Thursday, February 26, 2009

The Tradition



There’s a great tradition on the maternal side of my mother’s family. That side of my family is very big on tradition. The tradition i'm writing about today is particulary touching and sweet. One meant to tie us to past generations and remind us of our roots.


The tradition is as follows, every child that is born into the family carries a first and middle name indicative of our heritage. All names by the way are recycled meaning that we are named after one or more of our ancestors. Ancestors that at one time or another settled in Spain and were very, very, amorous and fertile. For example my real name is in homage to the Spaniard and Basque roots. For those tuning in late, Mia has been my nickname since birth. My sister’s name is a shout out to the Irish and French roots, my brother’s to the Scottish roots, and my mother’s to the Bedouins.

My dad is a Nuyorican (Puerto Rican born in New York) of full blooded Puerto Rican descent. Sadly his family abandonded their culture as soon as they set foot in this country. They are so Americanized that they never bothered to continue their traditions in this country. In fact the newer generations don't even understand Spanish. Still pa is very proud of his roots.

My generation on mom's side so far has been very prolific in adding branches to the family tree but they are also Americanized and as such many have forgone the tradition and that worries my mother. As the family historian she worries that future generations will be ignorant of our history.

One of my friends is having a baby and I was discussing the names she had in mind for the little guy with mom when she brought up her family’s naming tradition. Mom expressed her wish that I continue it and just as her grandmother had selected her name, and her great-great-grandmother had chosen my grandmother’s name mom asked if she could select the name of my first born daughter when the time came.


“What would you like to name her?” I asked.

“I was very close to my great-grandmother as a little girl. Remember I told you she was 103 years old when she died? “

I nodded my headed remembering that my mom had told me it was at her feet that mom had first learned of their complex roots and history.

“Isa, right?” I asked.

“That was her nickname, her real name was Isabella de los Ángeles Delissalde ”

“Hey Delissalde! I know that name!”

“Yeah, it's my aunt's name the one we call ya-ya, it’s French.”

"How the hell did she get a nickname like ya-ya from Delissade?"

“ I have no idea. Anywho I’d like your baby's name to be Isabel de los Ángeles.”

I rolled the name around my tongue for a minute. I couldn’t front I liked it. Besides I’d always been fond of the name Isabella. I thought about the name meant in English.

“oh that is pretty…Isabel of the angels. Wow. It sounds better in Spanish ma.

“Yeah it does. You can call her Isa or Izzy for short.”

My boyfriend who until that moment had been quietly listening to our conversation voiced his opinion of the name. He didn’t like it.

“That’s a horrible name.” he said

“This coming from a man whose sister’s name sounds like a nursery rhyme. Clary Mary what the hell is that Sounds like she was named by Dr. Seuss.” she shot back.

“I don't know what my mother was thinking with that name.” He said he prefered a Japanese name for the child he planned on having with me someday.

"Are you of Japanese ancestry?" she asked.

"No"

"I see." she said,and to me those 2 words spoke volumes. Honor your own history seemed to be what she'd really wanted to say.

“Still I wouldn’t name my daughter Isabella de los Ángeles.” he sulked.

Mom flashed him a mischevious look with those intimidating black eyes of hers, “and who said that you’re the one that's going to be the father?”

The look on his face was priceless. I couldn’t help but laugh especially since I knew mom was just messing with him. She'd rubbed her thumb across the cleft in her chin, a tell tale sign that she was suppressing a smile. He blushed and then started back pedaling at tremendous speed.

“No, no, I didn’t mean any disrespect m’am. Mia’s right it’s family history. That stuff is really important I wish my family was into its history like yours is. We don’t know squat about ours.” He said.

Mom arched an eyebrow, “Oh, really?” she said her voice dripping with mockery.

My boyfriend broke his eyes away from hers first. He was shook. I bit my lower lip and watched a dimple form in her cheek. Yeah she was going to burst out in laughter any minute now. She turned her head and pretended to look out the window while she twirled one of her auburn ringlets around her finger. Yeah she was defintely teasing him.Finally her shoulders started shaking and she turned around and let loose a peal of laughter. My poor beau didn’t know what to make of it.

“I’m sorry honey.” She said, “I didn’t mean to scare you like that. The naming of a child is a personal. It's just that in my family it really is a family decision.I was just hoping Mia would continue the tradition. I really am sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

"You're mean." he said releasing a sigh of relief.

"Na, I just got a wicked sense of humor plus I love seeing you blush." she said as she patted his hand.

I looked at my mom and clued her in on something I’d decided awhile ago.

“I love the name and will continue the tradition ma and I’ll make sure my kids do too. As a matter of fact I plan on giving all of my kids your maiden name as part of their name no matter who I marry.”

