We have been programmed since childhood to expect rewards for our actions be it good, bad, or anywhere in between, we expect our due rewards.

Throughout my life I have noticed this fact, and come to the realization that each of us has levels of expectations and I can bet against all odds that each one of us has our own story to tell; armed with that thought in mind, I will share some of my own. Level one: In the beginning, a loud WAAA, or EEEE, IIII, OOOO, or UUUU, would bring our parents running to see what we needed. Each tone brought a different reward. Before we age to six months we become experts at this sort of wailing, and we expect rewards form each, without fail, our expectations are met.

Level two: As we start to grow, we carry this knowledge within us. First four to five years we practice at home. We learn to expect rewards from mom and pop; depending on the living environment. We may build a sand castle, and get a kiss and hugs from mom; we may stomp on the sand castle of a big brother or sister and get a shove, a slap, or a good whipping; we expect rewards for our actions. If no one laughed like I did when I stomped on big bro and sis' castle, I rewarded myself--my evil Little Grin said it all. I was satisfied--my reward was the satisfaction, the feeling it gave me of being superior and invincible because only my castle stood.

Level three: Soon we are not in our home environment we are sent to school. The feeling of being left there is a horrifying experience. Our Ol' Skoll Survivor Skills kick in and we let out a loud --WAAA--and that only brings a little reward, a tight squeeze of the hand by mom, but that's not enough, we want to be carried, and hugged, and we want to be taken HOME! But this is not happening! It's frightening, and as soon as mom's hand loosens its grip on my hand--I let out another good WAAA--and progress on with the rest of the E, I, O, U--and sometimes Y. Our expectations for rewards are shattered when a an unknown lady grabs hold of your hand and through teary eyes you see the old lady with many lines on over face, grey--or snowy white hair and horned rim glasses, and four heads grinning down at you with four sets of perfect teeth! And you struggle to get loose, and wail some more and kick and flail--but she's got you and mom just left the room...what a horrifying moment! None of our arsenal seemed to work, our expectation, of rewards--we got some rewards ok--that old teacher grabbed me by the ears after I'd kicked her on the shin-bone, and pulled me behind her desk--there she pulled out a paddle and whipped me. I learned right there if I cried I got paddled more!! If I got quiet the paddling stopped and the old teacher gave me a lecture.

If only I could understand English! Man, in my house everyone talked in Spanish, except for a few English words like: Shut up, stupid, or pendejo--oh, that last one is Spanish, too! But I decided not to cry--I made pucheros, how do you say "pucheros" in English? Pout, ok, stuck up my lower lip inside and pulled my lower lip over it, and bent it outward. Like I had a flat bottom lip--no cries came out, I shut them down. I said to myself "Shut up ,stupid, don't be pendejo, do pucheros." And it worked. That was my first experience, my first lesson. When bells started to ring, I saw kids run everywhere! I got scared! I got scared, I ran too--the school gate had a chain and a big lock, but the bells kept ringing. I climbed over the fence and ran home. That old teacher rally had only one head but I had seen her with four and she was not going to catch me or paddle me or pull my ear this time. I ran--and ran until I got to the barrio streets I recognized. Then I felt safe, I walked home. I didn't know what to expect there.

Mom was in the back yard hanging clothes she had just washed. The six wire clothe lines were layered with sheets and towels, shirts were flapping in the breeze. Mom didn't notice me standing in our gravel driveway--she was so busy, she even looked funny with those wooden clothe pins four or five in hoer mouth, and many more hung from her long dress, all around her, all the time. My dog "El Dog" spotted me and ran towards me and mom turned to see what the crazy dog was running to and there I was...all four feet of me, standing tall, hugging El Dog, and El Dog licking my face, he always did that, that was his way to greet me, then we were both walking towards mom.

"What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"Why aren't you in school?"

"The bells rang, everybody ran, so I ran home."

Mom shook her head. She seemed more disappointed than mad. Then she explained how the bells rang to change classes once, to clear head count twice, and to end school days three times, I didn't know all that stuff, no one had told me what to expect, but I didn't go back to school that day, I would start over, the following day.

As we progressed through grade school, we start to expect a lot more. And like-wise others such as our parents expect us to be the best at everything in school, they expect us to graduate at the top of our class, expect us to go to college and graduate there to become a doctor, or a judge, or some day president. "If an idiot can win two terms as president of the United States, so can you, son!" dad said once. And, one day I read that only 3,500 words separate a genius from the common person. If I could learn half of them, I had a shot a becoming a half-ass genius! I myself expected to do good, to excel in everything I did, my own expectations were to be the best.

