Family
Mothers are real people, complex persons
Las tías (our aunts) had motherly gifts
Family Bonds Come Alive
It had been a year and a half since I had been to General TrevIño, Nuevo León, my father's ancestral hometown in Mexico. The occasion had been Tío Tavo’s (Uncle Octavio’s) funeral, and my brother, Eduardo, and I arrived a few minutes before the service was scheduled to begin.
As we entered the house, the word spread: “Ya llegaron los muchachos del Tío José” (Uncle José’s boys have arrived!) indicating that the extended family was complete and the funeral service could begin.
These family bonds drew us back to General Treviño recently when Eduardo and I went to visit my father’s last surviving, 93-year-old sister, who was convalescing.
From grade school through high school, my brother and I spent several weeks each summer in General Treviño, and we return there as often as we can.
So last month we zigzagged through the back roads that cross the semi-arid South Texas country on our way to the Falcon Dam border crossing.
Not far from the Rio Grande, we drove into Mier, a very colorful small town, with a simple but beautiful church that dates back to the middle 1700s.
We crossed Mier and turned westward towards “GT” (as the more acculturated descendants of the Hinojosas, Guerra Saenz, and Velas call their beloved General Treviño).
Minutes later the immigration check point, we passed La Laguna, the ranch where some primos (cousins) lived and where I always spent at least a week during my summers in Mexico.
Then, as now, La Laguna seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Years ago, I remember, it was full of surprises: rattlesnakes, coyotes, javelinas, tarantulas, and other scary things.
On one occasion, cousin Ago (Agoberto) and I did the boring pastor duty (tending goats) at La Laguna. But there, too, I experienced the unforgettable heart-pounding excitement of racing horses.
Finally, six hours after having left San Antonio, we arrived in General Treviño. Night had fallen, but the houses looked nice with the scant street lighting.
Tía Alicia was fast asleep, and our favorite prima Imelda, we were told, was on an errand. Eduardo visited a neighbor, but I went for a walk.
Lots of folks were sitting on the sidewalks outside their homes hoping to catch a very slow cooling breeze. As expected, I greeted everyone “Buenas noches” or “Adios” as I passed by.
Down a ways, I could see two women apparently looking in my direction. Then, finally, as I got closer, I recognized Imelda and greeted her warmly.
She came toward me, gave me a hug, and then remarked, “I was just telling my friend, ‘I think he man who’s walking this way is my cousin Gilberto.’”
“How could you have known it was me?” I later inquired, “It was dark and you weren’t expecting me?”
“Oh, es porque siempre te llevo aquí adentro (It’s because I always have you here, inside)” she replied, pointing to her heart.”
Going to General Treviño will always be like going home
again.
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