Path to the Stars

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Path to the Stars Page 8

by Sylvia Acevedo


  Out of nowhere, I remembered the terrible day when Laura got sick and Mami had to beg for a ride to the hospital. I remembered how out of control everything had felt and how upset I was that there was nothing I could do to help. Now, almost for the first time since Laura’s illness, I felt I had control, and with it, I felt an enormous sense of relief.

  As I wove together the fabric strips I’d chosen, I knew I wanted to be a Brownie. I loved every minute of the meeting: the plans for an outdoor nature day, the practical sit-upons, the friendliness, and, more than anything, the sense of security and belonging to a wider world. I didn’t even mind being told how to pass the scissors, because the Brownies could tell me how to do things the right way.

  After the meeting, Sylvia asked if I wanted her to walk me home. “You can go on,” I said. “I want to stay for a minute.” Sylvia left, looking puzzled.

  Then I waited until most of the other girls had gone. “Did you want something, Sylvia?” asked Mrs. Provine, noticing me standing alone.

  “That handbook,” I said. “Can I borrow it? I promise I’ll take care of it and give it back.”

  “You can have my older daughter’s handbook,” she told me. “She doesn’t use it anymore. Just wait here while I find it.” In a minute she was back. “You can keep it,” she said, handing me the book. “No need to return it.”

  To end the meeting, we had sung a song about a great big Brownie smile, and now, as I hugged the Girl Scout Handbook tightly to my chest, I could feel that Brownie smile warming my cheeks all the way home. I thought about the upcoming expedition, when we’d be exploring nature. Maybe this was a way to find girls like those I’d seen on TV, girls like me, who wanted to have adventures!

  That weekend, I read through the entire handbook, straightening out the dog-eared pages and erasing all the pencil marks. I had been mesmerized by the way the meeting had begun, when the girls and troop leaders recited the pledge together, but at the time, I couldn’t take in all the words. Now I read them carefully.

  The Girl Scout Promise was slightly different from the Brownie Promise we’d recited at the meeting. I reminded myself to get the words to the Brownie Promise at the next meeting, but for the time being, I would learn the promise that older Girl Scouts had to say.

  “On my honor, I will try,” the promise started. It continued: “To serve God and my country, to help people at all times, and to live by the Girl Scout Law.”

  I could promise, I thought.

  The Girl Scout Law was longer. “A Girl Scout’s honor is to be trusted,” it began. That was the first of ten laws. “A Girl Scout is loyal,” read the second law. Girl Scouts had a duty to be useful and to help others, to be a friend to all and a sister to every other Girl Scout. They were courteous and were friendly to animals. They obeyed orders and were cheerful, thrifty, and clean in thought, word, and deed.

  I could try to be all of those things, I told myself. I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, practicing the two-finger salute and reciting the promise and the laws over and over until I could say the words from memory.

  I also learned from the guide that the Brownies were the Girl Scout division for girls my age, in second and third grades. At the end of third grade, we’d have a “flying up” ceremony and become Juniors, the Scouting division for girls in fourth, fifth, and sixth grades. Even older girls in junior high and high school could be members, as Cadettes and Seniors. I liked knowing that I could stay a Girl Scout for years and years, and I’d have a proper place no matter what age I was.

  The Brownies met once a week after school, on Wednesdays, and I walked to the meetings with Sylvia and the other Brownies. After my fourth week, Mrs. Provine told me she had something for me. When all the girls were sitting in a circle, she came over and fastened a pin shaped like a trefoil to my blouse. It looked a little like a clover with three leaves. I’d noticed that all the other girls wore them on their uniforms. She told me that the pin’s three leaves represented the three parts to the Brownie and Girl Scout Promises and that I was now officially a Brownie Girl Scout, just like all the other girls in the troop. I was so proud!

  Mrs. Provine also told me that Brownie dues were one dollar, and I could bring the money whenever I wanted. One dollar for a whole year! My troop leader said that my money would help the Girl Scouts all over the country.

  By now, I got a regular allowance of twenty-five cents every week. Back then, a quarter could buy two Cokes and a candy bar. A gallon of gasoline for my parents’ car was twenty-nine cents. Whenever I saved up a dollar, I deposited it into my bank account downtown. I already had a few coins saved in my bedroom. As soon as I had a dollar, I brought it to the meeting.

