by harold

Harold's Mom:
Laura Teresa Bernhardt
Place of birth:
Entre Rios, Argentine
Mom's father:
Alejandro Bernhardt (German family residing in Russia)
Mom's mother:
Lidia Schneider (German family residing in Argentine)

Early memories:

My mom grew on a farm close to a town called Ramirez, in Argentine.  Everyone in the surrounding area spoke German including her family.  Not today!  Everything has changed!  When I visited East Germany before the fall of the Berlin Wall I drove through towns that reminded me so much of Ramirez and the german towns in the Northeast part of Argentine.  Dirt roads... All one sees on the streets are people walking and carts pulled by horses... 

The farm was divided by fences... The cows were at the farm's entrance and close to the bedroom where I slept... They woke me up every morning with their "mooooo..."  I remember my grandma and my grandpa milking the cows in the open field every day... No barns... No machines... Just a small stool and a container for the milk... Sometimes I stood by their side watching them milk the cow... but they never invited me to learn the trade and I wasn't even tempted to try it either... I couldn't understand how they squeezed that "think" and the milk came out... I saw my mom doing it many times when we vacationed at my grandparents home... Perhaps what surprised me the most as a kid was how quiet the cow stood while the "procedure" was going on... Amazing!!! "Why would a cow let a human do that???", I would ask myself while I watched...  Later on the milk and the cream would be made into cheese and butter to sell in town.  

Then in the next farm's section, further away, were the sheep... When no one was watching, I loved to get as close as I could to one sheep and clap my hands... It was like a "domino effect"... one "freaked-out-sheep" would cause the rest to run away like crazy... I loved that!  Why did that give me pleasure? I don't know... I was a kid, I guess... The problem is that I still would like to do that if I could.  I don't do it with the seagulls by the beach because usually Hansel is with me and he is doing it... so I try not to compete with him! Lol!!! 

The bee colony was, what felt to me, like a "long walk" away under a conglomerate of trees that looked like a little forest... One day I decided to walk to the bee colony against my grandpa's instructions... I walked into the colony and I was attacked so severely that I couldn't stop running all the way back... It was so nasty!... Then, I understood why my grandpa put on the big yellow plastic coat, knee high rubber boots, gloves and covered his head with a very funny hood... No wonder!.

The chicken area was half roofed... hundreds and hundreds of chicken... And the smell!!!!  "Fuiiiyyyy"... I couldn't understand for the life of me the whole "egg" event in the midst of so much smell!!!!!  With the chicken came the daily job of feeding them... filling up the water pots and collecting the eggs... cleaning and packaging them... My dad and I cleaned eggs many times... When I squeezed the egg too hard my fingers got the "yucky" stuff from the inside and it was a mess...  My dad didn't have a problem, because in his book accidents happened to everyone... so he didn't reprimend me... If my grandpa was around he would clear his throat meaning... "I saw that"... But if my grandma was cleaning eggs with us, it was a different story... She would lecture me about the "stupid" egg that broke... Hmmm... My dad didn't say anything but I knew he was fuming about the whole thing... My dad was very loyal to us as a family and I knew exactly how he was feeling about the way my grandma was "beating" on me... And my dad was no "softy" when it came to discipline... I just knew he was fair and he had a heart for me... I didn't like cleaning eggs when my grandma was around!  She was too much!  My dad used to tell me stories about the "nazis" while we cleaned eggs alone... and those stories even scared me more!!!  He loved history so he would go on and on telling me how things happened in Europe.  It took me a while to understand that not all Germans were like Hitler. Those "egg" events stuck in my mind, though! For the life of me I couldn't understand how my grandma could make such a mess of my little accidents!

Then there was a huge corn plantation...  and when there was no corn they had something else.  I loved going on vacations to the farm and being a part of the action... I enjoyed taking rides on the tractors, or going to town on a flat carriage pulled by a horse... There was one old, disabled tractor under a big tree and I was probably five years old... I sat on that tractor for hours day-dreaming... The tractor had a real engine and made real noise (my mouth) and it took me to far away places around the world (my imagination) It was all metal...It felt soft... cold in the morning... and warm under the sun in the afternoon...  Somehow that tractor was one of my favorite places in the farm!  The roads were all dirt... so when it rained it was a massive mess of mud!!! Now those roads are all paved!

