I grew up in Los Angeles in the `80s. I was going to start junior high school at the time when gang crime was hitting its peak. Kids were being shot at school. People walking down the street were being harassed because they were wearing the wrong- colored shirts and teenagers were wearing M.C. Hammer pants.

The horror! To make my living situation during my childhood even worse, I was living in South Central Los Angles. The area is now known as South Los Angeles. The name could change but the reputation will stay the same.

Anyway, my family had already had one child fall into the grasp of gang life. My mom didn't want any other sons fall into the trend of only wearing red or blue. She didn't want any of her kids to wear pants bigger than a circus tent or have some stupid nickname like "Little Puppet."

The decision to move the family to the country she grew up in, Guatemala, was easy to reach but the actual move was difficult to do. The earning wage in the Central American country is horrible.

In 1990, Guatemala's coin (the Quetzal) is worth as much as half of an American Food Stamp. So the decision was for all six of us kids to finish our education there and my aunt Irma was going to take care of us while my mom would stay back in LA and work.

I remember that day before New Year's Eve 10 years ago in Los Angeles International Airport like it was yesterday. We started the day by going to Toys R Us. We all got to pick out a Christmas gift. I bought a G.I. Joe. Then we drove to my grandma's house, said bye and then went to the airport.

My sister cried. My mom cried. I just wanted to get on the plane. I was so excited about the idea of sitting for five hours in a contraption that travels more than 500 miles per hour. OK, I cried when I sat down on the plane. Hell, I didn't want to leave my friends, my Dodgers or my mom, but I did.

Details about the flight are pretty sketchy. I do remember being told repeatedly to sit down and get away from the window.

We arrived early in the morning to the airport in Guatemala City. It was the first time I saw an automatic weapon in person. I had seen handguns and shotguns several times while I was growing up in LA.

My aunt Dora picked us up there and took us to have breakfast at the Guatemala version of IHOP. The food was good and relatively cheap. We went to Aurora Zoo, which has one of the best collections of Central American native animals, like panthers, wild boars, snakes and many deadly creatures. The zoo also has a nice display of exotic animals like lions, tigers and zebras. The price back then was relatively cheap.

Back then it was Q 15, which is like $3. Quetzal is not just the name of the coin, but also the name of a sacred bird to the Mayans and Guatemalans. It is believed to have received its colorful chest after a brave Mayan prince fought against Cortez and lost. The quetzal was watching the battle. After the fight, the prince's body lay dead in the jungles of Peten, the epicenter of Mayan culture located in the northeast corner of Guatemala. The bird flew down to the prince and rested on his body. According to legend, the bird's feathers soaked the blood, and since then quetzals always have red feathers on their chests.

The best time to go to Guatemala is during the holidays because there a lot of festivities and firecrackers are legal. There are huge block parties with dancing in the middle of the street. Everyone stays up until dawn. Sometimes people just pass out from all the drinking. Food is abundant and everyone offers.

Since it was New Year's Eve, we went to a party at my Aunt Rosa's house. This party is sketched in my mind not because of the food, dancing or people I met that day, but because of what happened on the lawn around 10 p.m.

All the kids were playing with firecrackers. I played with them before, so I thought I could handle them. In Central America, especially in El Salvador, firecrackers are made of water-downed TNT. The smallest firecracker there has the power of an Ml000. My first try I set one on the floor, lit it and ran like a racehorse in the Kentucky Derby. Boom! It went off without a problem. It left a 10-inch hole in a cement block.

Next try I wanted to be more daring. Everyone was lighting them and throwing them in the air. I wanted to do it also. I had problems lighting it, so my sister grabbed the firecracker and lit it. She waited about 10 seconds before she gave it to me. Not good. I grabbed and she yelled, "THROW IT!"

I threw it. It got two inches away from my left hand before it blew. My hand exploded like something that was in the microwave for too long.

My clothes were covered in nails, flesh and blood. I yelled like someone kicked me in the nuts with steel-toe boots. I could see bone and cartilage. I was in a daze and everything was turning blurry. All I could think about was that I was holding my hand and I could see my bones like if I had X-ray eyes. I eventually passed out. I awoke the next afternoon with my hand bandaged up and I could barely move it. It took a couple of months to be completely normal again.