Carly+C.

** This I Believe Essay By Carly C. ** media type="file" key="carly.mp3" My great grandfather was a Puerto Rican immigrant who came to New York City in the early 1900's. He came to the United States for opportuny. He was a construction worker who built many of the sky scrapers there. As a child, these short stories were eye opening to me. Even movies as big as Titanic were made out of stories from the survivors, society's elders. I believe in stories from my ansectors.

I can sit all day and listen to stories told from my elders. Some of the most comforting voices are those scrachty, tired, worn vioces from the elderly. It seemed like just yesterday that I was young, impatient, and so bored at my Grandfather's house. I wanted to go home. I remeber the moan of the 70's air conditioner. It was such a stale machine, I beleive it is time to send it to its grave. Their house had the classic "old person" smell, mixed with the sent of my grandma cooking her spicey puerto rican rice. I remember my grandpa stumbling his way to his favorite rocking chair. My Grandpa began to tell a story, stuttering and mumbling. The alzhimers got the best of him, he forgot why he was there. My grandpa could not finish his story. My mom noticed the issues, and came over to help. Her story was one of my most memerable family tales.

My mother's family visited relatives in Puerto Rico often during the summers of her childhood. One of my favorite stories was of my mom and uncle trying to escape a bull on a cow pasture. In Puerto Rico, my mother and her brother Roy thought that it would be a good idea to get some coconuts from the neighbor cow pasture. It was the perfect setup, so they thought. The rest of their family back in New York, except for there grandparents, who had lived there. Grandma was in the house, cleaning as she did everyday, and Pop, was in the fields tending to his crops. Nobody would know if they crossed the durt road into the neighbors yard. Once they got over the fences and into the yard, it was Roy's job to shimmy up the coconut tree, Roy was good at that. He made it to the top of the tree in minutes. My mom cuasiously stayed on the ground. As Roy chopped the coconuts down, the only person who noticed them cross the property line, began to get raged. My mom knew there was a bull in the yard, but thought he was too far away to mind their intrusion. The noise of huffing and snuffy were spine tingeling. My mom looked into the distance and saw the bull begin to charge. My uncle grabbed all the coconuts he mangaed to cut, he wasn't leaving without them. They made it over the fences, body parts and coconuts intact. Later that night, Roy was beaten for trust passing, stealing, and diturbing the bull.

My mom and Roy revisited puerto rico many times after being chased by the bull. my grandpa still tries to tell stories, occationaly succeeding. Stories can take you back in time, to all different countries in different eras. Tales from my ansectors are magical and enlightening, this, I beleive.