Testimony of an Angel
Introduction
I have only a handful of memories of my Daddy Oscar. He passed away when I was only seven years old and since then my life was forever changed. He died in a terrible mining truck accident, two weeks before Christmas in 1974. The truck accident that took the life of my Daddy Oscar was so bad, that the funeral had to have a sealed casket. I was so young that I was unable to really process emotionally what was going on. I remember everybody trying to be nice to me saying things like "He went to Heaven. Don't worry. He is okay now…" As they were saying that, I could see the surprise in the look of their eyes. They were surprised by how calmed I was. I even overheard someone say, "He doesn't look too upset or sad. Maybe he didn't love him that much."
That day at the funeral, I found nothing better to do than playing with my plastic cars, just like any other day. That was a surprise for many of the people that came to the funeral that day. Maybe on the outside I didn't look sad, but inside of my heart it was a very different story. As a child I couldn't understand why I was feeling that way. The only thing clear to me about that whole entire situation was the fact that I was not going to see my Daddy Oscar ever again, and that was sad, very sad indeed. For some reason I didn't cry, and I had only one feeling inside of my heart and that was, "Something went wrong. This was not supposed to be happening." Instead of crying or expressing my feelings I remember escaping to a deep place inside of myself. I didn't like what was going on around me, and to be honest, I don't know if I ever fully recovered from that loss.
The day of the funeral I saw my mom Nieves crying out loud, sobbing and almost fainting. I didn't know what to do. She was devastated by the loss and I wanted to comfort her, but I didn't know how. I really didn't know what to do or how I was supposed to act.
My mom Nieves and my Daddy Oscar were such a happy couple. They loved each other so much that I could feel how that love and respect for each other, and the love for their family filled every single square inch of that home. That same home that now seemed so different, so big, so empty.
This man, who disappeared out of my life when I was just a kid, has been by far the most influential figure of my life. I loved him so much, and I was so happy around him. I looked up to him as if he was the greatest hero on Earth, and the most incredible thing about my Daddy Oscar was the fact that he was not my biological father. My daddy Oscar was a coworker of my biological father, and at a time when my biological mother got really sick, he offered to take care of me until my mom got better. That's how I got the chance to spend some time with my daddy Oscar and his lovely family, a family that I will always be thankful for caring so much about me at a time when my parents really couldn't.
Because of that unexpected event, in my heart and in my mind I have two mothers and two fathers. My biological parents-my mom Mercedes and my dad Luis-and my adoptive parents who I call my mom Nieves and my daddy Oscar. This couple never legally adopted me, but I spent two years living with them, and after those two years I spent time with them on and off until my daddy Oscar passed away. After that I just visited my adoptive family occasionally, but not too often. My mom Nieves and my daddy Oscar share the same place in my heart as my biological parents, even to this day.
The time I lived with my adoptive family was a short period of time, but those few memories I have with them were like the seeds that led to the most incredible experience of my life, which was when a living God talked to me here in the U.S.
This book is all about that experience and what lead to that moment. That incident happened to me when I was 28 years old and living in Hialeah-a city closes to Miami in the State of Florida. Now I am 48 years old and for the first time in my life, I am going to talk about that experience and how it happened.
The God I met on that experience is a God completely different from the one you are most likely to hear about in any conventional established religion of today. That living God I met in the city of Hialeah left with me a message for the American People. I was not supposed to talk about that message until I was forty five years old. I have never talked about that experience with anyone before, much less talked about the message, but now that I am forty eight years old I can say, "The time has come to talk about that message."

Chapter 1

When I was a toddler I loved to receive my daddy Oscar's welcoming affection. Every time he got home from work was a celebration for me. When he saw me his whole face lighted up with love and happiness from the bottom of his heart. He picked me up in his arms, and he started talking to me making me feel like I was the most important thing in the whole world.
In my biological family I am the youngest of five brothers, and I was never very popular among them, but around my adoptive family I was the star of the show. Mr. Oscar Gonzalez and his wife Maria de las Nieves-Mary of the snows-had four daughters, and all of them were teenagers at the time, so you can imagine how lucky I was. My four adoptive sisters-Ercira, Nelida, Cecilia y Anita Maria-treat me like I was their own little brother. They taught me well with patience and very good manners, and even if I was pretty much a hyper active kid, they never spanked me or yell at me. Like someone said, "If manners maketh man." Those moments are something that I will never forget, and I'll always be thankful for how well they took care of me. While I was with my adoptive family I was as happy as happy a kid can be.
