All familial groups of people are different. How they celebrate their birthdays, how they mourn the death of a loved one, and also the way in which they treat their elders. For this woman from Mexico as she shares her experience living within three generations of her family, we hear how important it is for her and was for her family generationally to stay together, sharing that, it’s how things have always been done. As the matriarch of the family, she shares how she makes herself useful by spending most of her time in the kitchen cooking for the entire household. Food is an expression of love for her and this, is the right to passage. It is how things have always been and she hopes how they will continue to be. But when her daughter presents to her the possibility of moving into an assisted living situation because she has started to forget things, it opens her up to share the history of the choices she made in order to make sure her family had a better offering than she did as a child. Coming from Mexico to America in a time when Mexican farm workers were openly invited and welcomed by the American government, to then be deported she feels as if she is reading the paper in a time machine. To feel needed, then discarded over and over again, history continues to repeat itself. But at her age; her life has become a simple one, she cooks for the family, tells stories to her great grandchildren, and she worries about the safety of everyone who does have the legal paperwork to be in America and some who do not. Above all else and after everything she’s been through her hope is that nothing will break her family apart and that she will forever be able to spend her last days with her family, that is her only life dream. *Character does speak some Spanish.
Our Generational Recipe
“The importance of cooking should not be taken for granted,” my mother said to me all the time. “Cook because you love them, and because love tastes so good” she said that too. When we were kids, we didn't have much but we had each other. A house full of family is how we loved to live. Never had to worry about having a bad day and coming home to an empty house, never empty, never quiet. So very full of laughter and sometimes tears and every fear but there we all were- there to lean on each other. But when it came to my kitchen, no, no and no. That was my quiet place, as quiet as it could be. First things first, making a clean sweep of the kitchen to get all the kids out of the room. *“Mis vidas, go, get out of this kitchen.” Even little Javier who was so little he could hide under the table and once I found him all the way in the cabinet, goodness that boy. I could still hear them all around the house playing, talking on the phone, watching movies but in the kitchen, it was just me, my secret spices and the best ingredient of all… love.
