'Cause Boys Don't Cry

Agustina Aranda
Dec 5, 2021
3 min read

A missing branch on my family tree

I come from a very artistic family with a long line of craftsmen - gardeners and florists, carpenters, cooks. My cousins grew up to be painters, sculptors, photographers and filmmakers. But never any musicians.

Over Thanksgiving break, I got the chance to look through dozens of photo albums, curious about all the lives before me. And my family was happy to answer my questions, eager to share any and every story. As I was opening a large, fat photo album from my first trip to our home country, Paraguay, in 2007, Boys Don’t Cry by The Cure started playing on the living room radio. Like a thundering wave, childhood memories of this song came flooding back to me.

“Cousin Pedro showed me this song when I was just a little girl”, I said to my parents, totally amazed hearing it again after so long. I started singing along, I somehow remembered every lyric, then I realized there were no pictures of him. Out of breath, from singing and laughing and remembering, I asked them what ever happened to Pedro. They both winced at my question, as if they were listening to a song out of tune.

My Memory of Cousin Pedro

Pedro was our cousin from Paraguay. When I was very young, he came to America and lived with us for a while. I remember him being so tall, with long and shaggy jet black hair. He played guitar, wore baggy clothes, and had tattoos - a huge no no in my very traditional family. To me, he was like an older brother. To me, he was like a rockstar.

I would tell you that I loved you

If I thought that you would stay

But I know that it's no use

And you've already gone away

He would play me his favorite music - every alternative, punk, and rock n roll band you can think of - most of which I still listen to. I couldn't believe I forgot about him, he was a BIG part of my childhood and an even bigger part of my personality today.

How old was he when he lived with us? Why did he live with us? Why did he come to America alone? Who, exactly, is he related to? And most importantly, where did he go? I begged my parents to answer my questions, but they refused to talk about him. But I refused to let it go.

The Story

I asked almost every member of my family the truth about Pedro, through bits and pieces of recollections, I uncovered the story.

Pedro is my cousin from my dad’s side, his parents (Nidia and Domingo) still live in Paraguay and don’t have access to the internet. Meaning I can’t reach them. And even if I could, we speak different languages, it would be a struggle pressing them for answers. Anyway, they sent him to America when he was about 18 years old because he was a troublemaker. If anyone could set him straight, it was my father: the most strict, hard working, and traditional Aranda. But Pedro had big dreams and an even bigger attitude, my father couldn’t handle it and kicked him out after a year. No one else ever took him in, he was considered an exile. Now he doesn't really talk to the family and the family doesn't talk to him.

Since then, my family has become more forgiving of differences (like enjoying rock music or having tattoos). I was too young to see the struggle Pedro went through as the black sheep of the family. I think I have him to thank for the privilege I have today - being able to express myself and having my family’s support.

Kind of funny how Boys Don’t Cry, the song my mysterious cousin Pedro showed me before he vanished, is a song about leaving the past behind and not looking back. Reflecting on your mistakes, but not dwelling on the past. And how it’s so hard feeling vulnerable.