Autobiography - The Galindo Group

Ram Galindo THE MAKING OF AN AMERICAN Page 174
May 28, 1963, was the hinge day about which my life swung from the mind-set of a
carefree person with no responsibilities to that of a parent aware of the responsibility of
parenthood. It was the day Cid Alfredo Galindo, my first and only son was born. It was
also my parents’ 32 nd wedding anniversary. As I stated before, at the time I was working
for Brown & Root, Inc., a large engineering and construction company based in
Houston. While on a field assignment supervising a test pile program for a dam to be
built in nearby Livingston, Texas, Scott Potter called advising my camp that he had
taken my wife to the hospital to deliver the baby. It was a two-hour drive that I started
right away. In rush hour downtown Houston traffic, I ran onto the car in front of me and
the policeman would not believe me that I was on my way to the hospital to receive my
first born. Finally, I realized that admitting my foolish fault and agreeing to all his terms
was the only way I could accelerate getting out of the jam. It caused me to miss seeing
my wife before the birth.
Taking home my precious little new baby was better than receiving any treasure on
earth. I think if all people making families would dwell on the enormity of the gift we
have to create human life, and would vest their children with their unwavering interest
and support, not just their families but also all of America would lead the world to even
better living. Individual responsibility toward our progeny is one of the key virtues
demanded by the American character, and most often, the beneficiaries of this
responsibility become the anchors of society.
Raising children should never be the responsibility of the government. Fortunately, in
America it is not. In my opinion, church pulpits and family homes are the proper forum to
emphasize this truism. However, the love and tenderness with which we receive our
children into the world must be complemented with a myriad other ingredients to help
form a person that we hope will be better than us. The many pressures of life make it
almost impossible not to lose sense of this obligation at some point. As if to prove
humans freedom of choice, too many of us conclude that the effort is not worth the pain,
thus contributing to the decay of the American family.
About six months after Cid’s birthday, I moved to Bolivia, and my blessing star
continued to shine over my life. I had a beautiful, capable and dedicated wife, the most
wonderful child anyone could ask for, a nurturing family and loyal friends. Soon positive
breaks came about in my work environment that allowed me to discern opportunities for
my professional development. After riding with me to Mexico City, Kirsten had flown
directly to Cochabamba carrying baby Cid in her arms while Joe Elliott and I drove a car
all the way through the Americas. Although my parents and other family gave her a
warm reception, her cultural shock adjusting to Cochabamba, by comparison, made
mine pale when I arrived at Villanova University. But she handled everything like a little
heroine and eventually integrated herself in the local community so well that she
became an example even to me. My support group was complete to help me be a good
father.
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