Mamita linda

With my beautiful mom on Mothers' Day

So I'm late on this one. I've been thinking about it since well before Mothers' Day and have been meaning to write it for a loooong time and then the end of the semester came and knocked me upside the head, and I'm only now beginning to emerge...just in time for the beginning of my summer classes. So anyway, I have cover letters to write and a gazillion pages to read, so I figured this was the perfect time to get this post out of the way.

I'm one of those women who thinks of her mother as her best friend, which is funny, because things weren't always this way. Growing up, my mom had no interest in being my friend. I had enough friends, she said, what I needed was a mother. Looking back, I'm glad for that. I had friends, good ones, but my mom needed to be something more, and she was.
She got here to the States when she was about twenty-four, following her husband, with two kids in tow: a four-year-old me and my one-year-old sister. She came without speaking the language, without knowing a soul, without knowing how many years of bitter cold she'd have to endure in this strange land. My mother is a brave woman, braver, I think, than I. I don't know that I could have handled it the way she did.
My mom learned English by watching Oprah and the news. She's the kind of woman who knows how to fake confidence, how to make herself look more secure than she is inside. She never apologized for her accent, and she wasn't afraid to speak up when she knew someone was trying to take advantage of her, of us, of anyone else.
My mother showed me strength, told me that women could do anything, let me know that I had choices. She stayed home with my sister and me, a stay-at-home-mom until we were old enough to fend for ourselves, and then home again when we moved to Germany. Once in a fit of anger, I lashed out at her, told her I'd be more than a housewife. I can't remember what the punishment was for that, but I do know that I deserved it. She stayed home, yes, but that did not make her weak, did not make her one of those silent, subservient women. There was a strength to choosing to stay home, choosing to forgo her own dreams to see her daughter's dreams fulfilled. There's a strength in sacrifice that I see now.
My mother is the type of person who will give and give and give without reservation, like her mother before her; I like to think I've inherited some of that. I remember her volunteering at my school, with a community of migrant field workers in our area, at our church. She gave her time, gave her skills, and never asked for anything in return. To this day, she works for a pittance because she loves what she does, and she translates and interprets for free because she knows someone needs to do it. She's an advocate, my mother. She's the woman people call when they don't have the words to fight for themselves, because she'll march into a bank or a store or a doctor's office with you and give someone what-for. Believe, she's a woman you'll want in your corner.
My mother flings open the doors of her home to bring people in. If you need a place to stay and you're in town, come on over. If you just want to hang out, come on over. If you need someone to listen, come on over. She'll let you in, feed you till you can barely move, and kill you with hospitality. The woman knows how to throw a get-together. And don't even get me started on her fashion! We used to tease her, my sister and I, for covering up and layering, but my gosh, she always looks polished and elegant. We have different styles - my look is a little funkier, a little more in the scoop neck/deep V territory - but we can both rock some basic pieces and have a passion for a beautiful, well-crafted shoe that is both stylish and comfortable. And best of all, she taught me how to walk in heels without lurching or looking like I'm tripping all over myself. Thank you, mom, for teaching me how to work a stiletto in comfort and with grace.
I love my mamita. Love her for being a parent, perfectly imperfect, the kind of woman who made me who I am: a well-adjusted, intelligent, passionate woman who can only hope to be half as stylish and generous as she. Even more, I love her because on this side of childhood and the self-righteous anger of my adolescence, we can be friends, women who can share victories and struggles, hopes and fears. I love that she's still in my corner, but I'm also glad to be in her's now.