I remember my grandpa's hunting riffles in the big tool shop... I didn't dare to touch them... I was scared of them... But I overjoyed when my dad invited me to go hunting with him and instructed me to always stay behind him... I felt like I was a part of the "big peoples world"... "Never run in front of me to catch the bird..." my dad would say... So I obeyed! The shots scared me into obedience...

Electricity was produced by a generator... My grandpa would start the generator every day at the same time... He used a robe he tied around a wheel and pulled hard to make it go...  There was no refrigeration... They stored food in an underground room (cellar) that remained cool all the time... There was no gas, so they had to cut wood every day to keep the fire on in the stove... The meals in the evening were very special! Except for the German I did not understand...Man, did they talk!  I didn't know if they were fighting or what... Just remember them talking forever...  One day, my family and two of my mom's sisters' families gathered together for a special meal... My grandpa had promised lamb for dinner... During the morning while my dad and I were helping with the eggs we saw the sheep that was going to be "executed" for dinner tied to a tree... My Dad, said to me... 'I feel so bad for that sheep...' He walked to the sheep, untied the robe and let the sheep go... It was like that sheep knew her destiny had suddenly changed... I had never seen a sheep running so fast!  Of course, there was no lamb for dinner and up to this day no one knows what happened to the sheep... All my grandpa said, was that 'somehow the sheep got away...'  I will never forget that event... My dad was like that... He had a heart of compassion... And what he did on that ocassion was not "based on principle" or because he was some "animal rights protection" kind of guy... He just felt sorry for the poor sheep!
                         

Mom's profile:

• Obtained a degree as an Elementary School Teacher
• Was a Bible Instructor
• Grew up on the farm with her family (One brother and four sisters)
• Does not fight for attention ever
• Is reserved regarding her feelings
• Was always very cautious when she had to reprimand or correct us as kids
• Is shy
• Expresses physical affection toward my dad and us kids
• Is diligent whenever a job needs to be done--A "hard worker"
• Is disciplined
• Loves my dad and us kids...I never doubted my mom's love for me
• Lived her life for my dad, my sister, me and the church my dad pastored
• Led the children's choir in the churches my dad pastored
• Loves God

• She got up every morning at 6:00 AM and she followed a ritual that ended up with her devotional time.  Very often I would get up, and as I walked by the kitchen on my way to the restroom getting ready for school I would see my mom on her knees praying... I have never forgotten that image! She read her Bible for quite a while and then she knelt and prayed... As far as I remember in the different homes we lived, her devotional time would always happen in the kitchen.

• Mom was often involved in the life of the church helping my dad.  She baked bread and cookies to take to church members homes.  My dad would visit them and my mom would take along some goodies for the families.  My mom formed a children's choir in every church my dad Pastored... I  have fun memories of the rehearsals... and the programs my mom would put together... Christmas, Easter and special programs. Her life was truly invested in our family and the church. Wherever my mom was, I can say without a doubt, the world was a better place!!! Pleasant, accomodating and quietly caring!

