I distinctly remember the morning of January 6, 1958, just before I was to turn four years old. For days, if not months, I had been warned to be good since the three wise men—los magos—were keeping a close eye on everything I did and said. I didn’t have a clear picture of who they were. However, I was told that they dressed in fine golden robes and wore jeweled turbans and crowns on their heads. The tales went on with Father saying that they’d arrive riding their two camels and one shinny white horse. All that spectacle and fanfare certainly mattered, but what I cared about the most was trusting that they’d leave behind an endless number of toys. I tried to force myself to stay awake the night before so I could see them come in, but sleep overcame my resolve.
Rising early before the sun broke through my bedroom window, I jumped out of bed and walked through the shadows to the door’s threshold. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes until they had fully adjusted to the dark, I was thrilled to discover the mountain of toys waiting for me. And with all the furniture pushed aside, los magos had created a path for me to walk through the wonders there in front of me—my reward for being good, though I didn’t exactly know what being good was.
Nothing was wrapped. Instead, each toy was placed on top of its box, making it easy for my gaze to bounce from one toy to the next until I saw the bright-red concrete mixer. I rushed to it. Back and forth, I rolled it on the floor to make the drum spin. But when I noticed the cowboy set laid out on a chair waiting for me, I dropped the mixer immediately. I liked cowboy things because watching those shows on TV was one of the few things that Father and I ever did together as father and son.
Without delay, I tied the orange bandanna around my neck, fastened the thick-buckled belt that held a gun at each side, and pulled the fringed gloves on. With my white cowboy hat perched atop my head, I was one of the good guys.
Busy in my happy thoughts, I didn’t notice Mother, Father, and Tía Cecilia entering the room until I turned around and saw them standing right next to me, just as the sun cut through the open blinds, spotlighting the joyful tears running down Mother’s face.
I was content. I was satisfied. In that quiet moment, I didn’t want or need anything else in my life.