  Over the next weeks, I learned more about the Brownies from the troop leaders and the other girls. Brownies were discoverers. We were ready helpers.

  Best of all, we were friend makers. I still felt shy sometimes, and I was still very quiet at school, even when another Brownie said hi to me, but I hoped some of these girls would be my friends.

  The only thing keeping me from being a Brownie in every way was that I didn’t have a uniform. Fortunately, my mother could see that the meetings were doing me a lot of good. She liked hearing me talk about the other girls and our plans, and she could see I was excited.

  Even though Mami sewed most of our clothes to save money, she decided to buy me a uniform. One Saturday, our entire family drove to the Popular, the big department store in El Paso, where I tried on the brown dress, the beanie, the belt, and the orange tie. When I saw my reflection in the mirror, I felt so special. I remembered something that Mrs. Davenport had told us: every time we saw a girl wearing the Brownie uniform, we knew she had made the exact same Brownie Promise we had.

  To my surprise, my mother even bought me socks with the Brownie emblem on them! Sometimes it seemed that Mami could read my mind. I wouldn’t have dared ask for the socks, but she knew I would love them.

  I wouldn’t let my parents put the bag with the uniform in the trunk of the car. On the drive back to Las Cruces, I kept the package on my lap.

  As soon as we arrived home, I raced into my bedroom to change. Mami followed with her sewing kit, measuring to make sure the skirt was the right length. She helped me adjust the belt and fasten my trefoil pin to the uniform, but when I handed her the tie, she said I’d have to ask my father. “He can show you how to knot the tie,” Mami said.

  Dressed in my uniform, I pestered Papá, who was watching TV in the living room. “Papá, Papá, Papá!” I said, making my voice a little louder each time, until my father got up from the sofa and took me into the green bathroom. He put down the toilet seat cover and told me to stand on it. Then he swung open the door to the medicine cabinet and stood behind me so I could see both of us in the mirror. Step by step, watching our actions reflected in the mirror, he taught me how to tie the orange Brownie tie.

  I thought we would be done once I’d knotted the tie to my father’s satisfaction, but I was wrong. My father had been a commissioned officer in the United States Army, and he took my uniform seriously. He told me I had to be worthy of it, to keep it looking sharp. Was I ready to honor this uniform?

  In answer, I held up my hand in the two-fingered Girl Scout salute. “On my honor,” I told my father. And I meant it.

  The night before the next Brownie meeting, I laid out the entire uniform on my bed to make sure I had everything. That weekend, I had washed my white tennis shoes and laces by hand so they’d look as good as my new uniform. My mother was shocked—she’d never seen me take such an interest in my clothing before.

  The next morning, after Mami brushed and braided my hair, she surprised me with a new headband that matched my Brownie uniform. Sitting in front of the vanity in my parents’ bedroom, seeing both of our reflections in the mirror, I was absolutely giddy with excitement. I beamed and my mother smiled back at me, her mirrored face reflecting happiness in a way that had been rare since Laura’s illness.

  At breakfast, I ignore
d my brother’s teasing about my new uniform. By now, I knew he was just trying to get me to react. Walking to school, I felt so proud, and I was careful not to get dirty during recess. This was one day when my braids would not get dusty, I thought, reaching up to touch my headband.

  At lunch in the cafeteria, other Brownies noticed me in my new uniform and waved to me. Proudly, I sat down to eat with them. Liz and Cindy were there, and another girl from my class. There were a few girls from other classes who were also members of my troop. I saw Sylvia Black sitting at another table with a few other girls in Brownie uniforms. I liked the way the uniform linked me to all the other Brownies and to the older girls in their Girl Scout uniforms. Wearing the uniform felt like a way to make friends—and it was.

  As soon as I walked into the meeting that afternoon, my troop leaders noticed what I was wearing. “You look very nice in your new uniform,” said Mrs. Provine. I could feel myself beaming with pride as I took my place in the circle of girls and got ready to say the Girl Scout Promise. In every way now, I was a real Brownie.