• My mom was always a lady first... She was truly the first lady in our family and in the churches my dad pastored! I don't ever remember seeing my mom, not even once,  creating any "drama" in our family.  I never saw or heard my mom attacking my dad verbally or otherwise! I never saw her displaying a despondant attitude towards my dad.  And those of you reading this website know that I am not the type that will "pontificate" anyone just because... Not my type! Sometimes I wondered why my mom was not more assertive... But now, looking back, I realize that my mom  understood what worked for them... Never heard the word "divorce" said once at home... never feared it... never sensed it... Yahhh... I knew they had arguments and differences and I would often hear them... But not once my dad or mom denied those differences existed... I  grew up knowing that life was that way... "It's okay for people to openly disagree... but then they need to fix the problem and move on", my dad would say...  That is probably one of the strongest values they passed on to me... It's ok to disagree... it's ok to express feelings and emotions... but at the end of the day, love should bring people back together!  Sometimes I would feel bad for my mom because there was a tense moment between her and my dad but I also knew that if I dared to say anything to her, like I was siding with her, she would say something like, "I love him and we'll be ok..." Hours later it was obvious everything was ok!  I never saw my mom wearing pants because it was unbecoming for a lady in her culture to wear pants... From my perspective I see the huge cultural gap... but under all those cultural differences I see values that are deeper and greater than generational time and geographical location.  My adult reflections on cultural identity, gender differentiation and conflict resolution go all the way back to my roots and memories of my childhood... I learned early on that there is no peace when two equals fight for power, attention and control... either one prevails and the other follows or they negotiate their differences and respect each other.  I know what kind of relationship my dad and mom had.  It was their choice.  It worked for them!  The job got done! It may not have been a sofisticated arrangement or the kind i chose for my own journey...   But what I respect about my mom, particularly, is the fact that she never, not once by accident, created a divided front in our family!! For that gift, I thank my mom and God every single day!

by harold

Dad's Name:
Aranzazu Duarte

Nickname:
His friends and family called him "Zuzu"...  He always signed as A. Duarte because people mispronounced his first name.

Pace of birth:
Melo, Uruguay, South America; a small town in the border between Uruguay and Brazil.

Dad's mom:
Evangelista Sassia de Duarte

Dad grew up in a family of four, with his mother, and two sisters, Octelina, the oldest and Rufinita, the youngest.  He does not remember his dad, because he died when he was very young.  His mother showed him photos and spoke very highly of him. She re-married and had two more kids, Efrain and Celeste.  But the marriage went sour, her second husband left and she had to face life with five kids.  Not easy!  My dad and aunt Octelina had to find jobs at the early age of 9 and 10 to help the family financially... My grandmother baked bread and pastry during the morning hours while the kids were in school and my dad sold the baked good in the afternoon right after school.  He also took two other jobs that kept him very busy... "Shoe shining" at the bus and train station and newspaper delivery.  There was no licencing requirements for work and no age limit so my dad just worked!  He developed a strategy by inquiring as to the arrival and departure of buses and trains and he was right there to shine shoes... and also sell his newspapers... So, late evenings would find him back at home doing his homework for school the following day.  My aunt Octelina helped to sell baked goods also and cleaned houses.  Hearing my dad's stories about his childhood made me respect the man beyond words.  I had it so easy growing up compared to him.

The entire family was very religious and devoted Catholics.  He was an altar boy at the local parish and helped the priest during mass every Sunday, for which his mom was very proud.

During his mid-teens he got his first official job outside the home.  He was in charge of a magazine, newspaper "kiosk" in downtown Melo.  He also started to smoke under pressure from his friends that challenged him with the "man" thing to do... He became a professional soccer player and his skills won him a placement in the local city team.  He also ventured into boxing and he loved it... During one of the fights he lost his nose bone and had to have surgery.  Later one he would show me his nose and bend it to the side while calling it, "rubber nose"... No one knew, except the family that his perfectly shaped nose had no bone underneath...

There was no much on the horizon of his life up to age 18 except, school, hard work, facing bitter winters and sports.  Something changed his life dramatically at that point.  A protestant missionary knocked at his door and talked to his mom for quite a while. He was distributing Christian literature which my grandmother avidly read.  My dad saw the same man come to the house several times and he heard the conversations from another room... They were all about religion and the Bible.  One day my grandmother invited all the kids to visit a "different" church that was not Catholic.  The whole family enrolled in a Bible Study group and my dad stopped smoking.  That was a "big one" for him according to what he told me... He didn't like the way he felt smoking, and he was smoking a lot!  He started to attend this church with his family and they soon became members of the Seventh-Day Adventist Church.  The Pastor of the church be-friended my dad and became like a dad to him.  He encouraged him to continue studying and find a purpose for his life.  I still remember my dad\ mentioning the name of "Pastor Bustos".  His wife started my dad playing classical music with the violin.  A year later my Dad was working harder than ever and saving money to attend seminary and become a Pastor.  Unbelievable!

