Sapo Character Analysis

So, since we were almost convinced that our race had no culture, no smart people, we behaved even worse. It made us fight and throw books at one another, sell loose joints on the stairways, talk back to teachers, and leave classrooms whenever we wanted to.

My father understood where we were living. He knew, and when I would come home with bruises or a black eye he never lost his cool. I liked my father, and my father liked Sapo. He knew the importance of having someone there to watch your back. It was important to have a pana, a broqui.

“[…] Mr. Blessington told me I was going to end up in jail, so why waste my time doing homework?”

Julia-day-Burgos is so obscure it would be hard to find a single poem of hers. In any language.

If Sapo killed that reporter then he deserved to go to jail. I thought that, but I knew I didn’t mean it. I felt bad for Sapo. I also knew I would never rat out Sapo or Bodega. I wasn’t going to say a word.

“Blanca, why does me becoming Pentecostal have any bearing on you getting your privileges back? On you playing the tambourine in front of the congregation? Why do they look at me and my faults and not you and your merits?”

That night Sapo dropped me off at one of the new-old buildings Bodega had renovated on 116th and Lexington. Those buildings had been condemned for years. The City of New York takes so much time to either renovate or bulldoze a condemned building it’s like those guys on Death Row who die of old age rather than execution. Bodega had bought the entire row from the city and had slowly renovated three of them. He had improved the block. Improved the neighborhood. Given people a place to live.

The captain talked as if he were bored; it was all a formality, something he had done too many times and could do in his sleep.

“Let’s not say anything right now, okay? I’m going to be staying at Mami’s for a while. At least until the baby is born. I think that's best. Best for both of us.”

I would never have guessed he was Latin. He was more American than Mickey Mouse and just as old.

So, since we were almost convinced that our race had no culture, no smart people, we behaved even worse. It made us fight and throw books at one another, sell loose joints on the stairways, talk back to teachers, and leave classrooms whenever we wanted to.

My father understood where we were living. He knew, and when I would come home with bruises or a black eye he never lost his cool. I liked my father, and my father liked Sapo. He knew the importance of having someone there to watch your back. It was important to have a pana, a broqui.

“[…] Mr. Blessington told me I was going to end up in jail, so why waste my time doing homework?”

Julia-day-Burgos is so obscure it would be hard to find a single poem of hers. In any language.

If Sapo killed that reporter then he deserved to go to jail. I thought that, but I knew I didn’t mean it. I felt bad for Sapo. I also knew I would never rat out Sapo or Bodega. I wasn’t going to say a word.

“Blanca, why does me becoming Pentecostal have any bearing on you getting your privileges back? On you playing the tambourine in front of the congregation? Why do they look at me and my faults and not you and your merits?”

That night Sapo dropped me off at one of the new-old buildings Bodega had renovated on 116th and Lexington. Those buildings had been condemned for years. The City of New York takes so much time to either renovate or bulldoze a condemned building it’s like those guys on Death Row who die of old age rather than execution. Bodega had bought the entire row from the city and had slowly renovated three of them. He had improved the block. Improved the neighborhood. Given people a place to live.

The captain talked as if he were bored; it was all a formality, something he had done too many times and could do in his sleep.

“Let’s not say anything right now, okay? I’m going to be staying at Mami’s for a while. At least until the baby is born. I think that's best. Best for both of us.”

I would never have guessed he was Latin. He was more American than Mickey Mouse and just as old.