down. The other foot takes its turn and begins to also stamp. Now both feet are shuffling back and forth. He spins his body, grabs the brim of his cap and twirls it backward, then forward again in a rapid, smoothly-planned motion. His whole body is moving. His feet are gliding, stamping, and being raised high off the ground. The techno music in his head eventually stops, so then does his dancing.

He settles on the couch, waiting for a hot cup of tea. While he waits, his fingers, all ten of them, begin to intertwine. His hands move as if they are dancing. A hand dance. His arms shoot out as his hands continue to twirl, round and round. His arms twist around each other, like slithering snakes; his fingers continue to lace loosely together, then apart, and his arms maintain their own motions, to ensure that the fluidity of the dance is just right. The hand ballet stops when he reaches for the sugar-and-milk-filled cup of tea.

He’s a DJ. He uses the computer to spin a record, to jumble the original music in an interesting way. He adds voice overtones to create definition, character to the song. The techno music adds a certain flavor to the whole effect. He works it, over and over, in various ways. Both his hands are moving rapidly, spinning up, spinning down, spinning to the right, spinning to the left. Then his feet begin to shuffle. All his skills are joined together into one fantastic show. His motions don’t stop until the music does yet, his heart still sings. He knows his skills are working, working the crowd. He knows because they all scream for more.

So sleep well, my son, sleep well. Dream your dreams. Tomorrow is another day. Tomorrow is another day you can move. Another day to perfect your real-life ambitions.

19 is number one

We were standing at the front door of our This could be it! future home. The owner was expecting us. Around two in the afternoon. We were about five minutes early.

“So the deal is, if we like the house, we’ll squeeze each others hand. Agreed?” I reaffirmed with Rudy.
“Agreed,” he confirmed.

Knock. Knock. Went Rudy’s hand. Strong on one of the front double doors. Half circles on the top of each. Wooden slats separating four panes of glass, shaped like slices of pizza.

Whoosh! We could hear the pull of air as a tall gentleman opened the door. Wide. Greeting us. With a bright, shiny smile. He stepped aside. Gestured with his hand to come on in!

In we went. Smiles on our faces, too.


We had only taken two or three, maybe four or five, steps into the entryway when, at the exact same time, Rudy and I squeezed each others hand. Tightly. Making sure we were remembering our agreed upon agreement.

Then we looked at each other. And smiled.

We knew. Right then. Only a few feet in, that this was the house we wanted. The house that would belong to us. For a long, long, long, long time.

Today marks 19 years living here. That feeling, the squeezing of hands, never wavering.