My Mother's Stories

          As I was growing up, I cannot remember of any fictional stories that I was told, but I do remember many true stories that my mother would tell me about her childhood in Mexico. She was the second youngest of 11 children. Her father was and alcoholic and her mother was a very emotional and depressed woman. They were very poor but still managed to get by because her older siblings were old enough to work and help out the family. They would sleep next to each other, on the floor, in one room. They would walk everywhere because they had no cars. Their mother did not allow my mother or her sisters to keep up with their education after grade school even if they begged her because girls were meant to stay home and maintain a household by cooking, cleaning, and doing everything else that a man would not.

            As a walk the paths to my classes here at Texas A&M, I am grateful of every opportunity I’ve been given. From one generation to the next, a billion things can change. It could have easily changed for the worse but it didn’t, and for that, I thank my mother for being the strong woman that she is and going through everything she went through and desiring a much better life for me. I am thankful for her stories, which I have learned many lessons from and have made me appreciate everything I have, everything I am, and everything I am not.