Day 16 o el Dia dieciseis

The cardboard picture book lay held by strong aged hands. Mi abuela was teaching mi gamela y yo el alfabeto en espanol. We were about 5. It's funny how little you can be with a mind to store certain times in your young life, certain events. Like storage, it is never ruined or gone unless the building that holds the stuff is knocked down or destroyed, or someone steals it. That moment, I remember hearing the insistent voice of abuela reading aloud as if she were commanding a small army.
"Say it with me now...ah..bey..cey..che.."
Mi gamela and I were so shy, we could not speak nor follow. She pried us till we spoke up. She was a school teacher by profession and knew how to get children to listen and follow.
"ah..mira, este es una manzana. Say it man-zan-a. ah.."
She continued through the picture book till it was time she believed we had learned enough for the day. She was always insistent and felt her on duty to be with us was top priority. So much so, she wanted to raise us herself.
"Oh no, those are mi hijo's kids. I can do much better raising them." she onced mentioned.
My mom, at first thought it fair to have our abuela in our life, along with our papi and his side of the family, but as time went on, with things unfolding for the worse, she thought it best to leave them all behind.
"Let me see their stomachs."
"Ay Dios Mio, they are eating too much."
"Open. Let me see your mouths."
She became an overprotective counterpart in which my mom wanted no part of.
"Those are my kids. Not yours."
They would have talk after talk of this continuing control.
"I'm bringing them to church. They'll need their coats. I don't want them to catch a cold because the church can be a little cold."
It was summer! My mom, at that time, leaned and gave in. Abuela took us to her home and made breakfast. I remember it being a strange combination of lemon and oatmeal and something else, I can't recall, but mi gamela and I were nautious after.
"Is not true ninas. Esta bien. Ok hurry, put your coats on. we don't want to be late."
Recollecting the dimly lit church with maroon walls and cherry oak seats where we sat and stood as the choir sang hymns, we were given little strawberry hard candies and sat quiet. We were almost too timid, and felt like little crabs retreating in our shells. It was warm in the church. She insisted we keep our coats on. Winter coats mind you! By the time we got out, our faces were starting to look pastel, changing with various shades. She paid no mind to it and drove us home safely to my mom's. My mom opened the car door, relieved that her kids were home. A small fountain of whitish mix came out of me like I had been punched in the stomach. We had fevers and we were sweating like trapped pigs. Furious wasn't the word as she swung each of her kids up, she marched away with one under each arm and hip. Abuela was trying, she demanded it was not her fault. My mom and her had different opinions on raising kids and never got along. After she decided to end it completely with my pa, so did she the family. Mi gamela and I would not reep ties with our Boricua family again till our late teenage years, where it was time for us, as young adults to decide for ourselves. I don't blame my mom. She was our mother and wanted the best life for us and could not reconcile a truce with our abuela or any of my Boricua family because of her knowledge of truth. She saw it, and when it was no good and felt it was a hazard for her kids, she didn't want no part of it. Her mind was made up and was stubborn and stuck to it. Now I have learned that both sides were stubborn and if really coming to a halfway point, there could have been a truce, but My mom saw the bad and stuck to her decision. I love the way I was raised and the complete enjoyment of my mom, but I knew for our sake, she had to protect her kids. Over time there was something missing. And we later found our way back to our Boricua roots again. We got to know each other again and saw the past was the past and old things good and bad could be polished and made new again. It was meant to be this way. All about responsibilities and who could handle them, clearly my mom was right. Now mi papi and I have a good communicative relationship because we our adults. We email and we send cards and we talk once in a while, since he lives in another state. My mom has softend the bend to the cast iron hold she once had. My papi was trying to be apart of our lives, he had before but it was within our own time that we could see for ourselves what this man was about. Not talking to my Boricua family, my mom remains as a cowboy in the range, sticking to her guns, staying in her territory. My abuela and my Boricua family never understood why such a grudge. Oh well, some things never change..
Now back to learning espanol..