In 1984 I lived on 610 Walnut Street, a townhouse across the street
from the train station, in Highland Park, Illinois. I had gone to the
U.S. to visit some friends of our family, the Jennings, who lived on a
farm on the outskirts of Howe, Indiana. The Jennings had been in
Fortaleza, Brazil, my hometown, two years prior to my visit to the U.S. I
met them through a cousin, who worked as a receptionist in the hotel
where they were staying. Mr. Jennings was retired and was sent to Brazil
with his wife as a business advisor to a large plastic company here. In
1982, when they were here, I was learning English and was always eager
to meet Americans. I wanted to practice my English and in order to do so
I often invited them over for supper or took them sightseeing. By the
time the Jennings returned to the U.S. we had developed a good
friendship.
In 1984 they invited me to visit the U.S. They told me to fly to
Phoenix, Arizona, and then travel with them by car to Indiana. In March
1984 I left Fortaleza, Brazil, to the U.S. with $500 in my pocket. The
Jennings were waiting for me in Phoenix and from there we went on a
cross country trip, which included visits to Flagstaff, the Grand
Canyon, Santa Fe, Denver, Omaha, Amana, and Chicago before we made it to
their farm in Indiana. I spent about two weeks with them on the farm
and then I returned to Chicago, where I was supposed to catch a flight
to New York City to visit the Della Cavas, other friends of my family,
and then fly back to Brazil. My entire trip to the U.S. was supposed to
last four to five weeks. During my stay with the Jennings I completely
fell in love with the U.S. and did not want to return to Brazil so soon.
I was determined to remain in the U.S. in order to improve my English
and learn more about American culture. Thus, when the Jennings drove me
back to Chicago in order for me to catch my plane to New York City, I
took the opportunity to phone Chris, another friend of my parents’, who
had been in Brazil when I was a child. Chris had been a Peace Corp
volunteer in Brazil in the early 1970s and often came to our home to
talk to her parents through the ham radio. My father was a ham radio
operator and always helped Peace Corp volunteers get in touch with their
families since international phone calls were so expensive in those
days. I explained to Chris that I was in the area and did not want to go
back to Brazil. Noticing how sad I was to return to Brazil, she invited
me to stay with her and her family.
Chris and her husband Phil had adopted two children, ages 5 and 12,
from Colombia six months before I moved in with them. They lived in
Lisle, Illinois, in a nice house not too far from the Morton Arboretum.
Even though Chris, Phil, and the kids became an instant family to me, I
knew I could not stay with them forever. They were all in the process of
adjusting as a family and I knew I needed to find work and a place to
stay. One pleasant spring day Chris invited me for a picnic with other
families in the area who had adopted children from Colombia. I had no
idea that during that picnic I would find work and place to stay. There I
met Beth, a single mother with a nine-year old daughter, Lee, who had
come from Colombia two years earlier. Beth offered me a job as a live-in
babysitter, which I eagerly accepted.
They lived in Highland Park,
a suburban town in Lake County,
Illinois about 26 miles north of downtown Chicago. Beth left home early
every morning to take the commuter train to go to work downtown,
Chicago, and she needed someone to be with Lee since she left home so
early every morning. My job was easy: I only had to prepare Lee’s
breakfast and wait for her school bus. Once Lee was off to school, I had
free time to do whatever I wanted. I often went to Highland Park Public
Library, where I would spend hours reading. Around 3pm, I would go back
home to wait for Lee return home on the school bus. Once she was home,
we would go bike riding or watch TV together.
Since I had lots of free time in my hands, besides going to the
public library, one of my favorite pastimes was going to the train
station to watch people come and go. They fueled my imagination. Who
were they? Where did they live? Where did they come from? Where were
they going to? I watched them from afar during the week and on the
weekends I would ride the train with them myself. I loved taking the
train to go downtown Chicago, where I was always mesmerized by the
grandiose buildings. I also often took the train to go visit other
Brazilians, whom I had met during my ESL classes at night. They lived in
the other suburbs along Lake Michigan, such as Wilmette, Kenworth,
Highwood, and Lake Forest. Riding the train was a completely new
experience for me. I had grown up in a large city in Brazil with a very
poor public transportation system and had never seen a commuter train
neither a train station that was so absolutely clean, with bushes so
manicured. I would daydream there listening to WLAK FM Station play
Footloose, by Kenny Loggins,
Against All Odds (Take a Look At Me Now), by Phil Collins,
Missing You, by John Waite,
Dancing In the Dark, by Bruce Springsteen,
Girls Just Want to Have Fun, Cyndi Lauper,
Uptown Girl, by Billy Joel,
Stuck On You, by Lionel Richie,
If Ever You're In My Arms Again, by Peabo Bryson, among many others.
A couple of weeks after I moved to Highland Park, I opened a checking
account at First National Bank of Highland Park, where I could deposit
the money I earned as a live-in babysitter. Beth paid me $50 a week, but
dad often sent me $20 bills inside the letters he wrote me every week.
Sometimes I would spend a few bucks eating a hamburger with pickles
downtown, but besides that I did not spend much with anything. In 1983
the First National Bank of Highland Park had been featured in Tom
Cruise’s big break movie "Risky Business" and it was fun for me to know
that I had an account there.
Before the summer was over I had decided to take college classes.
Lake County Community College offered classes at night at its branch in
Highland Park. Since I did not have a student visa, I was only allowed
to register as a non-degree student. I enrolled in two classes: “Human
Growth and Development” and “Introduction to Psychology”. Once the Fall
semester started, I had classes twice a week, from 6am to 9pm, and loved
my experience as a student. I was amazed how well I could understand
the lectures and participate in class discussions. Even though I was not
working towards any degree, taking college classes brought me a lot of
fulfillment. In my “Introduction to Psychology”, I learned about Freud
and Pavlov among other things, and in my “Human Growth and Development”
class I had a chance to discuss about my worries and fears and what I
could do to grow with them.
1984 was my year of discovery. I had crossed the U.S., from Arizona
to Indiana, by car, had visited the Grand Canyon, seen Native Americans
in Santa Fe, New Mexico, visited the Amana Colonies in Iowa, spent two
weeks on a farm in Indiana, seen the Amish for the first time, spent a
week by the lake in Door County, Wisconsin, gone for a weekend in
Kalamazoo, Michigan, learned how to ride the commuter train to Chicago,
seen the beautiful Bahai Temple in Wilmette, Illinois, attended a summer
concert at Ravinia Park, entered a huge heart at the Museum of Science
and Industry in Chicago, gone to the top of the Sears Tower, drunk rum
and Coca-Cola for the first time, gone on a night out with friends on
Rush Street in downtown Chicago, visited the Chicago Board of Trade,
seen one of Frank Lloyd’s Wright’s house in Highland Park, and, to top
it all, had spent two weeks in New York City sightseeing. The U.S. had
truly captured my heart. I would have stayed there forever if I could
have. Unfortunately, my tourist visa only allowed me to stay for one
year. I had to return home, but I was certain I would return to the U.S.
one day and I did, five years later, in 1989.
