Ha tenido sufficiente de Cuba!

Back to school. Back to the Fourth grade in this year of 1962. I walked that walk, the same old trail in the snow and the cold of early January. In my mind I could hear that song that was on the radio all the time. "A Wimoweh, A Wimoweh, the Lion Sleeps tonight." One of those songs that would cling to your brain and not let go, and it swirled inside me as I trudged along the way.
Not enough snow would fall to cancel school, so the walk was sloppy and wet. Then the weather played games with us, climbing up into the 40's and then the 50's, and I'd arrive at school soaking in sweat, covered in flannel and corduroy.
I began to hear more and more about Cuba and that Castro guy again. What is it about that island, anyways?
President Kennedy was angry that Castro had declared himself a Communist, and now he was signing treaties with Russia, so they could trade things. Sugar for wheat, or something like that. Cuba was a threat to us now, the President said. Ninety miles from our shore. I guess they could throw their cigars at us. Castro was afraid we might try to invade his country again, so he was making friends with Kruschev, poking his finger in the air and blaming us for all of Cuba's woes. There were stories that Castro wanted to play baseball in America when he was young. Why don't we give him a tryout with the Dodgers or the Yankees? Maybe that would calm him down.
Cuba was getting kicked out of the Organization of the American States, whatever that was, and now President Kennedy was saying we wouldn't trade with Cuba anymore, something called an embargo. A lot like that old playground saying; "I'm taking my ball and going home, and I'm not going to play with you anymore." Our countries stood sticking their tongues out at each other across the water.
I don't want to hear about Cuba anymore. I don't want to look at Fidel Castro or hear President Kennedy tell us all how bad he is. Things kind of calm down later in February, and I'm thinking that it's all over now, that Cuba will just go away and mind its own business and we'll forget all about them.
I meet some kid from Cuba. His family is friends with Billy Hills' family, and he's going to spend some time with us in Fourth Grade. He's thin and kind of awkward, and everyone calls him Chico. We notice he's kind of naive, and when he plays softball with us he runs to third base when he gets a hit. I thought these Cubans knew how to play ball! When Fourth grade is over, Chico is gone.
My cousin Danny is in the navy, and his ship is patroling off the coast of Cuba, making sure nobody from our country is trading with them. He watches as Russian ships sail by with their cargo on deck; big crates shrouded in canvas.
Must be lots of wheat and tools and other things.
Must be just the things the Cubans need.