This couple that took care of me when my mom Mercedes got sick was supposed to take care of me for just a couple of weeks, but I ended up spending more than two years with them. When I was three and a half years old my mom Mercedes left me with this family, and she was supposed to be back
from her treatment in a couple of weeks, but due to complications in her treatment my mom Mercedes ended up taking more than four months to get back. At that point when my parents finally came to pick me up, my adoptive family didn't want to let me go, and I didn't want to leave either. Due to that complication the two families got together to find a solution to this problem that arose, and at the end of that meeting they agreed that was in my best interest to stay with my adoptive family for the moment, and then gradually I was supposed to get back to my parents again. That's how I ended up spending two years straight living with my adoptive family, and after those two years, I spent almost every weekend with them until I was seven-years old.
As a three-year-old child when my mom Mercedes left me with this couple, I believed that I was never going to see my mom Mercedes ever again. That was my initial feeling because as a toddler I didn't understand the situation any better. When my mom left me with this couple they were nothing but strangers for me, and I cried my heart out when I realized that my mom Mercedes had left. After a very traumatic first few days I started to come around, and I learned to respect this couple as if they were my real parents. At that moment I thought my mom Mercedes didn't want me anymore, and I thought that this family was going to be my new family forever. This experience woke up very strong feeling inside of me, and in just a few days I bonded deeply with them. That's how I ended up having to say I have two mothers and two fathers. Being cared by this wonderful family when I was so young was and has been a true blessing for me.
My mom Nieves was petit, thin and very smart. She had a very sweet look on her face and she was very well educated. She loved to play the piano and had a dog named Dixie. This dog was always by her side. One of the things I remember the most about my mom Nieves was one occasion about a year after I started staying with them, the two families got together, and she played the piano for all of us. I don't remember exactly what the occasion was, but that day in the living room of her house when she played the piano, she made such a big impression on me, that from that moment on I fell in love with
music. She loved to read the newspaper and watch soap opera on her room. I still can see her browsing through the newspaper on her bed, and drinking her hot Ceylon tea. She always dressed very feminine in a very classical Chilean way. As far as I remember I never saw her wearing a pair of jeans. She was always cold that's why she loved so much to drink hot tea. She used to have her hot tea right on her bed while reading or watching TV. Every time when I was around and she had a cup of hot tea she asked me, "Danny would you like a cup of tea?" I would say yes every time she asked me. That's how most of the time the two of us spent time together, while waiting for our hero to get back home from work.
Especially on the afternoons while she was watching her favorite soap opera I was right by her side, reading an educational magazine or playing with my plastic cars. Sometimes as a treat for being a good boy, she let me read one of my daddy Oscar's magazine collections. I had to read the magazines right there where she could see me, and she let me have only one magazine at a time. She was always so careful about books and magazines. They were like treasures for her.
My daddy Oscar never spanked me, but he was firm and strict. He was a tough love kind of guy. Out of all the time I spent around him, only one time I remember seeing him mad. He didn't yell or acted out of control like my dad Luis used act, but I remember that occasion very well, because is the only time I remember being scared of him. That day he disciplined a boy that came to visit us for a few weeks, and this boy named Ricardo was disrespectful to one of my sisters. I don't remember exactly what he did to one of my sister, but my sister told my mom Nieves, and my mom Nieves said to him, "Wait until Oscar gets here, because I am not going to tolerate this kind of behavior from you young man." That day when my daddy Oscar got home from work and he learned the news, he got very upset. I could tell he was very upset but he kept his cool. He talked to Ricardo in a very serious way and right after that short talk he took Ricardo's shoes off, and placed Ricardo inside of a big empty metal-barrel. I could see he was mad but instead of hitting him or spanking him, he just threw cold water at Ricardo with a garden hose, and that was it. I was so surprised to see that king of punishment because in comparison with the spankings I have seen over my house that was nothing. That was the only time I saw my daddy Oscar mad at someone.
Other than that Ricardo was a very good kid, and when Ricardo stayed over with us, we shared the same little bed. We used to sleep in opposite sides of the same bed, and for bed-time story my mom Nieves let him listen to a radio program called Dark Shadows. He loved to listen to that show, and every time the program came on, I tried to be brave and not get scared while listening to it, but every time I ended up shivering under the sheets. I was younger that him and actually since that time I got really scared of darkness.