He did move to the Seminary location where he studied to become a Pastor and there is where he met my mom.  He did not only studied theology but continue studying violin, sang tenor with the Seminary choir, traveled with the Choir and worked every single summer to earn enough money to go back to school.  The Seminary is still located in Entre Rios (Northeast part of Argentine) close to my mom's birth place.  Today the Seminary is a full University with a Medical School and 9 other accredited schools called River Plate University.  I attended school there and my daughter Halcyon spent a year there several years ago.  Today, right next to the old church snactuary, there is a row of  five, tall, grown up pines... They are beautiful!  The second one has a story to tell.... Couples at the seminary that were serious about marriage were given a chance to plant a tree on assigned places in the campus.  They would not only plant the tree but be in charge of watering the tree a certain number of times a week.  Well, my "dad", being my "dad"... invited his girlfriend to plant a tree... They did it, and he told me, that that "the poor tree almost died from over-watering" because they would go back and forth taking as much time as possible and collecting as many buckets or water as possible as an excuse to talk and spend time together... That sounds so hilarious to me... The Seminary had stricts rules for couples... Tables were assigned per month at the cafeteria so people would be kind of "kindly forced" to mix and meet each other... there was no holding of hands or anything close to it... So the tree "event" was a huge accomplishment in their relating to each other. Honestly, I can only vaguely relate to that kind of world... But it sounds like something my "dad" would do!  Unbelievable!

His first assigment to a church after graduating at Seminary was in the city of San Juan where he pastored his first church while my mom taugh elementary school.  I was born during that time in the city of San Juan.  Pastors would be re-assigned by the administrative office of the church every three or four years so I grew up "moving"... The first church I remember as a kid was, La Rioja. My sister, Susy, was born in La Rioja.  I attended kindergarten in La Rioja and I still remember the school and the playground.  The backyard in our house had the trunk of a fallen tree and my sister and I played intensily in that backyard.  Then we moved to San Rafael, in the province of Mendoza.  A gorgeous area covered with vineyards and fruits trees. Then we moved to Villa Maria where my dad started a new church from "nothing"... Church started in our home and four years later there were over 300 people that had joined the church.  My dad found a huge house for sale and the administrative office of the church purchased the house.  Then dad with the help of an architect designed the new church building by using the two front bedrooms of the house... (they were huge, high celing rooms).  There were enough rooms left for our family of four, my dad's studio and a big backyard where my mom planted whatever would grow on soil... It was like a small farm... She even had chickens there... That house was a lot of fun!!!  Then we moved to the city of Cordoba where he pastored a large congregation that was known because of the University and Medical School.  (You can see the picture of the building in the photo section under family) Then we moved to Rosario, in the province of Santa Fe.  It was at that time (age 15) that I worked for the first time during the summer, earned my scholarship and left home to attend a boarding school  where I would spend the next six years before moving to the US.  When it was time to go to work that summer, my Dad told me to just work  for my expenses...  That's all he expected...  By the end of the summer I did so well that I had earned a full scholarship to attend school and my dad couldn't get over the fact that I had done so well... Since age 15 I worked every summer and winter vacation and paid for everything myself. I know... It was a different time, a different place and a different economy.  But my dad's encouragment had a lot to do with my determination to reach my goals!

It would take me a long time to tell all the stories and experiences my dad shared with me during my growing years.  They would perhaps number in the hundreds...  Some were laughable, others were sad.  My dad always had stories to tell us!  Those were intense years for me. I felt like there was never enough... My dad lived a very intense, fun life!  I laughed so hard hearing about his childhood, seminary and his summer experiences selling books to earn his scholarship.

