it when you started your family.”
Papá wanted nothing more than to make his father proud—to prove himself worthy. That task turned out to be more challenging than he expected. But in keeping with Tata’s expectations, my father devoted himself to making the business a monumental success, soon transforming the ordinary gas station into a colorful, eye-catching enterprise. With his fondness for vibrant colors, he painted it a fluorescent mustard yellow with bright lime green trim. You couldn’t miss it!
My father bequeathed his love of color to me. But his most important legacy was his oft-repeated phrase, which he would deliver either with a smile or with tears in his eyes: “Every man is the architect of his own destiny.”
Tata Juan was of the strong opinion that charm and charisma could carry a person a very long way, and if you added hard work, honesty, and a good heart, you would go “a long way and back.” He also believed that out of small efforts, great results could come. To prove it, he gave me my first marble, explaining, “If you use this well, in time you will have more marbles than you can count.” How right Tata was. I soon became the king of marbles, setting up tournaments that I managed to oversee while working at the gas station. Thus began my training in multitasking—an indispensable skill for the future clinician, surgeon, and scientist in me. Soon, untold numbers of jars filled with marbles of every color lined the nooks and crannies of our little house.
At the age of six, however, my ambition to win all the marbles—a competitive streak that would get me into trouble later—worked against me when I was lured into a contest with a nine-year-old challenger. While he let me win, his older sidekick snuck into the entrance of the station and stole fifty pesos! Faced with such cold-blooded dishonesty, I had to avenge myself. But having tried before and gotten my ass kicked by bigger kids, I concluded that it was time to cultivate an entourage—a lasting tradition. My team was made up of former bullies I had befriended. They brought the muscle; I brought the brain.
I did not stand back from the fight, however. After all, I was still in training as Kaliman, still certain that I could perfect the maneuver he used to fight off several adversaries at once. Studying the comic book version carefully, I analyzed the components of the maneuver and understood that to pull it off successfully I would need to embody the green-eyed, pantherlike agility of Kaliman by jumping five feet into the air while extending my arms and legs. The goal was to knock out four foes—two by punching them with my fists and the other two by kicking my feet. With lightning speed, I would not only disarm them but then land back on my feet—again, like a panther. It was also important, I decided, to make sure that my eyes blazed with defiance—just as Kaliman’s eyes turned a more intense shade of green whenever he fought off demons.
As I explained to Gabriel and three of my cousins, “I am going to practice the Kaliman maneuver and I need your help. Do exactly as I say and you won’t be hurt too much.”
Seeing some concern in their faces, I reminded them about the problem we had been having with local bullies who were roaming the area and shooting their BB guns at us. We had to practice the maneuver ahead of time in case of attack.
We all took our places, bracing for the blows to come. I focused, inhaled deeply, bent my knees, and leapt into the air, rising two feet at the most. At the same time, I extended my arms and legs to simultaneously punch and kick but managed instead to miss my targets entirely and land face down in the dirt—knocking the air out of my chest. Talk about eating dust! When I sat up on my haunches, the four of them stared at me in horror and shame that I had failed so miserably. Then they began to laugh uproariously.
My conclusion? Clearly, the comic book had exaggerated Kaliman’s powers! From then on, as the tougher kids continued to make trouble for the rest of us, I looked for other ways to disarm the bullies.
Incredibly, even as an alleged hellion, I managed to survive childhood with only one visit to a doctor. On this occasion, the pain and infection in my bicep became so acute that I had to confess that I had fallen on one of the drumsticks I’d made to go along with the drum setup I’d put together. The wooden point of the drumstick, as sharp as an arrowhead, had pierced my arm, breaking off in the right bicep. It was amazing to me that the doctor could examine my infected injury and, like a wizard, remove the piece of wood from my bicep and give me the correct medicine to make it all better. Magic!
Although it crossed my mind that being a doctor would be a noble undertaking, my first true role model was Mexico’s beloved Benito Pablo Juárez García. After starting kindergarten, I was introduced to his story when my teacher learned that I already knew how to read and selected me to recite a poem about him in front of a gathering of hundreds of students. This was my first public-speaking opportunity, and I was terrified! I had to stand up on a chair to speak, and the microphone had to be lowered and turned sideways so that I could reach it. From my perch, I could see a quote by Benito Juárez high above me on the stone wall: “Among individuals, as among nations, when there is respect, there is peace.” This got me going, and when I started to speak, I forgot about the crowd and poured my passion into paying homage to Juárez—a poor young man of native heritage who grew up to become the president of Mexico. He embodied real-life heroism, fighting on behalf of everyday people.
From the beginning, as my parents hoped, school offered me structure with defined boundaries, in which I could excel. At home, I could break the rules with my experiments and explorations, giving free rein to my curiosity. School was a different kind of fun, with challenges and excitement. There I learned how to be still and focused, thus becoming the most obedient, disciplined student.
My father loved telling about the day he came to pick me up from kindergarten, and my teacher told him, “I think that Alfredo is ready for elementary school. You should go see my sister, and then see what she says.”
Lucky for me that her sister, Señorita Jauregui, my teacher for first and second grades, not only decided that I was ready for elementary school but took me under her wing at the start of my academic experience. She had faith that I could go far in my education and in the world. Soon, I became the teacher’s pet—a mantle that stayed with me and was alternately an honor and an invitation for other kids to beat me up on the playground and after school. Being younger and smaller than the other students in my grade was bad enough. On top of that, I was from outside of town—a country bumpkin in the eyes of the city dwellers who lived in Palaco. If not for my street-smart best friend, Niki, my large sidekick, I would have been in real trouble. Soon my would-be attackers figured out that if they messed with me, they’d have to mess with him or some of the other, tougher kids I befriended. But despite my defenders, I continued to think of myself as the underdog and to identify with others who got picked on—especially the ones who couldn’t defend themselves.
There was an instance that caused me to become particularly upset one day when a little boy in my second-grade class, also named Alfredo, raised his hand to ask to go to the bathroom. The teacher asked him to wait until class was over. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to contain himself and pooped in his pants. Alfredo was mortified. I felt so bad for him and was mortified for his sake when the rest of the kids started to tease him. As soon as we got out to the schoolyard, I decided to tease those kids for their various shortcomings, hurling sharp-tongued remarks that came easily to me. Championing his cause wasn’t going to solve everything for the other Alfredo, but at least I hoped it would cheer him up.
I also would never forget a young girl in the area who was born with a disfiguring cleft palate that made her appear to have two faces—like a little monster, some said. A few family members, being very poor, charged admission for others to come and stare at her, even to shriek over her deformities and taunt her. There was no way I could stand by and allow such cruelty—even if it meant a fight with kids who were bigger than I was. Most of the time, I didn’t win those fights. But