My daddy Oscar had a Spanish style home with a big orchard on the back, and on that orchard I remember spending time with him watering the trees and feeding the animals. Besides a few chickens and a few geese my daddy Oscar had a big black Labrador named Bonso. That dog was the guardian of that orchard, and was mean to the point that I could not get in the orchard unless my Daddy Oscar was around. Bonso was a mean and ferocious dog, but when my daddy Oscar was around, he was the sweetest dog ever. Along with the dogs my daddy Oscar had a big birdcage full of canaries, a couple of turtles, and a wild rat hanging outside the kitchen. Like I said my daddy Oscar had a big sewer rat in a little metal-wire birdhouse hanging outside the kitchen. That rat was the ugliest pet I had ever seen, but it was fun to see it eating raw spaghetti. The rat would take the spaghetti out of your hand, and started eating it from top to bottom putting one hand under the other as the spaghetti disappeared on its mouth.
My daddy Oscar was known by his friends as a great liquor maker, and every year when it was harvest time, he prepared a new batch of flavored fire water. Cherry and peach flavors were his specialty. As a child I was really sneaky, and I was always doing what I was not supposed to be doing. One time while everybody was busy watching a TV program, I found nothing better to do other than trying to get some cherries out of the bottom of one of these big bottles of liquor. My dad had stored these bottles in a storage room by the kitchen, and in the bottom of these bottles, I could see these big red-cherries that looked so big, so delicious to the point that I had to have them. I stared at the bottles trying to figure out how I could get to those cherries, and I tried a few ideas, but none of them worked. Out of frustration I turned the bottle upside down and I saw the cherries getting jammed on the top of the neck of the bottle. Then very carefully as I put the bottle right side up again, I removed the cork and finally I was able to get to the cherries. After all that work I was disappointed because the cherries were not as big as they looked inside the bottle, and adding insult to injury, the taste of those cherries were definitely not what I was expecting. They definitely tasted wired, but they had a kick to it and I ate a few anyways. As I was getting out of the pantry, when I heard one of my sisters looking for me saying, "Where is that little brat of mine?" I tried to run but I couldn't. I didn't know what was going on. Everything around me started spinning and moving completely out of control. I couldn't walk straight, and because of that, soon they found out what I was doing while I was being so quiet. They didn't ground me or anything, but from that moment on the pantry got a lock on the door.
My daddy Oscar built that big Spanish style home almost single-handed, and he kept and maintained that big property all by himself. He used to have fun doing the shores around the house, and I used to follow him everywhere he went around the house. One of those days in the orchard my daddy Oscar showed me how to make a different kind of fruit tree. He tried to explain me how to do that through a process called grafting. I still can see him cutting an incision in the form of a capital letter tee in one of his fruit trees, and inserting a scion from another tree. Carefully he put this little branch from another tree, right between the wood and the tree bark. I don't remember exactly what he was saying to me at that moment, but I have that memory clearly stuck in my mind. I was paying attention to what he was doing, for me what he was doing looked so amazing, so intriguing that I couldn't get my eyes away from it. He finished the grafting wrapping the scion with a long strip of cheesecloth and mud, and when he was done doing that he said, "Let's pray to God so God bless this new little tree. And if everything goes well God will make it grow big and strong." He put his head down, held his hands together in front of him and said, "My dear God thanks for all your blessings, and with a humble heart I ask you to bless this new tree with life, health and many fruits. I do ask you as well to bless this little man right here by my side. Bless him with health and intelligence, and I leave these things in the name of your son Jesus Christ. Amen." As he was praying I remember feeling a little zephyr that caressed my face, and right after that, I remember feeling a beautiful feeling of peace and serenity filling my whole heart. The feeling was almost like being held in my daddy Oscar's arms, but even more intense.