My dad seldom if ever played ball with me or anything like that.  For some reason I saw the other kids playing with their dads and I never resented it because I had something else going on in my life.  Dad involved me in his life and would often tell me... "Come with me..."  I would finish my school homework and go with my dad... sometimes we would go to the hospital to visit one of his parishioners that was sick... or would go to a home... or he would ask me to help with something at church... He was a Pastor-Evangelist and as such, he would held city wide crusades twice a year.  These were evangelistic meetings for the community and he preached about Christ and how God makes people good and loving. Usually his first four presentations were about family life and the halls would be packed of people attending to hear him speak.  His delivery was entertaining, funny at times but always full of wisdom.  He made sure I was involved in running the slide presentation or something else.  Several times he asked me to sing during the Worship Hour at church.  He would tell me he would play the violin if i sang... and that got me going!  We were always busy with people and church.  It was a good life! I don't remember ever complaining of being bored... We didn't have TV and the old dial radio was for the news every once in a while when a revolution started or for classical music. Since I was a young kid I read the newspaper every day so I always had stuff to talk with my dad about...There really wasn't a boring moment...

Transportation while I was growing up was interesting!
It was a bicycle as long as I remember up to age 6.  My dad would take me places around the city seated sideways on the  main bar of the bike and holding on to the handle bar.  Then he got a mopet... I still remember the name... It was a "Vespa" manufactured in Italy.  I would stand on the front of the mopet and go places with my dad... No seat belt... life was simple... By age 12 I remember going with my dad to buy the first car.  We went to the manufacturing plant located in the city of Cordoba and picked-up a light green, "Renault-Dauphine" (French car but made in Argentine).  Then, a second one... It was a Renault also... but a newer model... I have seen those cars in Europe and here and there, here in the US and I cannot believe they are so small but at that time I thought they were such huge cars!!! I learned to drive on the second Renault when was 14...  I still remember the first time my dad let me drive... It was in an open space in the mountains of  "Los Quebrachos" in Cordoba during a summer vacation.   I impressed my dad...  I had washed my dad's car so many times and imagined how I would feel driving...  I was ready!!!  Don't report me, please!  Life was different then!  I became assigned driver for the long trips and I loved it! I have always loved driving.  Then I had the privilege to buy "half" of my first car after a very succesful "three week" winter vacation work time in the city of "Rio Cuarto" in the province of Santa Fe.  I was short on money so my friend, Roberto Pereyra, decided it was a good idea to buy the car and we ended up buying it together.  It was a Chevrolet, model 1923, with wooden spoke wheels, tarp top and we had to crank the engine to start it... I drove home, parked the car in front of the house and called my parents to come see my new "half" car.  Of course, I took them for a ride... My dad couldn't get over the fact that I had made enough money to pay for "half" of this car!  But then, during the summer I worked to pay for the school year and winter vacations, I worked for the "extras".  He though the car was hilarious.  The following day, I drove him to church and he almost had a heart attack when he found out that I was low on brakes and I needed to slow down half a block in advance to make sure the car would stop when I wanted it to stop!!!  Of course, going back to the Seminary with that car (the only one owned by someone in the dorm) was a challenge to say the least.  We had to leave the key with administration and we could only drive the car under strict supervision reporting exactly where we went and when!  We ended up selling the car to a guy in a farm a year later and the buyer, we heard this later, exchanged it for a horse because the car "died" and it was too expensive to repair it!

Looking back I can say I was blessed beyond words by having my dad in my life...

• His world was real... His relationship with God was real... He passed that on to me!  I remember attending during our summer vacations the famous "Festival del Folklore Argentino" in Cosquin, Cordoba.  It was a national event of popular argentinian music, packed with people from all over the country; a place where you wouldn't find too many pastors and religious people.  But we went as a family and had a tremendous time!  My dad took me to auto races because i was fascinated with the sport.  I knew the names of all the racers and my dad and I had a great time just attending the events for a whole day.  He took me to motorcycle races.  We would talk about soccer and "Pele" was our favorite player, though he was Brazilian!" We would talk abouit "Boca Juniors" and "River Plate" soccer teams.  I was not into soccer a whole lot but he was and I thought that was cool...  He was able to speak like the guys that "report" a game over the radio and television... and he did it so well, that I would ask him to do it again and again...  Still today... If I watch a soccer game in TV and I hear the famous... 'Gooooooooooooallllllllll"..... i remember my dad!!!  He was a natural at it!  He did unusual things with me that gave me a sense of reality. My entire family loved clasical music, so every saturday night we attended a free classical music concert in the main music hall of the city of Cordoba.  It was a given!  Sometimes it was a full orchestra, other times it was piano, strings or opera.  But then the next day we maybe attending an auto race or going to a city fair! It may not sound like a big deal, but it was then, specially with the "role" my dad had as a religious leader.  Specially when everyone knew he was the "Pastor" and they saw him attending these events with a suit on... Like he was still a Pastor but a fun dad for me!  Get the idea?  He was comfortable going on hikes to the mountains, a park, a lake and nature but he did not ostracized me from the other aspects of the world.  He did not divide the world so much between good and bad.   My dad encouraged me to see life and people as reality. 
  

