“Hard times arouse an instinctive desire for authenticity.” —Coco Chanel
I have a vivid image of being a little girl and standing in a line with my mother to buy cotton. Making lines was a common occurrence in Cuba, so common that when I was little, I used to play pretend that I was making a line. My mom says that sometimes she would see me standing in the middle of the room, and every few minutes I would take a step forward. She would ask me: “what are you doing?”, and I would tell her that I was standing in line. I used to line my dolls in a row and pretend that they were making a line to go to Copelia, a very famous ice cream shop in Havana. As a matter of fact, when I was born, it was the only ice cream shop in Havana.
But going back to the cotton, I recall that we were on our way home, and we passed by a store that had just received a shipment of cotton. In communist Cuba, you had to take what was available when it was available. I have no idea if we had cotton at home, if we needed cotton or if we had not seen cotton in a year. All I remember is that we got this package of cotton that came wrapped in a dark blue paper. We were only allowed to get one, but I recall that once we got it, my mom told me to stand aside with the package of cotton, and she got back in line to get a second package, and a third, and a fourth. I remember wondering why we needed so much cotton, but I did not ask, and soon forgot all about the cotton.
This weekend, we are celebrating Mother’s Day, and for the first time in my life, I have been able to experience an inkling of what my mother lived in communist Cuba. My mother was born into a middle class family. My grandparents had traveled from Spain to Cuba looking for better opportunities. They both found them in the fashion industry. My grandfather became a talented tailor, and my grandmother an accomplished seamstress. They met in that world, felt in love and got married. They only had one daughter, and my mother became the center of their lives.
Like most parents that have gone through hardships, they spoiled her and made sure that she lived the best possible life that they could provide. They sent her to one of the top schools in Havana, the American Dominican Academy (ADA). My grandmother used to travel a lot to New York to purchase fabrics for her beautiful creations. Since she did not speak English, she encountered a lot of trouble when trying to communicate with the owners of the fabric stores in New York. She decided that my mother would not experience such difficulties, and that is why she chose for her a bilingual school. She wanted to make sure that my mother learned English since a very young age. It was probably one of the best decisions that she ever made, not knowing at the time that we would all end up in the United States. Eventually, when my mother was a bit older, she began to travel to New York with my grandmother, and she became her interpreter.
I was talking recently to my mother about the class of 2020, and how sad that they were not able to experience their last days of their senior year in school. “They are going to miss out on their prom and all the other activities, including the actual graduation.” She shared with me her own experience. My mother graduated from the ADA in May 1959, the same year that Fidel Castro took power in Cuba. He was Cuba’s worst kind of virus. He was the Castro virus. He came to destroy and disrupt their way of life. Even though my mother was able to enjoy her senior year activities, and she was the last class to have a graduation ceremony, the Castro virus did not allow them to have their graduation in the large amphitheater where all the previous graduations had taken place. Her graduation took place in the school patio. But at least, she was able to have a celebration. It would be the last year that Castro allowed graduations to take place. He came in like a storm, stealing everything in his path, including all the catholic schools. He closed them all, and he stole all the graduations and anything that brought joy to the people.
My mother is very familiar with the difficult situation that the world is facing today because she lived through worst times from 1959 to 1969. She went from being a carefree teenage girl who was about to graduate high school and pursue a college education, to having to work instead. She went from enjoying a comfortable life to having to turn everything that she owned to the government. She went from spending days in the popular Havana clubs to spending hours doing lines to be able to buy a pound of sugar or a liter of milk or a package of cotton. In the blink of an eye, her world was turned upside down. And once again, six decades later, her world has been turned upside down. Our entire world has been turned upside down.
Today, I found “Angel Soft” toilet paper. I had been able to find other brands, but not my favorite. When I got out of Publix, I called her: “Mami, por fin encontré ‘Angel Soft’” (I finally found “Angel Soft”), I told her. She answered me that she had found some the other day and had it in the trunk of her car to give it to me. That’s my mother. In the midst of the hard times, she is always thinking of others first. She told me that she has in her trunk toilet paper for me, hand soap for my daughter who mentioned last Sunday that she had not been able to find it, Bounty paper towel for whomever needs it, and cans of food to drop off at the church.
On this weekend, I want to honor my mother, because I know that even though she has not said a word, this pandemic is being especially difficult for her. My mother is a people-person, so having to be isolated from her friends, from her family, from the world... has to be very hard for her, and yet, she has not uttered a word of complaint. Yes, every morning when I ask her: “How are you doing?”, she responds “aqui, lo mismo de lo mismo de lo mismo,” (here, the same, the same, the same.) I know she would give anything to be able to go to the mall, to go to lunch with her friends or to spend the day with me, but instead she goes around Miami searching for the toilet paper that she knows I like, or for a puzzle to give her grandkids or to every pharmacy in town looking for alcohol simply because I told her that I haven’t been able to find it anywhere, and she knows that alcohol has always been my Windex.
My mother has a lot of wisdom about facing difficulties. Instead of complaining, she finds a way to bring comfort to herself by helping others. And she doesn’t mince words, she is authentic. Just like Coco Chanel who stated, “Hard times arouse an instinctive desire for authenticity,” my mother is authentic. She lives an authentic life by being true to herself and others. And that is a big lesson that I am learning from her, because if you live authentically, hard times become easier to face. A few weeks ago when I mentioned that I could not find “Angel Soft” toilet paper, and that I had gotten spoiled because I was very picky about my toilet paper, she said to me: “En momentos difíciles, cualquier marca de papel higiénico sirve, hasta una servilleta sirve.” (In difficult moments, any brand of toilet paper is good; even a napkin works.”
It took me fifty years to figure it out, but I finally understand why she stood in line to buy cotton, and why she kept going back for more. I can just imagine her delivering packages of cotton to all her neighbors, because that is my mother, always putting others needs ahead of her own. And when it comes to toilet paper, she is right, it doesn’t matter what brand it is, the important thing is that it serves its purpose. Yes, just like Coco Chanel, my mother has a lot of common sense and wisdom, and, fortunately, she is sharing that wisdom with me. But I still prefer my “Angel Soft,” and mom knows. Thank you for always thinking of me, mami. Feliz Día de las Madres. Happy Mother’s Day.
Copyright © 2020 Christy Romero. All rights reserved.
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