That same day almost at dinner time somebody knock the door and the dogs started barking really loud. My mom Nieves was closer to the door so she asked, "Who is it?" The person knocking on the door said, "Do you have some something to eat that you might want to share with a hungry man? I'm really hungry!" My mom Nieves without opening the door said, "Sorry we don't have anything to give you right now." I rushed to her side because I was curious and my daddy Oscar asked my mom Nieves, "Who is it?" A man asking for food! She said. My daddy Oscar replied to her "Tell him to wait I'll be right over." As he was saying that he started walking towards the door very fast. My mom Nieves started saying again, "Sorry but we don't have anything to give you…" She was in the middle of saying that when my daddy Oscar said, "Wait a moment I'll talk to him. Do not worry Nieves I'll take care of this." He carefully opened the door and started talking with the man. I was looking at the man right by his side and wrapped around his leg, hiding a bit. I saw a man with marked wrinkles on his face, shaggy hair, and his face was burnt by the sun. I looked at him from top to bottom and I realized that he had black shiny shoes but no socks. The man at a point asked for money and my dad replied "I don't have any money to give you." The man said "I'm hungry and thirsty." My dad said "If you're really hungry and thirsty you could come inside and have dinner with us. Come on in." The man accepted the offer and my dad lead him to the kitchen. The man before stepping into the kitchen he looked at the cage right by the door, looked at the humongous sewer rat and said, "Lovely pet you've got there." The man sat down at the kitchen table and my mom Nieves started serving dinner. After the plates of food were served on the table, and before we started eating my daddy Oscar said grace like always. As he was saying grace I felt something very special again that day. That is the main reason why I remember that day so well. I was just seated at the table listening to them talking while eating my food, and as they were talking the feeling present that day at the table it was amazing. I was so little but I remember that day very well. That day for some reason I behaved my best at the table, by then I knew very well that I shouldn't interrupt adults while they were talking. I don't remember what they were talking about, but for my surprise I remember the man having very good manners as he ate, and as I remember my daddy Oscar was having a very good time while talking with the man. I remember him being very engaged in the conversation with the man. We had dinner that night with a man that we didn't even knew, but that night at dinner time that man was like part of the family. Our town was a small town and everybody knew everybody, but they have never seen that man before. My mom Nieves asked "Why did you let him in?" my dad answered to her "It could've been God testing me. You never know when God is going to test your faith, and sometimes I listen to my heart." That was his answer. The feeling that surrounds us that night at dinner time was something very special. I will never forget that night.
My mom Nieves put me to bed that night right after sunset time, and she made me say my prayer before I went to sleep. Like always she tucked me in and at that time she was trying to teach me my first prayer. As they were very good catholic people she was teaching me My Guardian Angel. "Angel of God my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here. Ever this day or night, be at my side to light and guard, to rule and guide. Amen."
One of my favorite memories with my daddy Oscar is the time when he took me to a little liquor store that was just a couple doors away from our house. That day he said to me, "Let's go my Ganchito"-my little hook-that is how he used to call me. When we got there the clerk and my dad started talking like a good pair of neighbors. For a few minutes they had a very happy and warm conversation. The liquor store it was a very small place, dark, and narrow. The whole place smelled like old wood and wine, with a whiff of vinegar. The whole place was built entirely out of salvaged wood, and nothing matched nicely or was shinny, but it had a very cozy and warm feeling. Behind a wooden counter that resembled a bar top, the store had wood shelves up to the ceiling full of bottles of wine, and on the opposite side you could see the plaster coming out of an old adobe brick wall. We both sat on a couple of wooden stools at the center of the counter, and the guy asked my dad "what are you having today Oscar?" My dad said "I want a cold one." Then he leaned towards me and asked me, "And you? What are you having kiddo?" I said "I want a cold one too! Just like my daddy Oscar." They laughed at me and my daddy Oscar said to the clerk, "Bring him an Orange Crush." For me was the first time I was having an orange crush, and I was amazed by the shape of the bottle. I remember looking at it very carefully because I have never seen a bottle like that before. The taste was delicious! Since then Orange Crush became my favorite drink as a child.
In my biological family I was the youngest of five brothers and it was hard for me to make myself noticed. I have two older brothers and they are twins, and I have two older sisters too. Among them most of the time I was completely ignored, and often I was nothing but their "gofer." In my family I felt like I was nobody, I always was last for everything, and no matter what I did I was never good enough for them. There with my bio-family I used to entertain myself using my imagination making toys out of old stuff or whatever I could find. I have been always fascinated by everything that worked mechanically so I was really intrigued by things like old alarm clocks or winding toys. I was always trying to find out what these things had inside, and if they were not careful before they knew, I had those things taken apart really quick. As a child in my family I was known as "The terror of the alarm clocks." I was fascinated to see how things moved mechanically. For me to see an object moving like a living thing was fascinating! I was known for being very sneaky too. They always have to keep an eye on me. I loved to climb over things like trees, walls, roofs, you name it.
Between these two families -my biological and my adoptive one-I definitely felt more at home over my mom Nieves and daddy Oscar's place. These two families in my heart were the same, but for some reason everything was better with my adoptive family, especially when it came to the house atmosphere, and the way I was treated.
Over my daddy Oscar for some reason everything was so different compared to my biological family. I was able to feel secure and relaxed at all times. Over my adopted family nobody ever laid a hand over me or smacked me, and being a very sensitive child those subtle differences made a big difference, especially in the way I felt around them.