My mom has a very unsual maiden name even is Spain it is rare. Documentation has shown that the name is of Celtic origin and that after several generations in Spain the Mc suffix was dropped from it. That would also explain the staggering amount of redheads, auburns, and strawberry blondes in my family. I shot my boyfriend a look daring him to say anything derogative about my choice. Unlike my mom I wasn’t playing around. My mom smiled she hadn’t expected that. Seriously the woman is priceless and her entire name deserves to be handed down from generation to generation and remembered as part of their history,after all she does manage to keep this generation on our toes with her sense of humor and wit.

Labels: family, traditions

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Posted by @ 12:13 AM
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Saturday, March 17, 2007

End of an Era

Growing up in a city as diverse as NYC means getting to join on a lot of multi-cultural partying and parades. There are little traditions that become identified with the holiday that really have nothing to do with the holiday itself but it becomes a part of city life…for example March in NYC means St. Patrick’s Day and ever since 1970 Mc Donald’s Shamrock Shakes. It was the one time a year thanks to “Uncle O’ Grimacy” the green triple thick vanilla/mint shakes were available.

Every year except this year that is, this year there is not one frigging Shamrock Shake to be found in NYC and guess who has a major craving one…my mother. She grew up on the frosty green goodness of the shamrock shake; it’s something she’s looked forward to every year since she was eight years old,the return of The Shamrock Shake. Alas there will be no triple thick Shamrock Shake for Maggie this year. It seems that the franchise operators of NYC voted not to carry them here despite the fact that NYC still has a significant Irish population. This in a city full of Mickey D’s that cater to their neighborhood’s demographics and tastes, this from a joint that still offers McVeggie Burgers and daily tempts the hand of borderline racial activists with the Lamb McSpicy and the Mc Rib.

Growing up in the late 60’s/70’s Mc Donald’s was a big thing for a Puerto Rican kid. First of all it was Gringo food therefore not something that was eaten very often. Second of all there were no Mickey D’s in the city. They were all located in the suburbs. So unless your family had a car and your parents were mad cool Mickey D’s was only a dream. My mom was luckier than most kids because her parents had a car and were mad cool so every now and they’d take the long drive into Mineola Long Island and take her to Mickey D’s. They had come to this country as little kids and had been raised here so they knew all about wanting to fit in with the gringos despite their parents desire to keep them from becoming Americanized. To an urban kid going to school on Monday and saying they had gone to Mc Donald’s over the weekend was a status symbol type of thing. Kids envied you even the kids in your own family.

In order to appreciate my mother's facination with Mc Donald's you'd have to understand something about her grandmother. My great-grandmother saw American food as unhealthy she said it had no substance. Remember my great-grandmother and her generation fed their kids and grandchildren as if they were going off to work in the coal mines. Still over the years she started giving in a little. Whenever mom and her cousins would clamor for hamburgers and shakes their abuela (grandmother) would make them hamburgers... Latino style. This involved some adobo seasoned chopped meat freshly grinded in her meat grinder, chopped green pepper, and onion cooked up in her ancient cast iron frying pan. She served it in between two slices of Wonder Bread with kosher pickles from the local deli. The milk shakes were always made of vanilla ice cream flavored with U-Bet flavored syrups if someone wanted a chocolate or strawberry shake. They also included a raw egg and wheat germ because the abuela insisted that if they were going to stuff themselves with that unhealthy gringo drink it at least should have some sort of nutritional value. It never tasted the same as Mickey D’s or the ones served at the diner but they loved their grandma for trying.


I started noticing a few years back that the Shamrock shakes were becoming an endangered species in New York. Not one Mickey D’s in my ‘hood carried them anymore despite their popularity with mom's generation. As a matter of fact none of the Mc Donald's in The Bronx carried them anymore. My dad had to venture into El Barrio in Manhattan to this one Mickey D’s on 3rd avenue for the damn shake. This year however my dad couldn’t locate one for mom. The nearest Mickey D’s that carries the Shamrock Shake to us is 3 hours away. My dad wants her to have her shake so he offered to make mom one today, he claims to have the recipe for the shamrock shake and that it tastes like the real thing. Ma just smiled at him and declined his offer. She said it wouldn’t be the same watching the St. Patrick’s Day Parade with a home made mint shake. I guess it's the end of an era for mom, a connection to her childhood has been severed.

Labels: food, mom, shamrock shakes, St. Patrick's Day, traditions

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Posted by @ 2:35 AM
9 comment from:  christina/ohio,  AMANDA,  DannieS72,  Goggles Piasano Ritardo,  Emory Mayne,  Mia,  Mia,  Anonymous,  Mia,