It was the summer of 1971 when I met my husband while I worked for the very first time in my life. My girlfriends and I lied about our age , as we were all 16 years old, to be able to get hired as part time workers during the that summer. The legal hiring age at that time was 18; but we were going to try to apply for a job regardless of age. And since there were no computers to actually check out statistics we were all able to get away with that little lie about our age. We all got hired and we were called “temporaries or temps.” As a temp , you went upstairs to the main office to checked and see where you would be placed to work every time you were scheduled to come in. We were all going to work at the prestigious Jordan Marsh, a very high end department store on Biscayne Boulevard close to downtown Miami. I suppose this store could easily be compared to Saks 5th Avenue. It had such elegance and beauty. When you walked in through their doors you were always introduced to a lovely fragrance in the air. It was as though they had a particular perfume like fragrance to welcome all of their customers. Moods for romancing, relaxing, laughing and shopping can be set by music, smell , and by what you actually feast your eyes upon . Indirectly all of these very simple things open your mind to feeling very special and pampered; and beforeyou know it , you are opening your wallets without a care in the world. Without worries about paying your credit card bills ; at least until later. Oh, that plastic money can be so easy to spend. It doesn’t get any better than that.

We were all required to go through training so that we could properly greet customers, write invoices and ring them up in these old fashioned registers that no longer are used in retail stores. And we were taught that valuable lesson that “the customer is always right.” And believe me, when I say that sometimes they were most definitely wrong . But we followed the rules and bent them on a regular basis to accommodate those fortunate people spending their hard earned money. This was a way of keeping customers satisfied and always wanting to come back where they reigned; if not at home.
We were also handed a rules and regulation book ; including a dress code that was enforced to keep a very specific and certain image at all times. I can’t remember if we were allowed to wear slacks to work. I want to say that we weren’t but I’ll have to doing some digging for that answer. The building was three stories high but I always preferred taking the escalators rather than the elevators ; this way you could see what was happening on each floor as you ascended to the next one. There was an elevator operator that actually sat in the elevator all day just to take you to the floor of your choice. That was considered to be quite a luxury. Not to mention as an unnecessary expense but very lavish to the most people

for all who frequented the store. And there was valet parking for those who wanted it. I always thought of that store to be the most exquisite store to visit and shop in during the 1970s.

That summer I was a Sophmore attending Notre Dame Academy, an all girls Catholic high school in Miami , Florida. Ours was a class of 144 women who had taken an entrance exam in order to attend this prestigious and demanding school. Almost all of us had started there as Freshmen after graduating from many other Catholic elementary schools in Dade County. I had graduated from Saint Mary’s Cathedral Elementary School , I attended school there from second grade through eigth grade. Uniforms were mandatory so there was no issue as to who had the latest jeans or shoes to wear . We were all equal in each others eyes and according to Mother Mary Joseph “equal in the eyes of God”.

As a class we went to mass every Wednesday. And come Sunday , I would go to mass with my family rain or shine. No excuses and no rainchecks. My family, and most of my friends families, went to Sunday mass at the same time so we got to see each other again during the weekend. Our parents became friends as well. And we would plan outings to the beach or to bar-b-qs at the park. They were simple and such easy going days. Those days are the ones that I like to remember most because they represent the building blocks of my life . The diving boards into what my future could be. It is from there that I learned how to dream about the things that I wanted in my life. I had a blank canvas waiting to be painted into whatever colors and designs I wanted. My youth was not ill spent ; I enjoyed and savored every moment without regret. How lucky I was ; and how lucky I remain to be.

St. Mary’s School is very dear to me. It is here that I made, and have kept , the important and cherished friends that I still have and love today. These are the people that were instrumental in my youth and it’s development. It was the era of no cell phones or any other kind of high technological social media. Our conversations were mostly face to face. Body language was important because it either invited you to interact or not. And then ,of course , there was the only other method of communicating with friends and relatives by using the archaic,but very necessary ,dial tone telephone . You could identify someone by the sound of his, or her, voice. The delivery of your message dictated how it was to be received; therefore, it would have to carry the right pitch or tone. There was no mistaking in reading someone’s state of happiness or sadness because their voices and faces said it all. And because you were not constantly connected to someone via social media , it made it much more enjoyable when you saw someone in person and you could then share your many stories with great delight . It was another world so long ago; and I miss it ,strangely enough. Intimacy is the quality that creates true friendships. Social media is the complete opposite of this and young people are sadly missing out on this experience. They are trading it in for computers and social media so that they don’t have to interact with one another. Let me refrase that, they don’t know how to interact with one another because they lack social skills. Inmy humble oponion ,usually, Social media = lack of social skills.

