July 17, 1990 – A small Hispanic woman lies in bed , dreams of coffee and arepas floating through her head, unaware that the small creature that has been leeching off her life supply for the past nine months has decided that its time to kick his way out of that mother-flipping joint. She wakes up, slams her feet to the floor, clenches her muscles with all her might, and screams at her still-sleeping husband to get the car ready. This boy was being born at the hospital if it was the last thing she did.
July 18, 1990 – Ten hours later a baby boy is born, the light shining through the window upon his small hands and furrowed brow as at 2 minutes of life he is already understanding that which has escaped scientist for ages. His parents smile and hold him up high knowing that he is destined for great things. God smiles upon this young boy.
10 minutes after this I was born, 11 pounds 8 ounces, the biggest baby in that particular hospital during that particular month, a smudge on the face of the world.
June 24, 2008 – Almost eighteen years later I sit before this computer, my skin so white that the glow of the screen gives me an impressive tan. I am to the very tip of my tongue an elitist, and I don’t mind saying it. I was raised on Mr. Rogers and Lambchop’s Sing-a-Long, which contributed to my docile and peaceful nature until ninth grade when I met Mister Leu and became quite the douche bag. I read a lot and don’t care much for people who think that Twilight is good literature. I’m an Eagle Scout, have spent countless nights under the stars and countless miles hiking but I couldn’t light a fire for the life of me and fear spiders like they‘re the devil himself. I enjoy my cheddar cheese and sour cream ruffles with fruit punch and spend late nights watching The Office. I memorize the lyrics to any song that catches my ear and can recite one hundred digits of pi in a heartbeat. I don’t do sports, and although I was born in Argentina, I am nowhere close to being the next Maradona.
I don’t know what I want to do with my life.
I don’t know what I want to do when I get to college.
Quite frankly I don’t know what I’ll be doing within the hour.
But that’s the way I roll. Uncertainty keeps me on the edge of my seat. Spontaneity is my holy grail. All I know is I want to be, as Leu most eloquently put it, “that kind of dad who kids immortalize, old crabby ladies fear, and hot elementary teachers want to screw.” I want to be remembered as that guy who really didn’t care but still made a difference. I want to be a suburban connoisseur so I can show my kids my ramblings when I was coming into adulthood. I want to be a legend in college and a beer pong champion. I want to be epic my whole life, but most importantly I want to be Lukas Alexander Ruiz, and no one else.