We were raised on traditions centered around love. Family. Food. Togetherness. Growing up we lived in a 1-bedroom apartment. Five of us, until I was nine. 3 kids, limited space…needless to say it almost always looked as though a tornado had just ripped through Brooklyn. But I was the first grandchild on either side of the family, so that made our apartment THE holiday destination. And even when there were family members at war with one-another, all differences were put aside once they passed through our doorway. I have many scattered memories of these holidays, some as vivid as others are vague. I remember my cousin and I doing a contortionist act on the couch, trying to snoop through the gifts under our massive tree…which ended with us both trapped against the wall, behind/underneath the tree, covered in sap, crushing the presents we were so desperately trying to spy. I remember us sneaking fruit cocktail out of the bottom of the “adult” punch-bowl, and having a fit of the giggles that left us in pain. I remember lots of hugs. I remember my “chubby cheeks” getting pinched to the point of roses. Enough food to feed a small country. Endless praise for said feast. I remember the magical glow of the Christmas lights that adorned every window. Happy drunks singing at the top of their lungs. Taking rides on the caballito posing as my Grandma’s knee. Dancing on my Daddy’s feet. Adults stealing the noses of unsuspecting children. I remember warmth. And joy. And love. But I struggle to recall the gifts that greeted me Christmas morning. The fuzziest memories I have are of stuff and things. I know there were things that I asked Santa for that I did not receive. And I’m sure I was incredibly disappointed, but I have no recollection of it. Our life was difficult. We lived in poverty for most of my childhood. But I never felt “poor”. Year after year our small apartment was packed wall-to-wall with people laughing, smiling, and filling our hearts with love. That is my strongest memory. That is what I have carried with me all these years. And even when I’m feeling lost, because so many of the people that helped create these memories are no longer here to carry the tradition forward, I try my best to make them proud. I do what I can to fight through my sadness to keep that legacy of love alive and to help encourage others to create their own magical memories. In the end, that’s all we truly carry. ♥
