On the kitchen table were two new lunch boxes, one red and one blue. Phillip claimed the red Flash Gordon lunch box with the rocket on it and went outside. I got the blue one with Roy Rogers, my favorite cowboy, riding his palomino horse Trigger. Trigger was rearing and Roy had a rope in his hand which spelled out his name. I couldn’t read the name but I knew who Roy Rogers was. Something was hand written on the lid of the lunch box but I couldn't read that, either.
Mom opened it up to show me a sandwich neatly wrapped in wax paper. Next she opened the little thermos so I could see it was filled with milk. The thermos had a bright blue plastic cap that matched the lunch box. It too, had a picture of Roy Rogers. She gave me a hug. "Make sure you pay attention to everything the teacher says and do what she tells you to do," she told me.
Phillip and I began our walk to La Luz Elementary. We crossed Second Street and walked along the main irrigation ditch, la acequia madre, to get to school. The ditch system is allowed to empty out in fall but now, in the first week of September, the acequia still brimmed with water. With thick grasses and cattail reeds lining the water's edge the acequia looked like a stream, not a man made ditch. Phil expertly threw a large rock and it landed in the water with a solid plunk. I threw what I thought was a rock but it hit the bank and broke apart. Phillip glanced briefly at my dirt speckled clothes and face and kept on walking.
In less than a mile we came to the narrow bridge we crossed to get to school. We stopped in the middle and leaned over the railing. In the water below minnows swirled and a small muskrat made a sudden dive. I followed its furrowing shadow as it swam up the acequia, its beautiful summer home. Sunlight sparkled and glinted off the water and the pungent scent of sunflowers filled the air. Instead of cars we heard the songs of birds and flowing water. It was a magical world I could’ve stayed in forever.
Like San Jose Elementary, La Luz served mostly working class Hispanic neighborhoods but this community was far different than the deteriorating one we’d recently moved from. The north valley was a singular mix of urban and rural; expensive homes next to much older adobe homes; farmhouses, fields and orchards side by side with small industrial areas. Its diversity was reflected in the land use around the school itself. On the south side was a field with a late planting of alfalfa. On the north was a medium-size ditch lined with tall cottonwoods. But to us the school’s west side was the best of all, where Dave’s Five and Dime was, next to busy Fourth Street. To get directly to Dave’s from La Luz the only obstacle was a small ditch which we easily jumped over.
My first day in first grade was exciting but confusing. Phillip left me at the doorstep of my class. “When the bell rings, class starts. I’ll see you for lunch,” Phillip informed me before walking off to join friends.
The first thing Mrs. Velasquez did was take roll call. When she said our names we had to stand up. Billy Jean, Mike, Jose, Maclovia, Edward. I waited for her to say my name, Lee. When the teacher called Edward a second time and I still didn’t answer she walked over to me.
“Aren’t you Edward?” she asked.
I looked up at her. “No,” I said softly.
“Yes, you are.” Mrs. Velasquez looked mildly surprised that I didn't know my own name. She walked to the closet where the lunch boxes were stored and brought mine back with her. “Is this yours?” she asked and I nodded. With an index finger she tapped the letters written on the lid. “This says Edward,” she explained. “You are Edward.”
“Oh.”
This must be a game they play in first grade, I thought. You get a new name when you come to school. I didn’t tell her my real name was Lee because I was too shy to say anything.
The entire morning Mrs. Velasquez called me Edward. I was slow to answer her because I’d never been called that before. At home everyone called me Lee, while in Grants and Belen my grandparents called me Eduardo. Coming from the mouths of Spanish speakers it sounded nothing like Ed-ward, at least to a child. I sat quietly in my seat hoping Mrs. Velasquez wouldn't look my way again. It was a confusing day and I was relieved when school ended.
Phillip was waiting for me outside the classroom and we started walking home along the ditch. I figured my older, smarter brother would know why the teacher insisted on calling me Edward so I asked him, “What’s my real name?”
Phillip kept walking. “Don’t be stupid,” he said over his shoulder.
I really needed to know what was going on so I decided to ask my mother as soon as I got home. We brought our lunch boxes in and put them on the kitchen table. Phillip said, “Hi Mom.” He took a warm tortilla from the stove and went outside to play.
“How was your first day at school, mijo? Did you eat your lunch?” This most important room in our small house was filled with the wonderful smells of red chile and beans. I loved my mother’s cooking and normally, eating her freshly made tortillas each afternoon was one of my favorite things to do.
Knowing that, she was steadily rolling them out but I couldn’t eat, I was too troubled. I needed to know who I was.
“Mom, what’s my name?” I asked. I pointed to the letters on the top of my lunch box. “What does this say?”
Her answer surprised me. “It says Edward R. Gonzales. Your full name is Edward Robert Gonzales.”
“But isn’t my name Lee?”
“That’s your nickname, mijo. That’s the name we like to call you. You have two names, one for home and one for school."
The first day of school turned out to be an important one for me because I found out what my real, official name was. For the rest of my education the kids at school called me Edward and the kids from the hood called me Lee.