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Chapter 36: The meaning of it allTía Carmen follows in Mama’s footstepsBy Carmen DuarteThe Arizona Daily Star
I told you when I began this story that my Mama was making preparations to die, that she had begun doing so 33 years ago. Her plans, gracias a Díos , keep getting interrupted.
Eventually, Mama and I helped my brother Raymond gain custody of his two daughters, Julisa and Clarissa, now 12 and 11. Their half sister, Deana, now 13, also became part of our family. Raymond and his girlfriend had split up. The girls needed a stable, loving environment, and they found it in our home, which I had bought in the mid-1980s. Mama, Raymond and I began living life with renewed gusto. The girls brought a contagion of energy and laughter to our home. There were also nights when I cried myself to sleep from pure exhaustion. I was working a full day at home before heading to work to cover crime stories for the Star from 3 p.m. to midnight. Mama finally quit cleaning hotel rooms at age 77 to make sure she was home in time for me to go to work. I came close to despair when all three girls broke out with chicken pox, and they took turns soaking in the tub with treatments to soothe their miserable, itching bodies. But there was always an instant antidote to my self-pity. When I left for work, they would wrap their tiny arms around my legs, refuse to let go and say: “I love you, Tía .” So Tía Carmen learned to become a mama. Boy, it’s tough — being charged with molding children into responsible, loving adults who must learn to do the right thing, and also give back to their community. It’s a challenge for Raymond and me, but Mama is an excellent teacher in the science of unflappability. She showed us that in 1996, shortly before her 80th birthday, five years after the girls moved in. The girls’ mother had accused Mama of child abuse. Raymond and I were at work when Deana and Julisa began fighting and Mama tried to separate them. They would not listen to her, so Mama picked up a plastic toy bat and whacked Deana on the leg. It left a bruise.
After the girls’ mother saw Deana’s bruise and scratch, she went to school the next day, took all three girls home and called the police. I came home that evening and listened in horror as Mama told a police officer on the phone. “Yes, I hit her. Yes, I hit her with a baseball bat.” “Mama,” I said. “Explain to the officer that it is a plastic toy bat.” Mama hung up and said an officer was on her way to pick up the bat. I was a nervous wreck — picturing Mama being taken away in handcuffs, photographed and locked up in jail. “Carmen,” Mama asked, “don’t you have any faith? God will protect me. I did what I had to do. The girls know the truth.” Mama was right again. Everyone told the truth. Detectives investigated and found no cause for charges. Julisa and Clarissa came back home, but the girls’ mother kept Deana. We had no legal recourse since Deana has no blood ties. So after five years in our home, suddenly our baby, Deana, was gone. A part of me died that day. But, over time, we began to see her more. She is still a part of the family. She knows she always will be our baby.
Mama’s advice is consistent and wise. I’ve begun reciting it back to her. Mama’s heart was broken a couple of years back when Raymond switched religions. He made Julisa and Clarissa stop going to religious-education classes at St. John the Evangelist Catholic Church. He made them leave the altar server program and took the girls with him to an eastside Baptist church. Raymond had developed some problems with praying to saints and the Blessed Mother. The girls liked the Baptist services at first, but after several months they preferred to go to Mass. Raymond has allowed that. Mama prays to God and the santos for Raymond to come back to the Catholic faith, and he does go to Mass with us occasionally. I tell Mama there is one God, and there are many faiths. If the girls follow God’s commands about loving him and loving one another, they will be fine. Mama listens but keeps praying for their return to her faith. On a recent Saturday morning, I smiled and felt warm inside as my nieces, Deana, Julisa and Clarissa, and their friend, Angelica, kissed me goodbye and walked out the front door. They climbed into the van with my brother, Raymond, and headed to Tucson High Magnet School. The girls — all Wakefield Middle School students — were meeting other students from around the city who were volunteering to paint over graffiti. Our pollitos
