Searching for my PB and J Sandwich: My American Dream

By Aramis Jordan

Embark on a gripping journey through the extraordinary life of Aramis Jordan in Searching for my PB and J Sandwich: My American Dream. This memoir unveils a childhood marked by an alcoholic mother's abandonment and a teenager's rele

• Language: English
• Publisher: Manuscripts LLC
• Release date: Sep 17, 2023
• ISBN: 9798889267393

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Searching for My Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

Searching for My Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

My American Dream

Aramis Jordan

Copyright © 2023 Aramis Jordan

All rights reserved.

Searching for My Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich

My American Dream

ISBN

979-8-88926-738-6 Paperback

979-8-88926-739-3 Ebook

To my sister Adelina Gonzalez Choco, even though our lives took different paths. I will always be grateful for your love and support in our early struggles.

Contents

Introduction: Are you going to do it?

Chapter 1. The Early Days: Growing Up in Bartolo

Chapter 2. The Move to the Big City

Chapter 3. Adjuntas and Abandonment

Chapter 4. Juan Valdez Time

Chapter 5. The Hospital

Chapter 6. New Beginnings

Chapter 7. The Trip to the United States’ Mainland

Chapter 8. The Challenges of Utica

Chapter 9. Back in Leominster

Chapter 10. Becoming the Kid with a Powerful Kick

Chapter 11. High School

Chapter 12. The Jordans

Chapter 13. My First Love Lost and Abandonment

Chapter 14. The Journey to the Jordans

Chapter 15. Normal Life… Finally

Chapter 16. Here Comes College

Chapter 17. Adoption

Chapter 18. Back in Leominster for Good

Chapter 19. Conclusions and Lessons

Acknowledgments

Introduction: Are you going to do it?

My wife, my partner of ten years, finally asked me to put pen to paper and share my story. The idea had lingered in the recesses of my mind for years, but the memories were difficult to revisit. However, as I gradually opened up to her and grew more comfortable with my past, she helped me realize my experiences were not isolated.

Others out there have endured the pain of abusive and alcoholic parents, just like me. They need to know they are not alone, broken, or fundamentally different. They need someone to hold their hand, someone to guide them toward a life of healing and hope. With each passing day, my wife reaffirmed her belief that my life story could make a difference. It could be a beacon of light for those who are lost in the darkness of their own struggles. Through my words, I could offer solace, encouragement, and the message that there is always hope.

The journey of writing this book has been a rollercoaster of emotions. Memories long suppressed resurfaced, bringing both pain and healing. I have bared my soul on these pages, sharing moments of triumph and despair. I hope that by sharing my own vulnerabilities and victories, others will find the courage to face their own challenges and embrace the power within them.

This book is for you, for me, and for all those who yearn to break free from the chains of their past. May it be a source of comfort, inspiration, and empowerment. Let us embark on this journey together, knowing we are never truly alone.

This book serves as a testament to the power of dreams. It chronicles my journey, marked by struggles and challenges, but it is also filled with determination and hope. Through each stage of my life, I discovered the strength within me, fueling my resolve to pursue my aspirations.

I do not intend to portray myself as exceptional or unique. Rather, I want to demonstrate that the power to overcome life’s challenges and obstacles is within each and every one of us. Regardless of where you are on your own journey, I want to inspire you to believe in the extraordinary potential that resides within you.

So, as you turn the pages of this book, remember your dreams are within reach. Embrace them wholeheartedly, nurture them with unwavering determination, and never let anyone or anything divert you from your path. Your dreams can become your reality, and I am here to remind you that it all begins with a steadfast belief in yourself.

Let me lead you through the intricate web of my life, beginning with my youth on the island of Puerto Rico. There, I found myself entangled in a series of challenges burdened by the weight of a single parent whose struggles with alcoholism cast seemingly inescapable shadows. The relentless cycle of abuse and abandonment became my harsh reality.

