Edgar Ruiz Jr.

Back in the summer of 1993, I was 12 years old, living with my mom in the Bronx, New York.

And she decided that she was gonna send me back to Puerto Rico to live with my dad for the entire summer.

You see, when wealthy kids act up, they probably get sent to boarding schools.

When New Eurekans act up, they sent us back to the island.

I wasn't a delinquent or anything like that, but let's just say puberty was hitting me really hard and my mama wasn't feeling me.

She divorced my dad when I was two and we left Puerto Rico shortly after for New York, leaving him behind.

As a child, I barely remember my pops.

Like the earliest memories I have of him are long distance phone calls from my birthday and sometimes on Christmas.

Now you could say that the summer of 1992 started off on the wrong foot.

Literally, the only pair of sneakers I took with me to Puerto Rico were stolen out of my suitcase at the airport.

So I had to wear flip-flops in the mountains for a few days until my mom, who was in New York, forced my dad to get me some sneakers.

Now, this is probably a good time to let you know that at the age of 12, I was already six feet, one inch tall, 230-something pounds.

and I wore a size 12 sneaker.

Not a lot of size 12 sneakers in the small town of Cabo Rojo, Puerto Rico, where I'm from.

So after unsuccessfully walking out of three discount shoe stores in town without a sneaker, my dad was heated.

He knew he was gonna have to take me to the mall and actually spend some money on me.

He was mad.

Not me though.

I was excited.

I'm a true city kid.