My world was where I lived and who I came into immediate contact with. There was no internet , facetime, skype, email, etc. . Our information came in slowly ; at least in comparison to today. Color TVs didn’t exist yet ;and there were only three or four stations that brought us limited news . The daily news was at 7:00 AM, 5:00 and 11:00 PM. And our TV stations didn’t run all day either.There was a grainy black and white static across the TV screen after 12:00 midnight and then it cleared up at 7:00 AM for the morning news. Programming was very limited also. The TV and my next door neighbors , two sisters who I’m sorry to say that I cannot remember their names, were my English teachers. I learned this beautiful language before I went to school. I was too young to be registered in a school when we arrived from Cuba in 1960, so I stayed home for a year not realizing the great benefit that I was bestowed with – the English langauge that I would come to know as mine. The beauty of learning an international second language fluently at such an early age has so many benefits. All of my studies were to be in English. And ,ironically, I would take Spanish lessons in High School, one of the world’s most romantic “idiomas” ,so that I wouldn’t forget my native and my first langauge.

It was here at St. Mary’s, where I met my first boyfriend and he asked me to “go steady” in the eighth grade ; I think the word they use today is “exclusive”. I had my eyes on him since the third grade. I kid you not. I suppose it says a lot for being persistent and focused. But at that age I don’t think boys have truly accepted that fact that girls are going to be a very big part of their lives. They will be the hunters or they will be hunted ; but they are going down one way or another. And the actual chase is as delightful as it is challenging. These are the years where you can , by trial and error, learn and bring to perfection the art of flirting. Too little and you’re over looked . Too much and you’re a desperate harlot. The middle of the road is where you need to be. Ladies, this is learned behavior. My father once said this to me and I have never forgotten it , ” A woman has to have some kind of mystery about her.” In other words, don’t put it all out there. Hold back and save some things for later. My father was brilliant and had so much common sense. Thank you Dad.

This boy was was so handsome and very smart. He was also captain of the basketball team and I was captain of the cheer leading team. and a devoted ballerina. We were a picture perfect couple right out of “Grease”. However, he was not a” bad boy” but rather a star; and the one that all of the girls dreamed of for themselves. I thought I was so lucky to have the boy that I had set my eyes on since third grade. He truly was my first love. And young love is so unpretentious and immaculate . You are there for the right reasons and not because he has money, or drives a great car. It’s the waiting for the phone to ring so that you can hear his voice every day. It’s the lack of concentration on anything that is not him. The longing for the first touch or kiss seems almost unattainable but desired beyond explanation or belief. And when it happens its the most enchanting feeling in the world. The word bliss comes to mind. The imprint it makes on your life is forever . You really never forget that moment or the sensation of a completely new feeling that introduces you to adulthood. You feel such innocent delight in the fact that someone cherishes you above everyone else; and that he loves you solely for who you are. It is the begining of an education on how to disclose your most intimate thoughts and feelings as a gift to another person for safekeeping. And as you both share your hearts contents, you begin a definite awareness as to what love, respect, honesty, and faithfulness to one another is . And it is there, and then, that you decide what your value is. You begin to also love and respect yourself on another level ,so that others may love and respect you as well. And it is the realization that it cannot happen any other way. We must love ourselves first and then you will find the right kind of love always.

These are the qualities that I had the priviledge of being raised with in our home. My parents were devoted to each other and very much in love . Their joy and unity was clearly evident every day of their lives. I always knew that they were my teachers, my safety net and my most benevolent role models. My admiration for their lives together has been a narrative for my own life. And I thank them , and God , for having been there as a constant bookmark throughout my life. I could not have asked for better. I find that I emulate their very being with such love and I honor their memory every day. I hope Mom and Dad know that I live my life through theirs. I trust that they are proud of the extraordinary lessons and work that they bestowed upon my brother and I. We are who we are because of them.