• Religion for my dad was not about "rules" and "non-sense" church stuff... I don't ever remember my dad playing the "pastor" role on me or our family...  Except by the fact that we were all very involved in church life.  My dad had a relationship with God that was actually translated into love for people.  My dad had very litttle to do with the "politics" of the church.  He was invited many times to hold management positions in the church and he always said "no"... Why?  Because he felt he had been called to be a pastor; to help people; and he did not want to be away from his family.  Those positions called for lots of traveling and being absent from home.   He dedicated  almost 40 years of his life to the church as an ordained minister and even after retirement he pastored churches and continued to preach.  A  tremendous example of commitment to his purpose in life!

• My dad was a loving guy!  Years later... up to this date... I hear stories of my dad's love for people. Never afraid to give a hug... never afraid to give encouragement... never afraid to help... I knew then, when I heard my dad's sermons every week, that the men preaching behind the pulpit was my dad and my dad was real!!!  That is perhaps the greatest gift my dad gave me.  The gift of authenticity.  He was not stiff and did not behave like religious people do,  His prayers were not ceremonial and full of non-sense.  They were real. He said prayers like we talk to a friend.  I never doubted my dad's sense of wholeness.  My dad loved me... He cared for me...Not a day has ever gone by when I have doubted his love for me.   

• My dad was very strict; he grew up in a different school that is now called "disciplinarian," but somehow I always knew he loved me and his heart was full of compassion.

• My dad was intense and passionate about life...

• He was curious and inquisitive to the core of his soul... I got my middle name 'WHY" from him, I guess....

• A smart man, but more than that, he is wise and very intuitive!
  

• He has a deep respect for God.

• His emotional intelligence was born in the school of life... He grew up hurting, wondering, being loved by his family but facing the cold, hard reality of  life...

• He was not perfect... THAT, HE WAS NOT!!!  And, the best part of it, is the fact that he openly admitted to it... totally!!! He openly talked to me many times about his struggles and life "battles"... But a good man, indeed a very good man, he always was, and he is to this day!  "Nothing worst than an imperfect person "behaving" like a perfect one." my Dad would often say! True, true!!!
  

duarte

Written by Hansel as a Class Research Project-10-13-2005

Spelling variations include: Iduate, Duarte, Iduarte, Yduate, Yduarte, Iduato, Yduato, Iduarto, Yduarto, Iduado, Yduado, Duardo and many more.

While some believe that Duarte evolved from the Irish surname Dougherty, others claim it is linked to Portugal's King Duarte.

Sixteenth-century records trace the name to Spain's northeast regions of Aragón and Zaragoza. They reveal that in 1509 a man named Pedro Duarte settled in Aragón and that, a year later, a nobleman named Gil Duarte became a member of the Zaragoza court. 

Perhaps the most prominent Duarte in Spain was Gonzalo Duarte de Meneses, an explorer born in 1548 who made a name for himself during the conquest of Chile.

In 1639, Sebastián Duarte appeared in the record books of the Spanish Inquisition in Lima, Peru. Of Jewish descent, he was burned at the stake during the religious purges of the period.

By 1663, a line of the Duarte family had established itself in Seville, southern Spain. In the 1760's, Cádiz-born Manuel Duarte helped establish a fairly extensive family line in the Dominican Republic.

Although neither of his parents carried the surname, an Andalusian calling himself Manuel Duarte settled in Cuba in 1608 and left a large family that can be traced down to the 1880's. From Cuba, the surname spread throughout the Caribbean, Mexico and the United States.