I have a Latin Mother
My poor mother.
She has had to deal with me as her daughter — cranky, bossy, hard-headed. And, today I am posting a video about her. One day, it will be a novel, for sure, but today it is a video.
My mother truly is a wonderful, strong and fierce woman. A force of nature. She can be all soft, warm breezes or gale force winds.
And so, we lock horns and we often bicker about my inability to check-in regularly — and in regularly, I mean like every 36 hours, or less. She tells me she worries if she hasn’t heard from me. I tell her not to freak, the local hospital surely will find her if they need to. She doesn’t like that and tells me to “por Dios, no digas eso!”
For the last few weeks, I have been recording the messages she leaves me. I find them hilarious and sometimes maddening. She knows this, so this is not news to her, or to my father, who also believes he should send out search parties if my brother and I haven’t called in two days.
I remind them both — often — that I am more than 40-years-old and I have canas to prove it, but they don’t hear it.
I have asked non-Latin friends if their parents freak out if they don’t call. Most say no, and a few have told me they can go weeks without talking to their parents.
What? Seriously? My mother would charter a plane just to get here and pull my ear. Plus, that’s just not right, is it? You do have to call Mami more than that. It’s a cultural question, for sure.
I am the Mami of a 5-year-old — also hard-headed and bossy and semi-cranky and growing up way less Latin than I did. So, the heavens help me because I know one day, it will be me speed-dialing her grown-up self going “Hallo? Hallo? Halloooo!”
Me la van a pagar.
Payback is hell.
(And Mima, thank you for putting up with me. Te quiero mucho.)