Mommy Finger, Baby Finger

A valuable lesson I learned from my dad was to not let anyone intimidate me. My parents raised me in South Central Los Angeles: work hard for what you want because it won’t come without a fight — that’s what my dad would teach me at a young age. It’s safe to say I’ve spent my whole life fighting. In our house, my mom was the one you could go cry to. My dad would say, “Next time, you should try harder.” That upbringing of “not having it all” inspired me to give it my all. As a result, I was able to find courage within myself, strength and faith. My dad’s philosophy was, “As long as you have a roof over your head, a warm bed to sleep in and food on the table, you have all you  need.” He never spoiled my brother and I with material things like clothes and shoes. My dad actually struggled with his temper. Oftentimes, he responded in physical rage and therefore my childhood saw many abusive scenarios. In fact, the clothes on my back and the shoes on my feet were generally a result of my mom sneaking around to buy things for us or the hand-me-downs from my aunts and cousins. The best memories of my childhood were riding on my dad’s motorcycle and our summers at Kern River. In the summers we would go camping, fishing and swimming at the river. We would even take our dog, Wishbone (named after the talking dog on PBS back in our day).

Everything about my character began with my parents. We lived humbly, in a one bedroom apartment. My brother and I shared a bunkbed in the living room. As kids, we cleaned a lot and we despised it. Though we were poor, my dad would say that we should take care of what we had. So, at the age of six we were sweeping and mopping floors, cleaning walls, washing dishes, etc. And, it all had to be done before my dad got home from work. By middle school, I was preparing dinner. My dad was a hard-working, no-nonsense man with a crooked smile. When he laughed, one eye would be bigger than the other. One time, I even asked him why that was. On several occasions I’d find him staring at his face in the mirror. Born and raised in Honduras, my dad is strong and muscular with a short afro and caramel skin. He used to be very tall and scrawny. His eyes sometimes turn a honey brown. My mom still says I look nothing like her, but also don’t look like my dad — except for the thick legs, hair and big teeth. My dad always wore his shirt tucked in, and the same went for my brother. The big thing about my dad was this: “Just because you live in the ghetto doesn’t mean you have to sag your pants like everyone else.” I would grow up to respect that. My dad mostly held hotel housekeeping positions in Downtown L.A. and he used to come home with things that were left behind at the hotel and never claimed. I didn’t know it at the time, but my favorite surprise was a Christian gospel cd that he brought to me one day. When no one was home, I would blast the CD and I would sing along to Nicole C. Mullen. My mom worked a lot, too, but still found ways to be present — she told us stories before bed, took us to the library, swimming, karate, bible school, art classes and the skate park. She was such a loving and patient mom. She taught me to value my dreams, my education and faith. My parents constantly disagreed. They were complete opposites and still are. If my dad taught me to be serious, my mom taught me that it was OK to screw up. For her, laughter was the best medicine. It annoyed the crap out of my dad. But, laughter still is her best medicine and I appreciate that about her.

Born and raised in El Salvador, my mom was — and still is — very true to her Latin American culture and identity. She is always trying to feed me pupusas and tamales. She is the kind of person who has a hard time saying no to favors and never uses curse words. She does this goofy dance when she’s happy and it’s hard to not laugh. She has medium length, wavy brown hair that she usually pulls back into a bun. She rarely wears makeup and prefers comfort over style. My mom’s humility and faith has had a great influence in my life. She always said, “They look down at us because we are poor but thanks to God we are not missing anything.” To this day, our favorite movie is Legally Blonde. She loves to quote movies, especially those that no one has a clue about.

Our family stories usually revolve around something crazy or embarrassing my dad did when my brother and I were younger. Like the time we were at a Chinese restaurant eating and my dad got mad mid-conversation because my mom had no idea who Kanye West was. My mom still doesn’t know who 99% of today’s celebrities are, what clothing styles or phones are in, but I am 100% sure she is proud of me. She has been a phone call away at the highest and lowest moments of my life. She makes me laugh and pushes me to aim higher and to believe in myself. She’ll say, “Walk with a bit more sass,” and “Girl, if I had those legs of yours …” While she is happy for me and cheers me on, you’ll never hear her bragging about me. She leaves that up to her sisters, who usually introduce me as “the reporter.” It honestly makes me so uncomfortable. My mom and I will just laugh about it together afterwards.

My older brother, Gustavo, teased me often. In return, I annoyed him with my singing. We also wrestled, got our hands dirty, played basketball and beat each other up. One time, I kicked him so hard I was afraid he wouldn’t get back up. Another time, he tricked me into believing that wonton soup was “brain soup.” I would not stop throwing up after our Chinese dinner. I also hated when he played Resident Evil. Zombies terrified me. Together, we’d annoy my mom, and she’d lock us out of the apartment. My mom would say, “If you can’t be calm inside then stay outside.” Today, Gustavo and I laugh at our childhood memories. We like to think those experiences no matter how crazy they were made us give life all we’ve got. I like to think those experiences toughened me up but also made me empathetic towards the world around me.