As a child I loved to climb trees so when I was around seven years old, and people came to get fruits from the orchard, I used to be the one climbing over the trees to collect the fruits. My mom Nieves was always so afraid that something bad could happen to me while doing that. She always told me to be careful, and she stood right at the bottom of the trees observing in awe how easy it was for me to climb over the trees. I remember those moments because for me to see how much my mom Nieves worried about me was a way to see how much she cared about me.
After the first two years with my adoptive family, one of those days, my mom Mercedes finally came to pick me up for good, and I didn't want to go. My adoptive family didn't want to let me go either, but after all that time my adoptive family ran out of excuses for me to stay with them. Being so young I had no say on that decision, and I had no choice but to go back to my family. Going back to them was hard but not as hard as the first time I had to face a big change like that. Back with my biological family was hard, I was missing my adoptive family a lot, but after all, at the same time after I stayed with my mom Mercedes for a whole week, I did recognize in my heart, that I have been missing her too. That is how I started to go back to my biological family. I started spending the week days with them, and spending the weekends with my adoptive family. One of the things that helped me the most to make the transition back to my family was the company of my sister Belinda. She was the closest to me out of all my siblings, and she is only four years older than me. My sister Belinda really helped me to feel back at home again, she used to tell me things like, "Don't be sad brother of mine. You are lucky. You should be happy because now you have two families that loved me very much."
My mom Mercedes not being depressed she was something else. She was a very good cook, kept the house spotless, and she did all that while singing along to her favorite music. She was very frugal too, and with very little she made miracles. Let me give you one example: She always got lots of compliments at school for our excellent personal presentation, and we only had one pair of pants, one pair of shoes, and a couple white shirts for the whole year. Her dedication to her family was outstanding. I never went to school with dirty clothes, and my uniform was always spotless. That's how she was, sometimes a little too happy, sometimes a little too sad. Her personality was a roller coaster of emotions. She made me feel like I was in heaven, and then all of the sudden like I was in hell. I have to add that most of the times I was in heaven with her.
That's how I started to grow up caught in between these two worlds, these two families that for me were nothing but one big family. In my heart I have two mothers, two fathers, six older sisters and two older brothers. In my heart there is no difference between them whatsoever. As I was growing up going back and forth between these two families I remember feeling really lucky and happy, but these moments of peace and harmony like someone said, "They are not meant to last." As I was living this naïve and happy life, something really big and dark was about to happen in my little country. Soon my whole world was going to get a lot bigger, and what was about to happen was something of historical proportions.
September 11th of 1973
The day after the military coup and the assassination of our president on September 11th of 1973 my dad Luis didn't know what to do. He didn't know if he should go to work or stay home that day. He had never missed a day of work on his whole life, and he was afraid to lose his job. He didn't know what to do, but at the end he said, "I'm going to live it up to them. If the work bus comes to get me, I'll go to work, and if not, then I'll stay home." Next day early in the morning as always he grabbed his metal lunch-box and his thermo with hot tea, and he went to the bus stop. The bus showed up that morning and he went to work that day like any other day. Late at night that day the bus didn't showed up, and he didn't come back home. Not that night, not the next night, and the days went by with no signs of my dad Luis. The new government established a curfew and nobody could go out on the streets after 10 pm. The only thing I remember on that time was seeing soldiers with painted faces patrolling the streets in jeeps with a big machine gun on the back, and hearing shots being fired all through the night. I was very worried about my other family too, especially about my daddy Oscar, but nobody knew anything about what was going on. There was no news on TV about the military coup affecting our country at the time, and the little we knew was through news coming from abroad on the AM radio. The AM radio was the only way to know anything about what was going on at the time.
After a few days after the military coup, early in the morning we woke up to the loud knocking on our front door. They knocked the door with the back of the stock of a rifle, and it was so loud that we all jumped out of our beds in a heartbeat.