I wanted to learn everything! From my elementary years to junior high school was a breeze, a cake walk. I was an A+ and B+ student. I sang "O Christmas Tree" at our school talent show, I even joined a group of three other friends and did karaoke and sang "I got sunshine on a rainy day" "My Girl" Oh, yeah, when we sang "O' Christmas tree" we had to climb up on scaffolds and chairs and wore a paper shirt of green and white My friend Fernando had to hold a paper foil star, he was next to me, then Juan. We were the tip of the tree. Everyone expanded below us and the audience sat in chairs at the school cafeteria--it was great! Then in high school I learned how to mess up. I wanted to learn, be great, make my parents proud; they expected that out of me. So did I. But one day I experimented with nitro glycerin in my science lab, and blew up the lab! I got suspended, and removed from science class, then as an alternative I was placed in the ROTC--I learned quickly, I could run and do airborne pushups, I learned to march, real good, even tried out for school drill team. I became our Platoon Sgt. I could dismantle and put back together and clean the M1 Carbine we were issued. I had expectations, I expected to graduate, join the United states Marine corps, but one day during federal inspection I was kicked in the ass by a Marine Sergeant, for being out of alignment while standing at attention with the M1 Carbine, all I did was take one step and pivot and swung the butt of the M1 Carbine on the side of his head...One time, down went the Zebra, I used to call him Zebra because of all the stripes he had. He did not die, but I cracked his head open, of course I expected that to happen. I didn't, hadn't expected the Zebra to kick me in the ass. There was a satisfaction, the reward thing again. I was suspended, later when I came back to school it was during a football game, our rivals were the Red Raiders were in our J.F.K. H.S. Rocket Stadium I crossed the football field with a few friends, and went to into the Red Raiders Side, expecting to rumble, and we sure did--We were outnumbered, but fought a good fight, held our own until the security guards and police arrived, and cuffed me by one hand to the cyclone fence, in the Red Raiders side, those that couldn't get me when we rumbled, tried to get me when I had one hand cuffed to the fence. So, there I was kicking to all side, I felt like a rabid dog being teased and running to bite only to be yanked back by the chain, in my case, my cuffed hand to the fence stopped me. This kept going until the cops started arresting more people and everyone scattered. My parents were disappointed in me. Having to go pick me up at the Juvenile Detention Center downtown, had a real damper on their expectations of me--the one day savior of the Gove Family! I did not think those few things would stop me form graduating--God, I was a freshman! But the Superintendent of the tough Westside Edgewood School District had other plans in store, and suspended me from attending any high school in the Edgewood School district--that's thirty-six square miles!

For a while I was in shock! I didn't expect to be kicked out of school something was not right! I was now expected to enter the Rat Race, I had to work if I wanted to eat cheez, otherwise, I'd be kicked out of my dad's house, as he put it. He paid the bills, supported the family and sent me to school to someday be a doctor. Now I had to do dirty work. I was eighteen, on my birthday I went to register up with Uncle Sam. I passed all the written tests and all the physical exams. I wanted to be one of "Uncle Sam's Misguided Children," USMC--the United states Marine Corps--I was ready to be sworn in, and be put up in a motel until the bus left to boot camp in San Diego California--at Camp Pendleton--but, maybe fate, or some higher intervention. The USMC recruiter gave me and a group of twenty a two week period to say goodbye to family. The Vietnam War was kicking in 1968, many of our friends never came back. And I wanted to avenge some of them. The two weeks was a mistake. Expecting to leave San Antonio, with the possibility never to return, my friends and I partied hard. Two weeks passed and a month then another, the Peace Movement reached us, and Woodstock in '69, and the Hippie Movement, Free Love, Pot, Peace, everything was groovy...even the name stuck! Everyone called me groovy.

I did not go to war. I did not sign up--and the Draft was being protested nationwide, Cassias Clay, know now as Muhammad Ali, was put in prison for refusing to obey Draft Laws and serve in combat for two years. The 1964 Civil Rights Movement was not fully accepted by everyone! As expected there existed issues, and many problems within the united stats, especially at crossroads where ethnic and racial lines crisscross, there were clashes, north/south, east/west, the clashes were everywhere. The expectations of the people of the people had to be met by the government, not the other way around. But as expected in time a shift would take place. Now the expectations of government must be met by the people, or face imprisonment. The wailing of A, E, I, O, U, and sometimes Y, do not seem to work anymore. Since I was put in prison in 1978, my expectations are now to survive prison life and get out and stay out! Twenty-seven tears of my life gone by not totally wasted, because I still hold high hopes and set high goal and expect to succeed, given the opportunity. Some day I will write a book--possibly about what to expect if you violate the law and go to prison. There is a lot more to be expected in the future.

Our actions will bring reactions, maybe not always what we expected; but, each brings its own rewards. What we do with each unexpected reward will dictate our will shape up. The rest is gravy. Continue to watch the levels of your expectations. And do not be so critical, remember, the Spaniards believed the earth was flat, that Cortez would fall off the edge when he sailed off towards the horizon; The Aztecs believed this world will end in 2012, and the Watch Towers believed this world will see God descending from heaven in 2007, so they expect this to happen. Christians and Jews, await the return of Christ--many instances of expectations on all levels nation to nation, continent to continent, religions and governments each have different levels of expectations. I shared some of mine, but, what about yours? What are your expectations? I know they can't be all like mine, maybe some levels are common expectations for all of us Americans, in general, but that can't be it! Or is it? I expect not!

-Jesse M. Govea