Tag Archives: memories

Aside

Looking Back – My Reasons for Writing

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. Looking back on my teens, I realize that I was neglected and forced to grow up too quickly. 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 as well. 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 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. Yes, I made some mistakes along the way, but I also learned from them. It starts with a made-up mind! While I’ve managed to confront my past, I believe it hasn’t spoiled me, but has instead 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 all alone most of the time — 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. To be truthful, she had to address some honest and raw emotions and mention the flaws — the good, the bad, and the ugly.

The story is not fiction. It is written about how she recalls the events that shaped her life as a child, a teenager, and into her adulthood. Not all the memories 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 as a reminder of what it takes to be selfless.

Thanks

I did not expect THAT answer 🙂

Mi Boricuan Familia

I just returned from an accelerating week’s vacation, which was also a surprise visit to my family in Florida. Other than planning everything with my younger brother, I didn’t want any beans spilled, so I gave no clues and left no hints. My ten-year-old grandson accompanied me; it was his first time on a plane. He was so excited that he never ran out of words the entire flight.

The trip and the family time together were awesome!

My first stop was at my older brother’s. The shock on his face and the familiar choice words that he uttered upon seeing me were priceless. His entire household welcomed me warmly. My three tall nephews are strapping young lads. We all talked at once and managed to hear every word. Soon, my sister-in-law and I enjoyed some overdue and much-needed girl talk alone (after kicking out all the boys).

Then we drove to my dad’s home, where I was greeted with more hugs, tears, and kisses. (Click on the link to a video and listen to my daddy’s exclamation phrases over and over: “¡Ay, mi madre!” as well as “¡Ay, Dios mio!”)

Before too long, savory food wafted from the kitchen, calling my name. I couldn’t wait to sample my stepmother’s Puerto Rican cuisine. She did not disappoint and prepared a delicioso feast of pollo frito (fried chicken), plátanos fritos (fried plantains), and arroz con gandules (rice and pigeon peas).

Mmm hmm, good! ¡Que rico la comida!

My sister later drove into town (also surprising our daddy – yes, it’s in our blood) and soon we were catching up with the latest news over family, food, and fashion. I got to exchange stories with her fine son, amazed by his sharp wit, then observed him and my grandson enjoying one another’s company with the latest video game. Finally, Daddy announced it was time to play dominoes, beating everyone in the game just as I had always remembered.

In the days that followed, we shopped, ate to our heart’s content, spent the day at the beach and the pool, and shared pictures on Facebook (a vast difference from having to pull out dusty album books like the old days). Lastly, we enjoyed taking Daddy to Mai Kai Polynesian Dinner and Show.

I wanted — and needed — to be present to help celebrate my daddy’s 80th birthday that Sunday, and I was grateful to be able to escape my hectic schedule to attend the grand event. If not, I would have been filled with regrets. Now I have wonderful additional memories to hold onto for a lifetime.

With every visit, conversation, and reminiscing, we simply picked up where we left off so long ago. It felt good to be “home” again and reunite with my boricuan familia.

And now you know where I have been this past week.

10 Comments

August 17, 2013 · 1:39 PM

Aside

Metamorphosis

My family was poor. As a child, without having four-legged friends, I developed an unusual fascination with the behaviors of tiny critters, mainly insects. Curious about what lay beneath the ant piles, I liked to dig apart their colonies to watch the different activities of the workers, the soldiers, and the queen ant that I read about in library books. I never developed a fear of grasshoppers, even if they spat “tobacco” on my fingers, or of handling caterpillars that pricked when they crawled on my hand, or of sneaking up on lizards that left their wiggling tails behind, wondering what the funny red thing on their throats going in and out was all about. My fascination with those critters was a favorite pastime.

Not all school projects were memorable, but I remember one that stuck with me for years. When the teacher assigned a report on any subject, I decided to pick caterpillars. On a large poster board, I drew the four stages of the butterfly: (1) egg, (2) larva, (3) pupa, and (4) adult. I described metamorphosis. Though it wasn’t a Picasso, my work earned a ranking on my school’s hallway wall, posted for all to see, with the highest mark in class: A+.

One sunny day at recess, I found a black woolly caterpillar crawling in the shrubs and gently placed it in my palm. My classmate was naturally curious and asked to see what I held. When I opened my hand to show him, he whacked it so hard that the caterpillar flew out and disappeared into a bush. And that’s when I morphed! Without hesitation, I slapped him on the face, hard. The boy stood stunned, mouth open.

As an adult, I often thought about the word metamorphose. It means to change completely in nature or form.

I think about how alcohol deceived my loved ones, giving them a false sense of reality. After drinking, like the caterpillar many years ago in my book report, they metamorphosed into social butterflies fresh out of their cocoon. They felt invincible, glamorous, or intelligent. Gone were the restraints that crippled them emotionally. They carried a false sense of bravado. It was then that they laughed wildly, conversed freely, and flirted openly.

The more attention and compliments they received from others, the less they knew the difference between genuine praise and mere flattery.

(A small excerpt from Running in Heels – A Memoir of Grit and Grace ).