Reminiscing Childhood Memories in Mexico

The first time my parents brought me to the United States, I was two years old, but at age 4 ½ my parents decided to visit our family and stay in Mexico for a year. Even though I was born in Mexico, I know very little of my native country since I have been here since January of 1996, and I have spent a total of 3 years in Mexico. But the memories I do have of that one year I was there, to this day stand very clear in my mind.

When my parents decided to leave to Mexico in 1995, as a 4 ½  year old I was thrilled and animated to know I was meeting family I did not know. Upon arrival to Guadalajara, Jalisco my father’s sister and cousins welcomed us with great excitement. If they welcomed us with such excitement I couldn’t wait to meet my family in Nayarit. I clearly remember the night we arrived to Las Varas, Nayarit my mom’s hometown. As soon as we got out of the truck my mom went inside my grandfather’s (her father’s) house and gave him a big warming hug like there was no tomorrow. They both cried of joy and happiness since two years had passed by without seeing each other. My mom could not believe she was standing right in front of him, especially because he was sick, the reason why they had decided we would go back to Mexico. Then my grandfather reached out for me and gave me another big hug.

A few days after being in Nayarit, Mexico my mom enrolled me in school to attend Kindergarten. I loved my teacher and classmates. As a class we participated in community events such as September 16th El Dia de La Independencia de Mexico where a few selected students marched and raised the flag as a sign of honor. I was the leader known as the escolta. During our lunch break, parents would go to our school and sell yummy Mexican food like tostadas de pollo, duritos con cueritos, pepinos y fruta con sal y limon. They basically sold home-made Mexican food and snacks. When my mom wouldn’t take me lunch she would give me money to buy something from the women.

During my free time after school and on the weekends, my parents and I would visit my dad’s hometown Las Piedras, Nayarit a tiny place described as a rancho. Everyone in that patch of land knew each other and despite the gossip that went around at times, the community could count on each other in case anything disastrous happened. There is a river, in Spanish we call it un arroyo, were the community in Las Piedras use the big rocks right by the river and wash their clothes by hand. Most of the time, if not all, the women do much of the hand-washing of clothes. While at it, the women and their children take their shampoos and bathe their. We might think it’s gross to hear something like that still happens there, but everyone loves the river, from oldest to youngest. The water that runs through the river is pure, clean and natural. When my father talks about that river, his eyes glow as if he is reliving his experiences as a youngster.

I also remember the weekends when my family planned gatherings at the beach. We would wake up early in the morning, gather in one house and from their pack the pick-up trucks with all the food and materials for our outing at the beach. I was always the first and the last to be in the water. My bathing-suit would be on so that as soon as we would get there, I would be the first to go into the water. My cousins and I built sand castles and buried each other in the sand. I would come out of the water when my tummy asked me to feed it, then I would go back in the water. Once it was time to go home, my mom would have to call me three times and after the third call she would literally come and get me because everything was packed and ready to go.

After visiting Mexico for a year, my parents decided to come back to the United States in January 1996. Three weeks after my mom and I arrived, she received a notice from her younger sister that my grandfather had died. My mom felt a sense of regret and guilt because we had just left Mexico. Over the years she has healed the wound.

I have completed my studies in the United States with the beginning of second semester of Kindergarten to graduating from Loyola Marymount University. I do remember those wonderful moments I experience going in to the river and being surrounded by a community of people who look out after each other. Despite the many trials and tribulations I have experienced I made it, and continue to be on my path for what is to come next. Keeping those memories in mind, always remembering my roots and where I come from keeps me connected with my family. I have clear images of my childhood years in Mexico and going to school as well as spending my time in the United States. As a person heading in the direction to becoming a teacher, these experiences will allow me to form connections with my students who might come from the same background. Our experiences are unique, and no experience is more difficult than another, but I will say that I am happy to be where I am.