Mother's Little Helper

He was one of those beautiful beautiful children that stand out in the crowd, that make people turn their heads to say, “Oh, how adorable! What a pretty child!” – an intelligent, well-spoken boy of five years old, Hispanic by birth but with a hint of that French Anglicization that added a touch of class and sweetness to his dark features.

This was Albert Garcia Rosa nearly 60 years ago, the youngest son of poor migrant farm workers who moved to California from Mexico and who could barely feed themselves, let alone the kids - but the kids could work too, so let them have their fun in the fields making some money, and be a good boy, Albert, mind your father, even if he might have a drink too many or a few too many, he works hard too doesn’t he? Why shouldn’t he be able to kick back and relax with a drink at the end of the day? No money for food anyway, even if he didn’t piss away the rest on booze.

And who could blame old Rito Rosa for humoring the old couple who owned the farm when they offered to “make it worth his while” to take his son Albert off his hands and raise him as their own? The old couple couldn’t have a child, and the Rosas certainly couldn’t afford all those kids anyway – seven mouths to feed, and barely enough money for liquor for Rito? Albert was so pretty, such a beautiful boy, who wouldn’t want to meet him, take care of him, raise him up right?

Rito was up for it all right, but Mary, poor Mary, she didn’t want to see her youngest son go away – she never would have let them take him – but she scrubbed him and dressed him in those new itchy pants that Albert had never worn before and that he hated so much, and she sent him up to the house at the top of the hill for his date with his new parents. Well, they would have never actually been his new parents, Mary assured, but children are expensive, and better to let young Albert live the life he deserved, with proper settings for the table – salad fork, soup spoon, cloth napkins, that other fork and that other spoon – than live in poverty as was surely his destiny.

They spoke some Spanish, sang some songs, and played the piano. At the end of their date, the old couple drove Albert back down to the Rosas shack, but not before asking him, “Would you like to come live with us?”

“No,” he said, “I think my brothers and sisters need me more,” and sure enough his brothers and sisters, who thought they might never see little Albert again after his big date at the house at the top of the hill, surrounded him and hugged him and were glad to have him home.