Memories of a Mexico dress - By Norma Takahashi

Where's my flower print dress?
image from: bert.secret-wg.org


Memories of a Mexico dress - By Norma Takahashi


When I was a little girl living in Mexico we used to live on a ranch, close to Guadalajara, Jalisco. We lived quite a ways from the city. We had no electricity, or plumbing. Since we had no refrigerators, we cooked what we were eating that day. There was no such convenience as "leftovers". Heck, if we had enough to eat we were lucky.

I was just a baby and don't remember much of those times. My parents provided for me the best they could. What I do remember about the ranch is that we had a pig. I was so little I thought he was a monster. Everytime I went outside to play, I was always afraid this monster that made funny noises was going to have me for lunch. Little did I know back then: I probably ended up having him for breakfast.

After a while we moved to Tijuana. Our house was small. I remember it had a very small kitchen. And one room, which doubled as our bedrooms and a living room. The floors were made of dirt. We still had no electricity or plumbing, but we had neighbors. Yay for neighbors¡ Then, we moved again. We had electricity. And this house had an OUTHOUSE. Yeah, we were moving on up. And we had two bedrooms. So now my parents had the luxury of privacy, while we three kids shared a bedroom.

Once a week we would get a treat. A bath! We would use a big tin bucket that we used for washing clothes. My mom would heat water over the stove for warm baths in the winter. Since I was the baby I always got to go first. So by the time my brother and sister got their turn, the bath water was lukewarm.

There are benefits to being the baby.

I have other memories here and there with a recurring theme. I always remember being happy. I guess when you don't know life gets better than poverty, you figure you have life pretty damn good. We somehow always managed to have food and shelter. But most importantly, we had each other.

One of my most vivid memories of living in Tijuana as a little girl isn’t the lack of electricity or plumbing. It isn’t of having to eat one soft boiled egg for breakfast every morning (if we were lucky) or a bowl of beans (if we weren’t). It isn’t of my dad jumping across the border trying to work at making a better life for us.

Nope, the most vivid memories I have as a child of poverty is of a dress I was given as a child by kind strangers.

It happened once or twice a year. I remember cars zooming out of nowhere, They would pull up and park on the side of the freeway, near my neighborhood. We knew that if they had american license plates, it meant they had goodies for us. Pants, shirts, winter coats, shoes, etc. We would run to them as fast as we could. I never knew who these kind strangers were, or why they brought us stuff. I never thought to question such events.

The way it worked was, well... It was pretty much first come first serve. If you showed up first, you got to pick out clothes that actually fit you. Otherwise you’d get stuck with high waters, or pants your mom would have to alter to fit you later.

One year I scored big time. I got a DRESS! It was brown, with tiny yellow flowers. It was my favorite dress and I wore it all the time. Thinking back, it might have been my only dress.

When I made my journey into the United States from Tijuana I was told to pack one change of clothes and necessities only. I don't remember now if I wasn’t allowed to take my dress, or if I just forgot it. All I know is I missed my dress. I always think back and wonder, what could have happened to my favorite dress?

After so many years I find myself again thinking of the dress. I have a wonderful, beautiful friend who goes on a yearly mission to Mexico. I'll call her Diamond for this blog. Her church adopts families from poor neighborhoods. They take them clothes, hygiene items, food, and other necessities.

I recently received an email from her, telling me about her mission this year. She shared a heartwrenching story with me that I will share with you guys later. Diamond always comes back home feeling like she didn't do enough. I always think she doesn't give herself enough credit.

We didn't always have enough to eat. We had to wait a week for the luxury of a bath or shower. We got most of our "good clothes" from kind strangers. Sometimes we even had to rely on them for a place to stay. But I don't really remember all that. At least not too vividly. That was life and I never thought to question it.

I guess when you don't have a lot to begin with, you cherish the simple things. Like a brown dress with yellow flowers on it. To this day, it's still my most cherished memory, my favorite dress EVER. And it was thanks to the Diamonds in this world. And I am forever grateful.

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Norma Takahashi is a regular contributor to Bakotopia.com. She's also an active member of Bakersfield's Chicana Book Club.

This entry was posted by N.L. Belardes, on Tuesday, December 05, 2006. You can leave your response.