  Me in my uniform!

  Chapter 9

  Christmas Traditions

  Unlike most girls I knew, I had only one doll, a baby boy named Óscar, a Christmas gift from my grandmother. Óscar had once had a full head of dark hair, but that was before Mario used his barber skills on him. After that he was bald, but I didn’t mind.

  I never played with Óscar much, even when I was little, but at Christmastime, I needed him. That was because every year, Óscar had to be the Baby Jesus while I was Mary.

  It started when I was in third grade, the fall after we moved to our new home and I joined the Brownies. One day, my music teacher told us we were going to audition for parts in the Christmas pageant. “I want you each to sing a song,” she said. “Then we’ll see who will sing which parts in the choir.”

  I liked singing. At home, Mami loved to sing, and she had a beautiful voice. Papá liked to sing too, but he seldom did. I thought my voice was just as nice as anyone else’s in my family.

  That day in school, we all lined up on the side of the classroom, and one by one, the teacher had us sing a verse of any song we liked. When it was my turn, I started to sing, and the teacher asked me to try again, a little lower. So I started again at the beginning, a little lower and a little louder.

  When I finished, the teacher looked at me. “We’re going to have a special part for you,” she said.

  I didn’t know what that meant until she started lining up the class in rows, boys in the back and girls in the front. They would be the choir, she explained. After she finished, I stood alone with four boys. She told us we were to be the stable scene. All we had to do was pretend we were with the Baby Jesus in the stable. I could hold my doll and be Mary, and one of the boys would be Joseph. The other boys were the three wise men. As long as we didn’t sing, she would be happy with our performance.

  Mami knew my singing voice wasn’t as good as hers, and she thought my teacher had come up with a clever solution. My mother was happy for me to be Mary, and she even made me a costume. The night of the pageant, I sat onstage, draped in my robes, holding Óscar, while the choir sang. I enjoyed listening to the Christmas songs, and every once in a while I’d look down at Óscar, daydreaming about the special holiday food we would have for Christmas.

  The next year, my school didn’t have a Christmas pageant, so I wasn’t singled out. We sang Christmas carols at a schoolwide assembly, and I sat with my class. But Mami thought I should still be Mary. That year, and for many years afterward, I played Mary in our church’s Christmas Cantada.

  The Christmas Cantada—the musical performance of the Christmas story—was the most important event in Mami’s year, and she spent much of the fall at the church, helping with the elaborate preparations for the performance and the reception afterward.

  She usually sang solos at the Cantada too. She would be very nervous beforehand, but she loved it. I had to help more around the house when she was busy at the church, especially cleaning up dinner after I’d finished my homework.

  I didn’t care, though. My mother sang only when she was happy. When she was busy with the Cantada and practicing her solos, it felt like all was right with the world.

  On the morning of the Cantada, Mami was a whirlwind, getting us ready to go over to the church. As soon as the performance was done, we invaded the social hall, which was filled with wonderful food. Kids were buzzing all around, enjoying the feast and the energy of Christmas. Now the holiday was just around the corner.

  After the Cantada, my mother focused on our family’s holiday celebration, starting with a shopping trip in El Paso.

  Trips to El Paso were fun because we got to experience the big city, both in El Paso, Texas, and in Juárez, Mexico, right across the border. We rarely went shopping as a family, and most of my experience of stores was in the small markets in Las Cruces, where Mami watched every penny. With Christmas coming, we would spend the whole day shopping.

  The El Paso stores had goods that we never saw in Las Cruces: shiny appliances, furniture, and a wide selection of clothing. Mami loved to walk up and down on the sidewalks, looking through the store windows at the latest fashions and shoes.

  We had a Woolworths in Las Cruces, but the one in downtown El Paso was huge by comparison. It sold all sorts of toys, and it was also where Mami bought the fabric and patterns to make our clothes. Another El Paso store was S. H. Kress, which had rotisserie chickens spinning in the window. They looked delicious, but at fifty-nine cents each, Mami said they were outrageously expensive.

  Our big shopping trip usually started at the Popular, a department store so large it had elevators. There were several floors and a bookstore that took up the entire mezzanine. It was almost as big as the entire children’s book section at our library in Las Cruces.

