Left to right, clockwise:
Georgina Cuellar de Garcia, my mom, gave me shelter.
Gina was there for me, she lived by the adage that I was her kid no matter what age I was. A true mom, I was her son, and she was my mom. Everybody either figured it out by genetic traits or she would let them know. Si, ese es mi hijo.
Zenaida Torres de Rivera, my mother-in-law, gave me monies.
Zenaida provided the down payment on our first home and lent me the money to buy my first personal computer, on which I burnt the midnight oil and gained valuable knowledge that propelled my family to new heights.
, my maternal grandmother, gave me home.
Mima gave us that feeling of home whenever we walked into her apartment. While making espresso, she’d be opening up the freezer and taking out steaks, looking at us, asking us, you guys staying for dinner, right?
Those chairs the ladies are sitting on are from Mima’s old wooden dining room table that my family ate many a meal on. The complete dining set is in my storage, it will one day grace my dining room for when my grand kids pay me a visit.
“It takes a village to raise a child” is an African proverb that means that an entire community of people must interact with children for those children to experience and grow in a safe and healthy environment.
My three moms rounded me out, they each gave me something for my growth as a human being. I am indebted to them, and they knew, as I do, that the only way to repay them is to pay it forward. Each one of their traits is in me. Si, soy el hijo de ellas.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Pour out some liquor and I reminisce, cause through the drama
I can always depend on my mama
And when it seems that I’m hopeless
You say the words that can get me back in focus