Mystery Of The Stupid Morons-Personal Narrative Analysis

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An essay on the one time my family apartment was broken into while we were away on vacation and how I solved the Mystery of the Stupid Morons. Appeared in The New Yorker, June 13, 2011

All the Dominicans I knew in those days sent money home. My mother certainly did. She didn’t have a regular job outside of caring for us five kids so she scrimped the loot together from whatever came her way. My father was always losing his forklift job so it wasn’t like she had a steady flow ever. But my mother would rather have died than not send money back home to my grandparents in Santo Domingo. They were alone down there and those remittance, beyond material support, were a way, I suspect, for Mami to negotiate the absence, the distance caused by …show more content…

Two, maybe three hundred dollars. But in Santo Domingo of those years, in the neighborhood in which my abuelos lived, that 300 smackers was the difference between life with meat and life without, between electricity and stone age. All of us kids knew where that money was hidden too—our apartment wasn’t huge—but we all also knew that to touch it would have meant a violence approaching death. I, who could take the change out of my mother’s purse without even thinking, couldn’t have brought myself to even look at that forbidden …show more content…

My one and only case.

The next day at the pool the dolt announced that someone had broken into his apartment and stolen all of his savings. This place is full of thieves, he complained bitterly and I was like: No kidding.

Took me two days to return the money to my mother. Truth was I was seriously considering keeping it. I’d never had that much money hand and who in those days didn’t want a Colecovision? But in the end the guilt got to me and I gave it to her and told her what had happened. I guess I was expecting my mother to run around in joy, to crown me her favorite son, to at least cook me my favorite meal. Nada. She just looked at the money and then at me and went back to her bedroom and put it back in its place. I’d wanted a party or at least to see her happy but there was nothing. Just 200 and some odd dollars and fifteen hundred or so miles — that’s all there

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