Little Toy Soldier
Eight year old Joaquin was sprawled out on the living room floor, drawing a special picture for his dad in front of the fireplace that was used for keeping the house warm on the colder evenings in San Angel.
Meanwhile, his mom was in the kitchen, standing over a wood burning stove, working on the sopa.
When he finished drawing, he wandered into the kitchen and saw her sprinkling all kinds of spices into the pot, while keeping the food in a stirred fashion.
"Mom, when will Dad be home?"
"Soon, Joaquin. Why don't you go back into the living room and listen for him?"
"Okay! I can't wait!"
He resumed his spot in front if the fireplace again, and waited. Sometimes he just wished his father would quit the military. Although, he saw his father as a hero, and wanted to be great like him, sometimes, he just wanted to play.
He stared at the ceiling for about 30 minutes; then he heard footsteps on the porch. Joaquin ran to the door with excitement and opened it like it was a birthday gift. His smile was wide; his father wasn't at the door.
There was a soldier there. He looked just like the ones his father trained; maybe he'd tell him a few army stories if Mama allowed him at dinner. Why was he here before his dad, anyway? Maybe he arrived early.
"Hi, mister army-guy. Did you get here earlier than my dad? Was there a lot of people at the train station?"
The quiet man just sadly stared down at Joaquin.
"I need to speak to your mom."
"Uh, okay; Mom! There's someone who wants to talk to you!"
His mom had the same emotion pattern; she ran to the front looking like a kid on her birthday, and frowned questioningly when she didn't see her husband. Only she knew why the man was here.
"Joaquin, go wait in your room."
"Why?"
"Because I need to talk with this man."
He was so confused. Why won't anyone tell him anything? Oh, well; as long as he's kept in his room, he could use that time to finish that home-coming picture for his dad. Little Joaquin loved drawing; he was super proud of this masterpiece he was working on. However, don't get the impression he was a child prodigy; he drew just like any other eight-year-old.
But his parents didn't see his art as a paper with scribbles. They saw a work of art that beautifully expressed his love for his family.
An hour later Joaquin finished as his mom walked in.
"Mom! You gotta see this picture!"
His little body scrambled over to her side as she sat down on his bed, and he eagerly handed it to her.
"You think Dad will like it?"
His mom almost instantly burst into tears when she saw it. It was a crayon picture of her husband bringing down the mighty Chakal in one stab. In large, green letters at the top, it said The Hero of San Angel.
"Why are you crying, Mom? Is my drawing that bad?"
"No, Honey, your picture is beautiful. It's just that I'm sad."
"Why?"
"Well, you see Sweetheart, Daddy's not coming home tonight."
"Well, when is he coming home? Tomorrow? Next week?"
"He's never coming home."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, your father has passed away; Chakal was just to powerful for him."
Joaquin didn't know what to do, anymore. His father had always been his hero, and a wonderful caretaker. Now he wasn't there anymore.
Years later, he became a hero of the town and began following in his father's footsteps. But it wasn't until he was willing to sacrifice himself for his friend, Manolo; it was then that he'd fullfilled his mother's wish of being her little toy soldier.