I wiped happy and proud tears,and walked back into the house where Mama was washing the breakfast dishes. That pretty much brings us up to date. It’s time for Mama and me to say adiós . I’ll go first. u u u Mama’s strength flows in my veins. Her faith is mine. Her teachings have made me who I am. So who am I? I am a woman, born in Tucson, who, as a child, picked cotton and pecans not far from my southside neighborhood. I am a woman who, as a girl, helped Mama clean hotel rooms. I am a woman who lives in a barrio that is feared by some. I am a woman who loves children and wants to share with them stories I’ve covered over the years working at the Star. I am a woman who expects great things from my nieces, my pollitos . I challenge them to work hard in school and want them to understand that each of them is important. They are our future. They need to stand up and be counted. I am a woman who still believes in the goodness of human beings and who knows that God expects us to love one another and better our world. At times, though, I am tired. I am tired of trying to educate people who only see my barrio as ugly and depressed, full of people who live on government handouts and youth who are nothing but gangbangers. I try not to despair. I lean on God and listen to Mama’s voice: “Mi hijita, no te angustias. Ponte fuerte y lista. Mañana es otro día y Díos esta contigo.” (My little daughter, don’t anguish. Get strong and be ready. Tomorrow is another day, and God is with you.) I also can hear Mama’s other voice. The one that makes me laugh. “Por qué lloras? Como eres chillona. Tu sabes que el mundo esta lleno de babosos. Díos sabe eso.” (Why are you crying? You are such a crybaby. You know that the world is full of idiots. God knows that.) You are right, Mama. But there is so much more work that needs to be done. We need more youth to graduate and go to college. We need no more youth filling our prisons. We need no more teen-agers becoming parents. So I place my faith in God and the future. My nieces and cousins are armed with la familia’s faith and its strength. We are many. Relatives estimate that our extended family easily numbers more than 1,000. Some are already making a difference as counselors, educators, engineers, executives, police, a defense lawyer and a federal judge. And one is a journalist who cries through half her stories. The time has come for this chillona to sadly say goodbye to “Mama’s Santos,” a project that taught me so much about myself, mi gente y mi linda Madre . I know my Mama is proud of me, though any time she speaks of my profession, she says I spend my days gathering mitotes , gossip. But hey, I’m the queen of mitotes . And I’m grateful for this chance to tell my Mama’s story. Gracias , Mama. Gracias a todos . u u u Now it’s Mama’s turn and, as usual, she is reluctant. She was making supper when I asked her to tell us all the meaning of her life. She gave me one of those looks. You know, the look that says “What idiotic question are you asking now?” She stopped cutting a tomato into wedges and her forehead wrinkled. She became annoyed. “ Mi trabajo es hacer la caridad, yo no ando filosoficando. Mi vida es mi vida y eso es todo. ” (My work is to be kind, and I am not philosophizing. My life is my life, and that is all.) I should have known. Mama does not talk in the abstract. She acts. She believes there are too many idiots who talk and do nothing. “God shows me the way. He doesn’t come down and talk to me like you talk to me. I pray to him and things happen. He forgives me, but he has no time to talk to a sinner like me. He has heard me all the times my pollitos were in trouble, and he helped me.” “I have lived a long life because God has me here. People need to understand that they have to give of themselves to God and he will take care of them.” Mama begins cutting the tomato again and continues, I guess you would say, theologizing: “The devil is among us, and he is the one who at all times is seeing where he can stick his tail.” “Things happen for a reason. People who get angry at God are crazy. God knows what he does. And, like the saying goes: ‘God punishes without (using) a stick or a whip.’” For Mama, the present is the best time of her life. “I do what I want. When I lived with my mother, I did what she said. God took care of me. After I left my mother, I lived with my older sisters and took care of my younger brothers and sisters. When I got married, I raised my children and my sister’s children. I taught all of you the best I could. God guided me all of my life. “My granddaughters are now my life. I love them as though they were my children. When they are not here at home, it is as though a part of me is not here. “I want my granddaughters to do their best and aim high. I want them to go to school and do the best they can with their lives. They have a good chance to achieve whatever they want. “I want them to believe in God and the santos , and know they are there for them,” Mama says. “I am in my glory on Earth,” says Mama, “and when I die, I hope to be in my glory in heaven.” |
Ch. 1: Field of death
Ch. 18: The New Deal
Ch. 24: Cotton pickers and copper miners Ch. 27: The family doubles its size
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