I first met Lalo in 1962. As you already know, I was “the new one” and, apparently, my presence was not at all welcome at first. According to my Mother, Lalo wandered around the house saying, “I want to hit something!” while punching the living room couch pillows. Besides, as would be necessary, one of our first encounters only served to get him into trouble.




            Lalo told me that one day he went into the room where my crib was and he peered into it to study me a little more closely. He took a rattle that was in the crib and began to shake it in order to amuse me. Naturally, he dropped the rattle, it hit me on the head and I began to wail like crazy. My Mom and everyone else in the house rushed in and scolded him for having “hit” me.

            There isn’t a single memory of my childhood at home without Lalo’s presence. We watched TV, played and, of course, fought constantly. He probably couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I know I followed him everywhere and that, occasionally, he’d invent “games” that inevitably ended with some scene on my part. I remember he once said we were going to march and that I was going to be the general. We started marching all around the room, me in front, until he said, “Go on out to the living room”. The moment I walked through the doorway, he slammed the door behind me. What did I do? Howl, of course. I spent a great part of my childhood crying, screaming and telling on Lalo. My Mother says the daily mantra was “Mommylookatlalo!!” Just like that, all in one word and accompanied by tears and howls.

            But I also took revenge. For several years I got in the habit of biting him. Every time he made me angry I would sink my teeth into him with a ferocity that now embarrasses me and makes me laugh at the same time. I would latch on to him like a crazed ferret while he screamed in pain and tried to pry me lose any way he could. But, as far as I can remember, he never hit me. He’d try to shake me off, call out to my mother, grab my head to get me off him, but he’d never hit me. In the end, he came up with a brilliant idea.

            One day, after one of the classical biting sessions, he told me, “That’s enough! I’m calling the dog pound to have them pick you up!” With that, he grabbed the phone, dialed who knows what number and said, very angrily, “Is that the dog pound? Yes, I want you to come and get my sister because she’s always biting me. Very well! Thank you!”He turned and said, “That’s it! They’re coming for you in a little while!”

            I remember I froze with panic. I started to cry and begged him not to let them take me away. I promised I’d never bite him again. Finally, he gave in and used the phone again. “Is that the dog pound? Don’t come for my sister, she’s promised me she’ll never bite me again.” And I never did.

Susana Olivares Bari