Mexico…

It’s hard for a child to understand adult decisions… it is hard to understand them now. The life in Mexico that I recall was a happy one. I was in kindergarten, I had my cousins, my aunts, I was surrounded by family. My memories from those initial years of life are short and sporadic, but I yearn for them and force more to return.

My Mom was young and studied out of town, my bond with her was not great. However, that did not bother we during those years. While my Mother was away I lived with my Grandmother, Grandfather, and my aunt and uncle who were only a few years older than me. They were my playing buddies and although they picked on me at times, we got along. I cannot say I was the perfect kid and was missing constantly… we lived in a small town where everyone knew each other. I blame my uncle who would taunt me to go play outside with the neighborhood kids, it was his way of leaving the house and blaming me after we got caught! I attended birthday parties, weddings… just had a good time.

The reason to explain this is to help understand the drastic change in lifestyle. The two people that raised me from the age of five (approximately) were an older couple. They were farm workers, they were immigrants that came to the US looking for a better life. Life had been hard on them, but they managed to raise their youngest in this country and their oldest child married here. When I arrived at their footstep they did not have the patience to raise a child like me. To this day I don’t understand why they took up such a burden.

As I was thinking of my previous post, it came to me that I did not wet the bed when I lived in Mexico! I had a WHAT THE moment, then came questions, was it the stress of my new life? what it the trauma of being pulled from my home? Isn’t it sad that after so many years things are still popping in my head. The saddest part is there no one else to discuss this with, to have someone who can help answer them….

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