It is so hard to say goodbye

The very first thing I do upon waking up is check Instagram it has become a ritual, my alarm goes off I open the weather app and then Instagram. Any who I scroll aimlessly not looking for anything in particular yesterday morning was no different, I was simply scrolling down 8 hours worth of feed when suddenly I noticed this picture:

My immediate reaction was “SHUT UP! WHAT?” And then I did what any other normal person would do, I immediately went to google to verify it was true and it was! My husband was a little confused, he didn’t know what was going on (when it comes to my random comments he never does and I don’t blame him because half the times I don’t even know what goes on in this incredible mind of mine).

You see, I grew up Catholic so the Pope is someone very dear to me (although I never met him nor probably will ever meet him). I went to catholic schools most of my life (with the exception of junior high and high school). I grew up listening to Pope John Paul II, he even visited El Salvador (my place of birth) in 1993, I was too small to attend the open-air mass but I heard it over the radio, the pope visiting our country was an honor. 750,000 attended that mass, in places like El Salvador the Pope is a rock star!

Now that you have some background of what the Pope means to me you can imagine what crossed my mind yesterday when I heard that Pope Benedict had resigned. Complete and utter shock, he might have his reasons but he is the first pope to resign in 600 years and that’s a big deal!

Hopefully a new one will be appointed soon,

Pieces of Me (part III): A Boy Scouts Story

I have 3 half brothers and 1 full brother, no sisters. So you can imagine my life growing up. I wish I could say it was fabulous ALL of the time, it was not. Being the only girl meant I was overprotected and spoiled, I would have taken more spoiling and less “protection” any day but it was a packaged deal, I couldn’t have one without the other.

While we lived in El Salvador my mother always made sure we went to good schools and we were kept busy and off the streets, she enrolled us in after school programs, tutoring and the boy scouts in the summers. Yes you read that right I was enrolled in the boy scout along with my brother, I was too young to remember any crazy stories, all I remember was that I was the only girl in the BOY Scouts. Which explains why growing up I got along better with boys and could hardly stand girls. To this day I bug my mom about it and I asked her why she didn’t enroll me a girls scouts and she told me that at that time the girls scouts didn’t exist and she wanted my brother and I to be together so he could protect me.

My brother and I in the boys scouts.

Aside from pictures, I don’t have many memories of this time. My mother has the picture above in a 11 x 13 hanging in hallway in her house, along with other pictures of us when we were younger. I guess it wasn’t that bad, I look pretty happy in the picture. I learned many valuable lessons, like I can be a girl and hang with the boys, perhaps that is why growing up I intimidated boys/men, I still intimidate them, thanks to the boy scouts I am not afraid to speak my mind and be bold. I guess instead of bugging my mother about not placing me in the girls scouts I should be thanking her for enrolling me in the boys scouts.

-A

Pieces of Me (part 2): A Shoemaker

I love the elderly.

From a very young age, I have been fond of the them. I have always felt at peace around them and my heart swells with respect and love for them, even when they are complete strangers. I guess I learned to love and respect them because I had amazing grandparents. I only have one grandmother still alive. She lives in El Salvador and I wonder if I’ll ever see her again. She has come to visit several times but she is always too stubborn to stay and is always eager to go back.

My grandfathers were both very talented men, one was a musician and tailor and the other was a shoemaker and carpenter. I remember when I was younger (5-8 yrs old ) I would watch my grandpa make shoes. He had his “shop” set up in the back of the house, the shoes he would make he would sell. I will never know to whom, I was too small to ask then and it’s too late to ask now, he passed away some years ago. I never got to see him. I try to live my life free of regrets but perhaps this is one of them, never going back to El Salvador to visit my grandparents.

This was the last time I saw my grandpa. We were at the airport the day we came to Chicago January 16th 1997

I miss him terribly. He use to make me shoes. He made me a pair of white booties to go with my cheer leading outfit. I loved being a cheer-leader, I could twirl a baton like no one’s business. It was my favorite thing to do and I love the uniforms and booties had a small heels (super tiny ones you could barely see but they were heels to me). My mom didn’t want me to wear heels and I don’t blame her I was 5 but I begged my grandpa, papa Chepe my nickname for him, to make the booties with heels and he did, I was a happy camper! Here are some pictures of my cheer leading baton days unfortunately you cannot see the booties 

sorry for the low quality, these photos are scanned…

Stay tuned for: Pieces of me I wish I could erase (part III): A Boyscouts Story

-A