Mother’s Day

The teacher says, “Stop what you are doing and pay attention. Soon it will be Mother’s Day. I want you to take a blank piece of paper and draw a picture and write a thought or message for your mamá. It will be a gift made by yourselves.”

This is my first Mother’s Day at the school.

I will try to do something nice for her.

When we finish, the teacher tells us, “Keep your drawing so it will be a gift for your mamá.”

At the exit of the school, my sisters Nena and Eva are waiting for Paco, my brother and me.

On the way to the barrio, they tell us, “Tomorrow we are going to show you the gifts that you are going to give to our mamá, but don’t say anything”.

“Of course not,” we answered.

We arrive at the house and I drop my bookbag and go outside. The boys talk about what they are going to give to their mamás.

“Martin, what are you going to give your mamá?” they ask me.

“I don’t know yet,” I answer.

“You should know by now. It’s for Sunday and today is Friday”.

“My sisters are going to give me the gift I’m going to give,” I tell them.

It is noon on Saturday.

My sister, “Martin, come on, let’s show you what you are going to give to mamá.”

They open a drawer and show me some glasses wrapped in clear plastic with a red ribbon. “This is the present.”

Later I ask Paco, “have they told you what the gift is?”

“Some plates,” he answers.

They haven’t told my little sister Sonia anything. They don’t trust her to keep the secret.

At dinnertime, no one talks about gifts or Mother’s Day, and dinner goes by like a normal Saturday.

My sister Perla tells us, “Go to bed soon because tomorrow we have to wake up very early.”

“Yes, we will,” we all replied.

I am in bed trying to sleep. I look out the window to the balcony. There is a potted plant with red and orange flowers.

I think about the drawing I did at school and the words I wrote there, single words not sentences. I’m worried that my mamá won’t like it.

I lie on my side and put my hand under my pillow and fall asleep.

“Martin, wake up, it’s time for presents,” my sister Nena tells me.

I get up, put on my socks, my jeans, put on my scuffed shoes and blue shirt.

We go down to the dining room without making noise. Sunlight is barely visible. Everybody picks up the gift we are going to give. I take out of my bookbag the drawing I made.

My mamá and papá come downstairs.

My brother Mario puts a chair on the patio and my mamá sits.

We all shouted together, “Happy Mother’s Day!”

My mamá, smiling, “thank you, mijos.”

My sister Perla, still in her pajamas, gives her the first gift, a brown apron.

Mario gives her a fabric flower placed in a piece of wood, covered with a glass cup upside down.

Nena and Eva give her a pair of huaraches.

Paco gives her a set of plates.

It’s my turn. I go over and give her the glasses. Then I show her the drawing. She looks at it, smiles and says, “some flowers and a plant, how beautiful and what does it say here?” pointing to the words.

“It says here, My mamá takes great care of her flowers and plants, but she takes more care of me. My mamá loves her flowers and plants, but she loves me more as well as I love her, a lot a lot!”

I Say to myself, I didn’t write that but that’s really what I mean.

My mamá stares at me and with a broken voice she says, “my little brown boy, that’s right, I love you more than my flowers and my plants”.

Then she gives me a long and tight hug and kisses my forehead.

I take a few steps back; I look at her and her face has a special glow.

My little sister comes over and gives her a bouquet of roses. My mamá puts it on her lap.

Then my dad gives her a gift wrapped in paper with painted flowers.

My mamá opens it and it’s a flowered blouse.

My sister Perla says, “I made chocolate.”

We all sit at the table. Eva puts a basket of sweet bread in the center.

Before we start eating my mamá says, “I am lucky to be your mamá. Thank you all.”

Later some neighbors pass by and shout at the door, “ happy Mother’s Day, Doña Lupe.”

Some ladies come into the house to congratulate my mamá. She shows them the gifts.

One of them asks her, “what does it say here in the picture?”

She answers, “my Martin told me beautiful words that are not there. He always finds something nice to say. My Martin has the soul of a poet.”

Sitting on the step at the door of the house, I hear what she says and my heart beats faster.

I just think, when I get sick my mamá takes care of me and when I am well, she also takes care of me. She hugs me, kisses my forehead and all the problems are fixed.

Her arms are always open for me.

I love my mamá very much.

Feliz Dia de las Madres!