Saturday, June 1, 2013

The Story. Part 1.

I was born is Mexico City in 1977. I was born into a marriage of 2 people who loved one another (so I thought).  I had a brother. I had loving Grandparents and a mother who never fell short in showing us how much she loved us. I grew up in a loving environment. I went to private school. I had fancy dressed. I never came from money, but I did however have my Grandmas fancy ways.

When I was 3, my parents split and so did my father. My Grandfather was the only Father I ever had in life. After my mother reunited with the Mormon missionary that she connected with when she was 15...Ok, so he (the missionary) decided that he was going back to Mexico to look for my mother, after serving on a mission at the age of 18 and realized he was still in love with my mother.  He dropped his wife and 12 kids and headed to Mexico City in search of his long lost Latin mother.

Good God...
I mean, Good Gosh.

I was 9 years old and my brother was 8. My mother, 5 years out of a divorce, met up with the Mormon missionary from her past and decided that the feeling was mutual (aka no sex before marriage..ish.)

My Mother packed up her life in Mexico City (including leaving my Grandma and Grandfather) and her 2 kids and loaded up a car with our belongings, her 2 kids, and a Mormon, and there we were. On our way to...


Picture this- In a car, in the middle of summer, for 5 days, with ABBA playing the whole time. Until this day I can't hear an ABBA song without wanting to find the nearest rest stop. So I can punch myself in the face, repeatedly.

I got to Salt Lake City Utah. I was cultures shocked. Confused. Bitter. This city was a trip. Where are all of the cabs? Why is everything closed at 8pm? And why is there no hot sauce anywhere? AND what the hell is this no alcohol and hussiness, or I will won't go to where?!? Can I have coffee??




I missed my Grandparents. My School. My fast paced life of big city, noise and tacos. I was a very depressed 9 year old.  I was in a "slow" class in school because I didn't speak English. I was in that class thinking to myself I'm not slow, I just don't speak English. Kids made fun of my moon boots. Hello, Gringos, I'm from Mexico, and my feet can't handle this snow, and my mom made me wear them.

Aye, PINCHE...

The transition was weird. The relationship with the Mormon and my Mom ended. He went back to his wife and kids, and my mother was now in this strange place, with 2 kids, as a single mother, again. We were poor. Well, we were the roof-over-our-heads kinda poor. You know, hotdog meat in the eggs, and spam meat kinda poor. Bye Bye fancy dresses. Hello thrift stores (which by the way I love now).

I  know my mom did the best she could. She really really did. Being a single mom with a full time job and kids. My Brother and I did our own thing. I grades suffered. We rebelled. We failed in our own way. My mother suffered. I'm 35 now, and I still don't have a clue what I'm doing at times. I've done the best I could. I think I have done ok. And now I know that my Mother did too. Being a Mother really puts your own Mother into prospective.

My life has been less than perfect. I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I didn't have a father who would scare the boys away, or that I could call when ever I was in trouble. But, I can't help but look at my life and realize that I wouldn't be who I am today if I didn't have those "shit's fucked" moments in my life. I'm a strong person because of these things. I'm more aware of who I am, and who I don't want to be now, more than I ever have. They gave my life character. They gave my life a journey. They gave me LIFE.  Not to mention stories to blog about.

Here's the big kicker....
my last relationship was with a Mormon. 


1 comment:

  1. Can't wait for part two!!! I must admit I am quite excited for it. :)