My mom rushed to the door and asked who it was, and a loud voice responded, "This is a search open the door!" So she did and as she opened the door a group of soldiers carrying guns and assault rifles stormed the house. At gunpoint they made us line up in the living room, and they make us stand in a line shoulder to shoulder facing the captain. The captain was a young man in his twenties full of himself, and for sure he had our lives in his hands at that very moment. After a short introduction he ordered his men to search the house. We could hear our few belongings being destroyed and torn apart by the soldiers. They were looking for evidence that can prove that we were communists. My mom Mercedes tried to stop them, but she was quickly stopped by tip of a barrel on her ribs, and the soldier said to her "This officer is not playing madam. Please listen to me. Don't do anything stupid madam." We did stand still for a while until the officer came back walking slowly, and smiling with a sick smile. He had a gun on his hand, and pointed the gun to my sister's head. Looking at my mom's eyes the officer moved the gun to my brother's head, and asked her "Are you a communist madam?" my mom Mercedes said "No sir, of course not!" The captain replied "Nobody ever is! Isn't it?" The officer walked a couple more steps saying, "I see you have a nice family, and today seems to be your lucky day. I wish I do not have to come back to this house ever again." The officer turned around and left as quickly as he came. As he exited our home the rest of the soldiers fallowed him quickly, leaving behind a trail of chaos and disaster. He took with him every piece of jewelry that my mom had, and he even took my mom's wedding ring. All the drawers of every single piece of furniture we had in our home were lying on the floor, and the content of them scattered all over the place. The beds were torn apart, and the mattresses were almost cut on halves. Our house after the soldiers left was completely torn apart.
My mother still in tears and shaking from the experience, put herself together and started to put everything together as best as she could. We escaped death but not without a scar. In the aftermath gold and silver were gone, and it was a very tense moment to say the least.
From these times comes the story of a university professor that played Folk music and he was a songwriter. He's only sin was to believe that he had rights, and that he was living in a democracy. Some said he was too far to the left, but he committed no crime, and he didn't kill anybody. Some say he was a mix between Bob Dylan and Woody Guthrie.
Morris M. said in September 11, 2014: "A long life rebel, Victor Jara responded to his incarceration by composing new songs and singing them to his fellow prisoners to keep their spirits up. Unsurprisingly, he soon came to the attention of the camp commander, who made it a similarly magnanimous gesture: Placing a guitar on a table in the middle of the stadium, he invited Jara to come down and play to the crowd. Naïvely, Jara agreed. What happened next would be etched on the minds of those who saw it forever. The moment he sat at the table, Jara was pinned down in place by the nearby guards. The commander then cut off his fingers and mutilated his hands to mush. Some witnesses claimed he used and axe, others the butt of his rifle. The outcome was the same. With Jara's hands a bloody pulp, the commanders screamed at him "Now sing mofo! Sing now!" In response, Jara's pushed himself to his feet, and with infinite calm, he walked to the nearest set of bleachers and said "All right comrades, you already heard Mr. commander here, let's sing a song for him" He sang unsteadily, with a wavering voice, the anthem of the communist Chilean party the UP, whom many of them were already laying in piles one on top of each other at the bottom of the bleachers. An incredible thing happened and his voice began to steady raise across the stadium, prisoners who had no food or had any sleep many of them tortured and almost dead, all of them rose to their feet and began to sing.
For a fleeting moment, the guards could only watch as their charges join in with Victor Jara for his final song, the legend said that one of his songs escaped the prison camp, and made it to the outside world.
Victor Jara's last written song
What kind of heart fascism creates?
They carry out their plans, with knife like precision under the cover of night.
For them blood equals medals.
How hard it is to sing, when what I have to sing is the horror of my people.
How hard it is to sing a song where the screams of horror followed by silence, are the end of my song.
Today as I am writing this book I learned in the news about the latest terrorist attack in France and it is just terrible! War is in the horizon everywhere, and there it is no end on sight, lives forever changed and the reason was what? I'm sad for those who had to endure the worse of humanity, and occasions like this one make me feel ashamed to be a human. Why a human have to die like that, why? What are we doing wrong as Humans?

Continuing with my story.
Little by little we learned that my Daddy Oscar and his family were all okay. The only one missing out of our family was my dad Luis. We all were very worried; we didn't know what has happened to him. I knew my mom Mercedes was doing everything possible to find out what has happened to him, but as she putted it was like talking to a wall. Trying to ask authorities about the whereabouts of my dad Luis was nothing but a waste of time.
After more than a week and a half of him being missing my dad Luis was dropped in front of our home by a military truck. Finally he was home again and we were all very happy to see him. When I saw him for the first time I was going to run to his arms but my mom stopped me very quickly. I remember he had a weird look on his face; the color of his skin was a sort of gray bluish color, and he could barely walk. Slowly he said hello to all of us and keeping his distance he went straight to his room. He stayed in bed for more than a week straight. He didn't want to talk about it, and the few times I was allowed to go to his room, was just for a brief moment. The few times I went to his room he put his arm around me and leaned his head towards mine as he patted my back, and even if I asked him a few question he just looked at me with watery eyes, and did sign my mom to take me away.
