The Catracho Kingdom wouldn’t suffice in just telling you “about me”.

To fully understand the paradigm of where someone comes from requires the tales that came within the script that runs us. The DNA. The DESIGNED & NOTED ANCESTRY.

Many Women ago..

In the Womb of the Womb,

Descending from a German- Honduran parenthood, the mother of my mother I picture as a sweet yet powerful woman. My grandmother from what I was told was an incredibly kind and wonderful woman. I believe she was a force of nature; To bear seven children and run away many women from the very charming grasps of my grandfather speaks volumes. In a country where one had to rise before the sun to begin the creation of business, often in form of tortillas. I was raised to the tune of “My mom made me go to market with her and sell tortillas before school so I don’t want to hear your crying!”

My abilities to have the life and luxuries I have came from the unfathomable suffering of my ancestors as they forged forward in a country that to this day rest on the scale as “third world”. Poverish. Poor in economy but as I am to find, very rich in culture and prophecy.

My Grandfather, “The General”, as he was known throughout town was a bear of a man! Not one gray hair did I ever see, mind you he dyed it weekly. But he was a tall, wonderfully pot bellied fellow that walked with attention and commanded every room in which he was present. I would remember him as the man that walked with a machete on his hip and in a single swoop would slice the top of a coconut, pop a straw into it and hand it to me. The tastiest sweetest milk ever made would come from the coconuts given to me by my grandfather. He was a coconut harvester and as I would come to find, a drunk, for a portion of his life. Of course the members in my family would come to learn from many habits and lessons. By the time I was of age and meeting him, he would be sober and renowned for adopting orphans. He would find boys that at the age of eleven had already become alcoholics and sober them up. He would hire them to climb the trees and house them as if they were his own sons.

My grandfather, a charming man would be the excitement and entertainment of any room. No wonder the many woman always on the whisp of his wink.

My Mother; A combined force of all natures. She has all the sides of both parties. She has the irresistible charm of my grandfather combined with the nurturing grace of my grandmother. Mother was a game changer. She changed not only her own future but the course of life our family would take.

As the tales were told. My Grandmother died of Voodoo. I would come to find that quite a bit of magic runs through the currents of our family. As the story goes, during one of my Grandfather’s stoopers, he would have one of his mistresses at the house. My grandmother would walk in on them and true to form, she would run the woman out of the house. I imagine this happening with a broom or pan in her hand. This woman, the mistress, would seek out the dangerous dark magic to curse my Grandmother with an illness that would bring what seemed an unstoppable woman down. A walk down the road one day, coming from the market, in one instant my Grandmother would find a sharp pain stop her day and succumb her to the bed for the remainder of the day. She would grow even more ill over the course of the next few days. The fact that no one but her family knew she was ill would bring even more mystery to an ominous man showing up on the doorstep and promising to cure all her ills. I picture him tall and cloaked of course.

He would perform a craft on my Grandmother that would turn the fates of her health even darker. He turned to the children, my mother being a mere 12 or 13 at the time and instruct them to force her to drink a series of “oils”. To this day, unknown what they truly were but even if they were regular medicinal oils…what happens to oil over heat?

After commanding the children to pin my Grandmother down and force her to down these mysterious oils, “You cant let her throw it up”, he said. This mystery monk would wrap my Grandmother in linens and place her in an enclosed room and lay her over hot coals. Thinking of the oils coming to a boil in her guts and literally frying her insides.

Upon the family realizing this man was not helping her but helping murder her, they rush her to the hospital. The doctor would inject something into her spine paralyzing her and ending her life. Diagnosis marked as Leukemia.

Crazy, huh? Like what a wild series of events.

Later we would find that the shameful mistress had been the culprit. Paying off not only the Oil Man but the Doctors themselves. Ending my Grandmothers life was only the beginning, since now there were seven children left behind with the, at the time, only one semi-responsible parent.

The children would be separated to various houses.

My mother at the ripe age of 13 was betrothed to a man who would not only state to marry her, but to bring her to the United States. This liberty was said to be an involuntary action as it was said he threatened to kill her brothers if she did not leave with him.

So it was. At the keen age of 15, my Mother was brought to a small town in Texas. Staying in a tiny trailer not allowed to go anywhere, she would sneak out of the house. While the men were away, she would enroll herself in high school and return before the evening hour. Climbing in and out of the window was routine, as was doing her studies in the middle of the night under a single small lamp. It wouldn’t be until she collapses in gym class that she would find out that she was four months pregnant. A consequence to the one of the many unwelcome actions that happened while sequestered in a trailer in Texas.

So I was born in Texas.