  Once inside, Mami found it easy to distract us so she could shop for our presents. “Sylvia, take Laura to look at the dolls,” she’d say, and we’d never suspect she was heading for the floor that sold books. Or she’d send us to the book section so she could buy toys. We were so wide-eyed that she could easily do all the shopping, and put the gifts in the trunk of the car, with us none the wiser. We would return to Las Cruces late at night, happy and spent, never dreaming our Christmas presents were returning with us.

  Christmas wasn’t just about presents or the Cantada. There were special foods, too. With her shopping done, my mother spent hours making the traditional Mexican foods of the season: tamales, pumpkin empanadas, crispy buñuelos, and bizcochos, which were holiday cookies. Mami also loved to try making new foods, especially during the holidays.

  One year at Christmas, my mother taught herself to make fancy French-style cookies with just a light coating of chocolate on one side. My father told Mami she must have forgotten to coat the entire cookie! Indignantly, my mother replied that it was supposed to be that way. I was proud to have a mother who’d learned how to make cookies from faraway France. Years later, when I went to France, I looked for those cookies and was delighted to see them in bakeries.

  In the weeks before Christmas, Mami filled tins with cookies and holiday treats, including one of my favorites: cinnamon rolls with walnuts and pecans. Whenever a tin was opened, we would devour the whole thing, leaving nothing for later. So my mother would hide a few tins from us around the kitchen and pantry. She would wait until we had opened all our gifts on Christmas morning, and then she would surprise us with cinnamon rolls.

  On Christmas Eve, my mother would wake me early in the morning to help make tamales. Mami’s sisters and friends would come over to help with the “tamalada”—the tamale-making party. Together, we would assemble more than twelve dozen tamales, including at least ten dozen with red chile pork. It was a big effort.

  It started the day before, on December 23, when Mami would make the pork, simmering it for hours in a sauce made from local red chiles. We would have the pork with freshly made flour tortillas for dinner that night
.

  Then, early on the morning of Christmas Eve, Mami would go to the store to pick up the masa, a special cornmeal, for the tamales. Back home, she’d empty it into a large blue tub, where she would mix it with the other ingredients for the dough: salt, lard, and broth.

  I was in charge of cleaning out the dry cornhusks that the tamales were wrapped in for cooking, making sure all the corn silk was removed before soaking the husks in water to soften them. After I finished, my mother would check my work and create a pile of rejects—cornhusks that hadn’t been properly cleaned. It quickly became my goal to have zero rejects.

  Once the cornhusks were thoroughly soaked and pliable, I would put them in a large bowl. My mom or aunt would spread a lump of dough inside a cornhusk and then spoon the meat filling into the middle of the flattened dough. They’d roll and fold the cornhusk into a neat rectangular bundle.

  My mother would save some dough at the end, enough for a couple dozen dulce, or sweet, tamales. Instead of red chile pork, she would add sugar and pecans to the masa. All of the tamales would cook in large pots for an hour or two, filling the house with their savory smell.

  After the tamales were done, Mami would switch to making buñuelos, a favorite pastry of Mario’s. She would mix up the sweet flour dough and roll it out in circles. When I was in junior high school, to get the dough extra thin, my mother would use my basketball, which I would wash and she would cover with a thin dishtowel. Rolling the basketball on the towel, she’d stretch out the dough until it was almost translucent. Pulling carefully so as not to tear them, she would lay out the buñuelos on the counter, which she’d covered with paper, letting the pastries air-dry before frying them in hot oil. After spooning them out of the frying pan, my mother would dust the buñuelos with cinnamon and sugar.

  By the time Mami had finished the buñuelos, the tamales would also be ready. I marveled at her efficiency, at the way everything happened like clockwork even though I never saw her write out plans or directions on paper. She counted out the tamales by dozens and shared them with whomever had helped make them. Every year, my mother would take tamales and other homemade goodies to Hermana Díaz and Hermana Cortéz, another friend from church. It was one of my tasks to deliver holiday treats to other friends, neighbors, and family members. I loved the warm reception I received as people told me over and over how much they loved my mother.

 

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