Talking about me being sneaky, one of those days I heard my mom talking to one of her neighbors and she said whispering "He was tortured." Indeed he was tortured. The weirdness of his look came from torture. During the time that he was gone he endured countless sessions of torture. He was tortured with electricity, starvation and sleep deprivation. Before he got out prison along with a few other lucky ones, they were forced to lay down flat on the floor, then they cover them with wet salty burlap bags and they proceeded to brutally beat them up with rubber batons. Right before they released them they had to sign papers where they stated that they have been treated kindly and humanely.
The very face of fascism has a very distinctive signature. Every time atrocities are committed everything is always done completely legal, like they say "Everything was done by the book." It is hard to believe that just like in the Holocaust everything was done by the book, and that is the very face of fascism.
Around that time I remember my older brother Luis crying for the death of his best friend Carol. He was grieving and he said, "They grabbed him out of his house at night after curfew and put him in jail. There they beat him up and torture him for days. Then they put him in a truck with a few others and in a dark street they released them telling them to run for their life. That way they shot them dead and then they can say that they got shot because they didn't stop as they were told to do after curfew." I remember my brother being devastated by the loss of his best friend, a friend that as he putted, "he loved him as if he was his brother."
I was only six years old at the time, and at that age is very hard to understand what all those things really meant. They just get stuck in your mind in a department called "Don't even try to understand."
Little by little things went back to normal and my dad Luis went back to work as always. I started visiting my adoptive family and soon I was back to be a kid again. I was glad to know that all my family was okay, and none of them died as a result of this military coup.
In my school things changed a bit after that September 11th of 1973. When we went back to school we have to form a line and march as if we were soldiers before we enter our classrooms. We didn't know any better at the time but education was never the same after that. I remember that a few of my friends didn't show up to school for a while, they were morning their loved ones that disappeared and never were seen again.
One day after school a day of December of 1974 ten days before Christmas. I was playing on the side yard in front of our home by the driveway, when my mom Mercedes and my dad Luis with pull up in the driveway. I still remember them coming home in a very old 1940 Plymouth sedan we had at the time. I still can see my dad Luis rolling down the window and being as sensitive as always. My dad Luis said to me "Danny we have something to tell you. Pay attention is very important. Your daddy Oscar died in a mine accident last night." After he said that my chest got smaller, the sunlight dimmed down, and I stood steal for a few seconds. That's how I remember a happy kid being not so happy no more. I didn't cry at that moment, and I didn't cry at his funeral either. His truck rolled over and went down the open pit more than a thousand feet, completely destroying the truck and everything in it. His funeral had to have a sealed casket because his remains were only beats and pieces. As they put it, his body was not suitable for viewing.
At the funeral I saw my mom Nieves crying and sobbing almost fainting. Two of my sisters were right by her side crying along with her, and trying to hold her down so she didn't try to open the casket. It was quite a scene, and I stood seated as much as I could, but after a long few I went outside and I started playing with my old plastic-car toys. I even took a ride in one of my favorite toys ever a plastic tricycle with the shape of a tractor. I started playing the same games I used to play, but it wasn't as fun as it used to be. I looked around and I never realized before how big the house was.
Sometimes I wonder about the feeling that overwhelms my mind and my soul every time I go back to that moment. The first time I felt that king of feeling was that day when my dad Luis gave me the news about my daddy Oscar. The word that describes that feeling is the word wrong. Wrong is the word and it feels sort of like the death of the journalist James Foley, or any unarmed person that died in the hands of a police officer just because. There is something spiritually wrong with those situations, it goes beyond reason, and is like through those images their souls cling to ours begging for justice.
If you ask me if I would like to make a DNA analysis, and look through the bones of my daddy Oscar for any signs of torture, I would say, "You bet yah!" The death of my daddy Oscar never felt right, even to this day still feels wrong.
After his death nothing was the same again, and my visits to see my mom Nieves and my sisters grew farther, and farther apart. That spiritual connection I had with them was real then like is real today, but we grew apart. That's how I met this family in which I met the concept of a living God. There I met the concept of a living God for the first time.
On the orchard of that house I fell off out of a big Fig-tree more than 20 feet right down to the ground and lived to talk about it. On that Orchard even today for me feels like you're walking on sacred ground.
Let me tell you a short true story.

The Fairy Tale of the thin strip of land that got caught in the crossfire between two giants kingdoms.