Yet fate brought me toward a new chapter as I embarked on a journey to America, where fresh obstacles awaited. I confronted the daunting task of assimilating into an unfamiliar culture, grappling once more with the harrowing specter of alcoholism and abuse. Certain parts of my story stir emotions within me, making it difficult to reveal my vulnerabilities.

I implore you to recognize that every twist and turn in life occurs for a purpose. Regardless of the hardships hurled your way, take comfort in knowing it is not the culmination of your world. Lessons can be learned from each experience for nurturing your growth and fortifying your spirit. Embrace the resilience that dwells within you, for it will serve as your guiding light through the darkest of times.

As you immerse yourself in the chronicles of my life, may you come to understand the timeless wisdom woven within the tapestry of human experience. Through the tribulations I have weathered, may you find inspiration and newfound strength. Each one of you holds the capacity to explore and relish your own version of the quintessential peanut butter and jelly sandwich—an emblematic symbol of the American dream for me, embodying the boundless opportunities that lie before you.

As I sit here today, I realize my dreams have evolved over the years. I no longer yearn for the picture-perfect house with the white picket fence and a couple kids playing in the yard across the street. Instead, I find myself incredibly grateful for the beautiful home I share with my wife of ten years and our eighteen-year-old son, together with our three rescue dogs. In fact, I adopted our son, which fills my heart with joy and pride.

Looking back, I can’t help but reflect on the path that has brought me here. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’m grateful for the people who have supported and encouraged me along the way. I feel blessed to have achieved a level of success that many would consider significant: graduating college and starting several successful businesses.

At the end of the day, though, I’m most grateful for the love and support of my family. They remind me that success is not just about material wealth or professional achievements, but about the love and connection we share with one another.

Finally, I want to share with you a profound lesson that my own life experiences have taught me: strangers can enter our lives unexpectedly and extend a helping hand when we need it most. It may seem surreal, almost like a miracle, but we must open ourselves to others and embrace it as a true blessing.

As I began writing this book, something extraordinary happened. I found myself surrounded by what I can only describe as angels. I know it may sound strange, but bear with me. These angels don’t have wings or name tags, and they never announce themselves as such. But I believe we all have them—people who show up in our lives and extend a helping hand without hesitation. My angels come in all shapes and sizes, from my big sister to a stranger carrying a coffee sack who appeared out of nowhere to save my life.

As you embark on this book, open your heart and mind to the possibility of their existence. Embrace the notion that these individuals are waiting patiently to accompany you on your journey. They may appear as friends, mentors, or even chance encounters. Their purpose is to provide support and wisdom when you need it the most.

Let us begin this remarkable exploration together, celebrating their power. Through these pages, may you find comfort, inspiration, and the reassurance that you are never truly alone. Open your heart, and allow their presence to illuminate your path, guiding you toward a future filled with hope, strength, and the realization of your dreams.

Chapter 1

The Early Days: Growing Up in Bartolo

I came into this world in a small Puerto Rican town known as Bartolo, part of Ponce, the second largest city on the island. For the first five or so years of my life, this place was my entire world. Bartolo was a close-knit community centered around a coffee mill, with no major industries to speak of. The locals made their living by farming the lush coffee fields that surrounded us.

As a child, I recall seeing only seven houses in the area, each one owned by the mill owners and rented to workers. It was a simple way of life, but one that felt comforting and familiar to me. In our own small house where I lived with my mother and sisters, Choco who was my only biological sister, and Enid—my half-sister—was just a baby. The house was constructed out of coconut bark. The back of the house had holes where the coconut bark had dried up, so animals like squirrels, snakes, and rats would sometimes crawl in scaring me, especially at night.

One afternoon, as my mother was cooking dinner in the kitchen, I sat in the living room with my two sisters. The sun shone through the windows, casting a warm glow on the walls.

This house is falling apart, my sister Choco—who was just two years older than me—said, looking at the holes in the back wall.

I know, I replied. But it’s all we have. I did not know any other life and was grateful for what we had.

