My family, both from the Patron side (my mom) and from the Berrios/Melendez side (my dad), are HUGE! They are all crazy Mexicans and Salvadorians, but I love each and every one of them. Family always comes first. I have many stories to tell from either side, but I feel as if it’s more important to me to explore how I came to be in this world due to my family.
Lorena Patron Berrios and Carlos Alberto Berrios had their first born daughter Vanessa Berrios on September 19, 1995 in Lynwood, CA. She has grown up to be an independent young lady. But the real story begins here…
My mom and dad:
First, my dad, Carlos Alberto Berrios was born on October 29, 1973 in La Union, El Salvador. There, he was raised with his mother, her older half-brother, my Tio Ramon and his younger sister, my Tia Claudia. My dad lived in
El Salvador for about 20 years of his life until he came to the
United States. Here, he established himself for 2 years until he met my mother and had me.
My mom, Lorena Patron was born in
Mexicali, Mexico on February 19, 1976. At the age of three, my moms’ family, my grandma, grandpa and an uncle and aunt decided to move to The United States as well. My mom grew up in
Los Angeles, CA. She graduated from high school and eventually met my dad. Then I came along.
My younger sister, Emily (Vivi) Berrios was born on November 29, 1999. That was the day I was not the only child anymore, but I was fine with it. My sister and I have many stories to tell from ourselves. Although she’s irritating once in a while, she’s fun to be around. (I can’t believe I just said that).
This is me holding my baby sister Vivi when she was first born. I was 4 years old:
My mother once told me all about the amazing trip that the family took to
El Salvador to meet my dad’s side of the family. I was five years old and my little sister, Vivi had just turned one. The plane ride there took about 5 hours to get there. It was a long ride that was worth it though. When we arrived, the first person I met was my grandma, Fidelina Robles. Then I met my dad’s sister, her husband, and their two daughters. My cousins, Ana Lizet and Catherine Vanessa were about the same age as I was. The whole two weeks that I spent there, I mostly hung out with them as we played on the beach and played around their house.
Salvador is a really small country so there isn’t a lot to do out there. To keep us entertained and to keep our minds off of the hot weather, the whole family would go down to the beach and stay there until sundown. My grandma would always make
pupusas, a very familiar food in
El Salvador. The couple final of days that we spent in
El Salvador, the entire family went down to
Agua Park: a Salvadorian version to Waterworld here in the
US. After going through a whole bunch of albums that I had not opened for years, I seen all the pictures that we took on our trip. There was one really memorable photo that stood out to me the most and I wish I could remember that specific day. Myself and my two other cousins were standing in a line side by side all wearing red. We are standing on a hill overlooking the ocean smiling. I don’t know why, but it sort of hit me that I have not seen these two cousins for over 10 years.
When I was 9 years old, I spent that summer with my dad. That was right after my parent’s divorce. I thought that I was going to stay in L.A the entire month, but my dad surprised my sister and I when he said that my mom and the entire Patron family was coming to pick us up at midnight. We were going to go to
Mexicali for a week. This time, we had to go by car, but since we left at midnight, all me and my cousins did was sleep. I remember the ride there because I got carsick a couple times. The last time I had been to
Mexicali was 6 years before on my third birthday.
I have a picture of my 3
rd birthday in
Mexicali hanging up on my wall:
It is so hard for me to remember all of those trips, but I just let my mom tell me the stories. It was exciting to see all of my cousins and aunts and uncles that I had long forgotten about. The most important person that I wanted to see was my great grandmother, Socorro. The entire week spent there was so much fun and I can still remember the meals! Yum! My mom’s side of the family is Mexican, so when someone says there’s going to be a party, they are always going to be there. That’s exactly what my great-grandmother did. She threw us a party when we first arrived. Since I was just 9 years old, me and all my other cousins went around the block. My grandma lived right next door to a dulceria, a candy store. Me and all of the younger kids went up to our moms and asked for pesos to buy some candy. I loved the tamarindo. It was hard to say goodbye to the rest of my family when the week was over, but it was a good time spent.
When I was a little girl, I can still remember when I used to visit my grandma down in
Oakland during some summers. She would always tell me stories of when she was my age living in
Mexico. Although my grandpa was not alive to tell me his stories himself, my grandma helped the best way she could.
My grandpa, German Patron was born in
Sinaloa, Mexico. My grandma, Maria Christina Quiroz was born in
Sonora, Mexico. At some point in time, my grandparents met and my grandpa made my grandma fall in love with him. They then moved to
Mexicali, Mexico where my aunt, uncle and my mom were born.
This is my grandparents and I:
Like any other Mexican grandparent, my grandma told me the story of
La Llorona. That story kept me scared all throughout my childhood. My grandma told me that after the legend was established, the people of
Mexico actually believed it and they were always scared to go out at night just as the story said not to do so. That legend is still alive now. My grandma first told me that the story was about this woman named Maria who had two kids and a husband. Maria found out one day that her husband was leaving her, so Maria wanted to be vengeful. She decided that she was going to kill her kids. As a result, she took both of them to the river and drowned them. After feeling bad about doing so, she ran down the river stream and began to scream for them, but it was too late, the stream carried them away, dead. After she tripped from running, she fell and hit her head on a rock. She died instantly. The legend lives on that every night, she haunts the children of
Mexico at night still in search of her two kids. They gave her the name
La Llorona because her spirit cries at night, “
Ay, mis hijos” which in Spanish means, “My children!” Children of
Mexico were taught not to go outside late or else
La Llorona would come and take them away forever.
My grandma told me the story in which she began to fear of all La Llorona legends. One night, a friend had slept over my grandma’s house. After they fell asleep, or so my grandma thought, her friend woke her up around 2 in the morning and told her that she needed to go use the bathroom, but that she didn’t want to go alone. For some reason, my grandma told me that the bathroom was outside back in the days. After that, they both went outside and when the friend was done, they began to walk back to the house. Close by to my grandma’s house, there was a well. My grandma and her friend started to hear noises coming from the well. As they listened closely, but did not approach the well, they heard, “Ay, mis hijos!” they were scared that the legend was true. They immediately ran back to the house and they learned to never leave the house at night again no matter what.
A funny story that my mom tells me to poke fun at me was the story form when I was a little girl around 2-4 years old. My mom said that back then, I would come around to the living room and I would sit in front of the television and watch only the commercials. Whenever the actual show started again, I would grab my bottle off of the floor and walk away.
A piece of history that was left out from me was my true ethnicity. I thought that I was only half Mexican and half Salvadorian due to my mom and dad, but I learned so much more. In reality, my dad is half Salvadorian and half Spanish which would explain his light features. As for my mom, my grandma’s grandfather also happened to be Spanish which would also explain the complexion of my moms’ side of the family. J
My Interpretation: I believe that these small stories that were told to me to keep the tradition alive. In the Joy Luck Club, the mothers want their daughters to live the ‘American way’, but in my family, my mom, dad and grandparents have always taught me that our culture is beautiful no matter what and we shouldn’t be ashamed to learn about it. Each story that has been told to me had something to do with my family history and many of those stories were regarding trips that we took to visit our homeland. It is important to keep these stories within our family so we never forget about whom we really are and where we really originate form. All these stories shape my life and how I came to be the person that I am today, and I am very proud of all of that.