Far, far away in a long thin strip of land trapped between the Andes Mountains and the Pacific Ocean, there was a little country. This little country had a very fertile land, and was rich and full of precious metals. This little country south of Peru and West of Argentina got caught in the crossfire among two giants. No matter which one of these two giants won this epic battle, the faith of this simple and humble people was already written. Their fate was already written even before the battle took place, because no matter who was the winner of this epic battle, this little country was going to have a new master anyhow.
The battle was quick and decisive, and in the aftermath of this epic battle, the elite of this little country negotiated their way out becoming the new slave's masters. They kept their place at least among their own people, and whoever didn't like what was going on disappeared really quick out of the face of the earth. More than two millions of citizens fled the country looking for refuge wherever they could find it. The rest, the less fortunate got put in prison camps scattered all over the country. In these prison camps they were torture and killed like cows in the slaughter house. The elite of this little country called that nefarious event, "The price that had to be paid to restore democracy." The giant who won the battle was a giant that had no head and had two tongs, and even to this day the grip of its power keeps the people in misery. Even to this day the people of this little thin country can't escape the tyranny and the oppression of this Giant. This Giant has been forcing them to work from dawn to dusk paying them almost nothing for their work, and when they are too old to work anymore, they receive nothing but misery in return for a life of sacrifice. This Giant use the natives to extract everything of value, making this giant even bigger, but the natives no matter how much they produce or how many precious metals they give to the giant keeps them living under siege and misery. This heartless giant just like the Spaniards at a time still is robbing all the gold and precious metals, still raping the children, and selling many of these children to be nothing but sex slaves in whore houses all around the world. The heartless giant killed everyone who dear to say something about it, and the only thing you could hear in the news, was how great things were since the giant took over. They called themselves "The Saviors" but the crimes committed especially among children, they still keep happening. This Giant still is enabling the elite of this little country to be the masters and supreme rulers of this humble and honest people. The elite have become the slave masters and they are allowed to commit even the most horrible crimes against humanity, as long as they keep sending the produce and the precious metals to this Giant. The people of this little country are still praying for justice. This headless and heartless giant is still feeding out of the souls of those natives of the land. Those natives once were free, and now they are nothing but slaves on their own land. This giant is so big and powerful that the only thing the natives of this precious land can do is nothing but to pray to God and cry about it. Just like any other slave around the world the only thing that they can do is to cry about it, and pray to God for mercy every night, but that's it.
The natives of this conquered land were given a plate of food and something to wear, and even to this day, they are still being exploited until their last breath of life, and when they cannot work anymore, they let them die like an animal left to die. They don't even get a pension after a whole life of sacrifice, and if they are lucky enough to be alive at the age of sixty five, they receive in compensation nothing but misery. They have become nothing but slaves on their own land. Now they live in a system called showcracy.
As the legend goes if it wasn't for this merciless headless giant with two tongues, the people of this little country could've been one of the most prosperous people in the whole world.
The End.
Showcracy: A democracy where there is no transparency and a few by controlling the media and the wealth, they make it look like there is in place a real democracy. They make the people believe that there is justice, but in all reality nothing ever changes, and the people kept being exploited and killed like dogs in the streets. The people are still barely surviving doomed in poverty, and they still don't even have a private and transparent voting system.
Showcracy: A place where the people have the illusion of being ruled by a constitution, and not just by the will of those who have taken everything of value.
Showcracy: A place where the people are told that have rights, and that they are citizens, but not really. In all reality they are just peasants, they have no say, they have no justice, and is a place where all this things have became nothing but a play of words. Just meaningless words is all what the people gets, and is all part of the show.
Everything that you are about to read in this book really happened to me, this is how I saw it, this is how it happened to me, and like this book it needs to be deeply rooted in reality, let me cite an article written by Marie Arana, December 6, 2013 The Washington Post commemorating the 40th anniversary of September 11, 1973.
"Lyndon Baines Johnson, commonly known as LBJ didn't live long enough to see what Latin Americans consider the most nefarious chapter of the US war against communism"
If you want to have a taste of what many have to endure as a result of these giants finding an excuse to take over, and slave whole countries using whatever means necessary just to take whatever of value they want, and calling those on their way communist or terrorist so they can assassinate them anyway they want to. Read this article in the Washington Post, it will give you an idea of what I mean.
"Oscar Guardiola-Rivera's fascinating, if haphazardly organized in his book "Story of the Death Foretold" the coup against Salvador Allende, September 11, 1973"