My two sisters and I shared a room. Three beds took up most of the space, but we managed to make it work. As the only male in the family at the time, I was lucky enough to have my own bed.

Despite living on a tropical island, the nights could be surprisingly cold. Our walls were like paper, offering no insulation, while the tin roof offered little protection from the rain. When it rained, it was so loud we couldn’t hear each other speak.

Get the pans; it’s leaking again, my sister Choco would say, as we heard the telltale sound of dripping water. We quickly would scurry around the house, trying to find every leak and place a pan underneath. Sometimes the roof had so many leaks that we had to watch the rain drop to the floor and use towels to catch water.

Despite the challenges we faced living in that small, crumbling house, it was still our home. Many memories were made there, some good and some not so good, but we will get to that later.

I’ll never forget the outhouse we had back then. Reaching it required a long trek through the dirt, and the floor needed to be tilted, so the water could run off when taking my once-a-week shower. Don’t forget to bring the soap! my mom would always remind me. I’d roll my eyes and set off on my way, trying my best not to slip on the muddy path.

As I walked, I couldn’t help but notice the stunning scenery around me. The mill area was surrounded by lush greenery, with towering palm trees swaying in the breeze. I could hear the soothing sound of the river nearby, its water flowing steadily over smooth rocks.

Eventually, I’d reach the outhouse and take my shower, trying to use as little water as possible. By the time I returned home, my feet were already dirty again. Tizon, wash your feet before coming in! Tizon was the name given to me because you could always find me playing with dirt outside. When Mom yelled from the kitchen, I’d groan and make my way to the basin, feeling grateful for the simple pleasures of clean water and a roof over my head.

Living close to the river, our house was built on wooden posts, and I always found it thrilling to watch the water flowing over the bridge during heavy rainfall. The sound of the rushing water was like music to my ears, even though the neighbors always warned us about the dangers of living so close to the river. They worried the water would reach our house and wash it away, leaving us with nothing.

When it rained, the river near our house would overflow. This sight was scary. The water rushed down the riverbed, filling it up quickly. The once calm and peaceful river turned into a raging, muddy force. I remember standing on the banks, watching in awe as the water flowed by. It was like a different world, with the trees and bushes and everything in its path being swallowed up by the rising water.

The older folks in our community knew the dangers of the river all too well, and they would warn us kids to stay away. Don’t get too close now, you hear? That water is powerful, my neighbor would caution me. But avoiding being drawn to the mesmerizing sight of the water flowing so quickly was hard.

As much as we tried to resist, we always ended up getting too close. One time, I remember slipping on the wet ground and almost falling in. This moment was scary, and I quickly scrambled away from the river’s edge. The older folks were right, and I knew I had to be more careful next time.

During those times when the water rose, we had to leave the house and climb up the hill nearby where we could be safe. I remember how the water dampened the basement of our house—which was more like a cave—and how it smelled of earth. It had no foundation, just dirt, and my sisters and I used it to play.

Next to our house was a concrete slab, about the size of a basketball court. Many of us kids used to play there a lot. It was the only other area to play, besides the woods or the river. The slab belonged to the mill and was used for drying the coffee.

I used to spend hours playing inside the coffee mill. The piles of green coffee beans were like a giant playground, and my friends and I would jump in and out of them, pretending to be cowboys and Indians. Then the coffee was roasted. The aroma of freshly roasted coffee was amazing, filling the entire place. I can still remember the sound of the machines that removed the skin and washed the beans. They made a loud, clanking noise that echoed through the mill.

Once the coffee was washed, it was spread out on a concrete slab, and we were not allowed to play there until it finished drying. My friends and I would venture into the woods to be pirates, climbing up the mango trees and building makeshift tents with whatever we could find. We ate mangos until we were full, and sometimes the older kids would come to pick them up and sell them by the main road.

I loved being in the woods, surrounded by the trees as well as the sound of the river flowing nearby. It was so peaceful, and I could spend hours exploring and imagining different adventures.

During this time in my life, I look back and realize how good it was. Not because everything was perfect,