It’s going on thirty-seven years now in the U.S.A. Thank you all and have a nice day!!!!!!

               It all begins in a group of Islands called the Azores, back in nineteen-sixty six. The Azores is a group of nine islands in the middle of Atlantic Ocean, off the cost of Europe. The Azores is the most western point of land that belongs’ to Europe. That’s where I was born, in the most southern island that belongs to the Azores; the island is called Santa Maria. Santa Maria was the first island in the Azores to be discovered back around 1424. But after thirteen months, my parents moved to the most northwestern island call Flores. “Flores, means Flowers.” That’s where I spent most of my childhood with my brothers until the age of eight. Especially with my brother Rui, who has just past away a few years ago. He was a year and a half younger then I. You see, I’m the oldest out of seven, so my brother Rui and I were close. We did things together growing up on the island. I had two other brothers but they were very young at the time. Rui and I went to school together for a few years. We went fishing with our dad often and on Halloween we made our own masks out of cardboard. I also remember going to the beach and picnics with the family around the lakes. We had a hell of a good time. Understand that the island has many different kinds of lakes, more than I have ever  seen. They vary from deep to long and many different colors and even white water lakes that look’s like they’re made out milk. This is what I remember from my youth. But around 1973 – 1975, my aunt asked my parents to come to the United States. My family talked about it and agreed to do it. So they completed all the paper work to come to the United States. But they where denied several times. On the third time, it took so long, my dad said “To hell with it all”. So he bought a taxicab and started to work with it in his free time. The day after my father bought the cab, the paper work was approved. They got all the necessary paper work, and completed everything that had to be done. My mother wrote to my aunt to tell her that we were leaving on March 8 1975 with the time and flight number and to meet us at Logan airport in Boston. 

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