I thought of the apricot tree the other day while sitting at the breakfast table eating pitted dried apricots from Target.

I nibble on them with my morning coffee, and I picture the apricot tree on the side of the yellow house there in Lathrop, California…

I was seven years old when my family moved from Stockton, California to Lathrop.

The way I remember it is, we were going to live in our motorhome until the family that was living in the yellow house moved out, which was supposed to be soon enough.

The owner of the house was going to put a fresh coat of paint inside and put in new carpeting before we moved in.

I was glad about this. Even though my mom always kept our living spaces clean, organized and pretty, I worried about this one.

This house looked like it was going to take a miracle to amount to anything but I’m getting ahead of myself.

When you’re seven years old, the thought of living in a motorhome is exciting.

Ours was a very big motorhome and it’s a good thing it was because two adults with five kids would be living in it.

Our motorhome was parked on the same side of the yellow house where the apricot tree stood.

These were exciting times to be living in and new friends to be made.

The family living in the yellow house was a married couple with three kids.

The oldest boy and girl were around my age.

The parents were more proficient in speaking Spanish than English, but the two older kids did okay with English.

Soon enough, I decided to pay them a visit.

I knocked on their door.

I believe I heard the mom yell out, ENTRAR and although I didn’t understand Spanish, the tone of it sounded like, come in so I slowly let myself in.

Several feet away stood Miguel’s (not his real name) mom and in her hand was the biggest belt I had ever seen.

I’m wondering what she thinks about the look on my face, but it turns out, she doesn’t care because after a quick glance in my direction, she turns back to Miguel who was standing on the sofa immediately to my right.

She’s getting after him is Spanish and I can tell by her tone and body language that she’s telling him to come hither and get what’s coming to him.

Turns out, Miguel is no fool and he stays put, still standing on the sofa ready to take off if need be.

Next thing I know, his mom is chasing him all over the living room and Miguel is also jumping on and off the furniture, doing his best to escape the wrath from the biggest belt perhaps this side of the border.

I’m stunned that neither one of them seems to care that I am seeing all this, they were both carrying on as if I wasn’t even there.

But I was there and while the two of them ran around the living room, my eyes and heart took in the look of the living room and beyond.

It was the first time I had ever been inside what was still their house, and although no one ever told me what poor looked like, I knew this was it.

Eventually both Miguel and his mom calmed down and I was glad because it was time to play!

Not long after this, I decided to pay my new friends another visit.

When I walked inside their house, there was a lot of excitement, but it had nothing to do with me, but everything to do with the biggest pig I had ever seen in my life that was split open and laying on their dining room table.

I was stunned. I had never seen a dead pig before, and worse, its insides.

I got up close and personal to it, and just stared.

Miguel’s mom asked me if I wanted chicharrones.

Was this a trick question?

The chicharrones I knew and liked, came in a bag from the store and were spicy.

Miguel’s mom spoils it for me, telling me in broken English that chicharrones comes from pigs as she points to the dead pig laying on their table.

I don’t know what to say. I never knew. I thought chicharrones were chips.

Miguel’s mom comes out of the kitchen with chicharrones in her hand and offers me one.

It’s black in color which I don’t like but I take one anyway. It tastes okay but I think I prefer pig in a bag.

One day while all of us kids were playing in the front yard, Miguel’s mom sat on the porch with a big plastic bowl on her lap peeling cucumbers.

I didn’t think anything of it until she handed each of us kids a whole one.

I thought giving each of us kids a whole cucumber was amazing. My parents had never given us sibs each a whole cucumber before.

After Miguel’s mom peeled each cucumber, she cut it into four parts from the top to almost the bottom, then squeezed lots of lemon juice over it and sprinkled salt on it.

I had eaten cucumber before in salads but never just like this.

Us kids continued to play and run around, but now we were each holding a cucumber while doing so.

We were still living in the motorhome when I turned eight on September 6. I was sick and under covers, on one of the lower bunks.

There was a knock on the door that someone answered and next thing I know, here comes Miguel with his two sisters behind him and they are all bearing gifts.

It was an unexpected surprise.

Miguel handed me a Little Golden Book, his sister handed me a puzzle, and I wish I could remember what the youngest one gave me, but I can’t.

Then just like that, they turned their backs on me and filed back out.

I pored over my three little gifts and even though I knew that they were inexpensive ones, it made me feel a little sad because I wondered if their family could even afford them.

Eventually my friends moved out of the yellow house and after some work was done to improve it, my family moved in.

We would live in Lathrop, California for a little over two years.

So much life happened during that time…

I remember the little apricot tree off to the side of the yellow house.

It was short enough, and I was tall enough to reach for its little fruit. Little fruit that I loved to eat, that I wouldn’t even wash. It was perfect the way it was.

My little life then, with all of life’s imperfections, was perfect enough and sweet enough like the apricot tree.

~missy salcido wead