One of my cousins from across the miles posed a couple of great questions, giving me food for thought. He asked:
Why do you write? And why do you write about the family?
My answer to him:
First of all, I write because I know I have a story to tell. As a kid, eventually, I discovered we were dirt poor. In my teens looking back, I realized that I was neglected and forced to grow up too fast. I was ashamed of my childhood and bitter for being my mama’s mother. As I “matured,” settled down, married, and had children of my own, along the way I found I was a stronger person because of some of the things that I endured as a child.
Once I embraced the God of my grandparents, I became a much better person, too. NOT that I had it all together; I still had a few things to learn. But I learned that it was much better to let go of the bitterness and to forgive than to hold onto the junk.
I also learned that I didn’t have to be a product of my environment! I could rise above the ashes like a phoenix and become so much better. That was my freedom — still is — and God has called us to liberty, not to be in prison. Sure I made some mistakes along the way, but I learned from them as well. It starts with a made-up mind! While I’ve managed to confront my past, I believe my past hasn’t spoiled me, but has prepared me for the future. I may not be perfect but whenever I stumble, I can wipe the crud off and walk on. I share my story that I might help one person – and if I have done that then I have done a good thing and God gets the glory. 
I mention family because the little girl growing up — although she may have felt like she was alone most times — she was not an orphan and did not live on an island unto herself. There were others around who helped to nurture her in one fashion or another, even, the antagonists in her story. And yes, some were heroes. She cannot tell her story without mentioning those she looked up to. For it to be truthful, she had to address some real and raw emotions and mentioned the flaws — the good, the bad, and the ugly.
The story is not fiction. It is written about how she remembers the events that took shape in her life as a child, a teenager, and into her adulthood. All the memories do not take her to a happy place. She has had to dig deep to find them. To some, those “happy” places may be simple and insignificant, but to her, they were her lifeline.
His response:
I am keeping this to remind me what it takes to be selfless.
Thanks
CD
I did not expect THAT answer
© M.A. Perez 2017, All Rights Reserved
Once we landed, it was she who became our guardian angel. While I retrieved our luggage, she stayed behind and waited patiently with Mark. When I returned, she volunteered to accompany me in fetching our rental car, even praying for a blessing over the remainder of our vacation. She walked with me back to where Mark was waiting, helped me load everything into the car, and politely waved goodbye to us. I truly felt she was an angel sent by God.
We were flooded with hugs, tears, and joy, and our bellies were full of my stepmother’s delicious Fricase de Pollo in no time. Due to all the medication my husband was on, he hadn’t had much of an appetite, but I was certain it would return with all the anticipated Puerto Rican cuisine.
The next day after a warm breakfast, we drove into Ft. Lauderdale to visit Big Brother, his wife, and their three strapping sons. While the 
big boys played a game of chess, we gals went grocery shopping. When we returned, Mark was ready to call it a day. The pain from his ribs was causing him misery.
The anticipated meal did not disappoint. 
Although quite tasty, the star entree wasn’t the pavo but the pernil, the traditional Puerto Rican pork shoulder. Not to be outdone, there were a couple of large pans of my stepmother’s delicious arroz con gandules. This was a Thanksgiving feast at its best! I believe we ate until we couldn’t eat another bite; hardly any room for dessert.
Dad: A son’s first hero. A daughter’s first love.
From Heart to Heritage
Reflections From the Heart 