As I write about those years that have passed , it truly doesn’t seem that long ago. And ,although, I want to go back and have a “do over” because it was so very wonderful , I don’t believe I would change much. But I certainly would love to do it all over again. School , exams, heartbreaks, and all that goes along with growing up. Those were such innocent and happy days. I think of them often with great fondness and deep affection. I am doubtful that my that my grandchildren will ever know times as lovely as those that I grew up in. Today’s world is so very different and much more menacing ; and so they will be robbed of many things that we were fortunate enough to have . Simple things like riding a bike through your neighborhood or going to the mall by themselves without the fear of being safe from harm. They will have to be taught to be careful and suspicious of others as they grow into adults. Sadly, their young lives will face complex and challenging issues that were uncommon to us. Their lives will be sprinkled with bits and pieces of our lives , but they will create their very own lives in a different manner. And this is how it should be. But I truly hope that they will always carry all of us in their hearts. And most important, I hope they carry God in their soul.

My life was rich because I had the absolute and unlimited love of my mother and father who were exemplar throughout their lives to anyone who knew them. I was born when my mother was 17 and my father was 24 years of age . Very young by any standard; but so principaled, very moral, and compleletly in love with each other.Theirs was a thing of beauty to see and worthy of imitation. My life with them was a continous learning experience. Music was a fundamental part of our lives. I learned about Glenn Miller, Duke Ellington, Nat King Cole, Judy Garland and about my most beloved Cuban Music from my parents . I was in second grade and I would watch them dance together in perfect movement and harmony without a single error; no stepping on each others feet ever! Our living room was our dance floor. We would move the furniture out of the way to make room . My father taught me how to dance in that very living room as my mom watched and changed the LPs to different songs . There was the music of Celia Cruz, Benny More, Olga Guillot ; there was the

Mambo, Chachacha, the Paso Doble, and the unforgetable Conga . The Conga is where we would let loose and almost every part of your body was in rapid motion to the beat of the music. And if you have ever listened to the Conga then you would understand how I would tend to move a little too much. But this was not proper ,if you were a fine young lady from” high society”. This is where my father would say “No, a lady moves only from the waist down; don’t shake your shoulders like that. A lady always dances in a refined manner. Yes, that’s it. Now you are doing it”. Dad said, ” Don’t look down . There is no need for that . Just let the music guide and lead you. And remember to always have fun while dancing.” Another most important lesson for me, and for all women on the dance floor, “The man always leads on the dance floor; even if he is off beat. You must follow his lead; as you are as light as a feather in his arms and so he should be able to move you anywhere.” My mother watched me with pride and admiration for my father as he took the time to show me how to dance and behave in a social events. To this day, I can dance anything ,and with anyone, at any event. All modesty aside, I’m a very gifted and graceful dancer because I love it and, most important, I had the best and most caring of all teachers. All of these memories will live with me forever and always.

Accompanying the love of my parents , were the devotion of my maternal grandmother and my paternal grandparents and aunt who lived with us. I was surrounded by affection and such joy at all times. No problem was too big because one of my heroes at home would solve it for me. My clothes and uniforms were washed and pressed, my shoes were shined, my meals and snacks were ready for me when I wanted them. No ask was too great. They all lived with us and were an enormous and loving part of my growing up into adulthood. They shared my life until they passed away to join each other in heaven; where I hope to be with them again one day.

I remember my first kiss in the back of my parents car as they drove a group of my friends home from a dance. My boyfriend convinced me that my parents, whoever was driving, couldn’t see us because we couldn’t see their face either . And this idiot believed him. I am still mortified to this day to think that my parents had a first row viewing of my making out ,or necking, with my boyfriend in the back seat of their car. I found out that my boyfriend’s theory was completely wrong when I learned how to drive. As I looked in that rear view mirror I realized that I could see eveything and everyone sitting in the back seat. I think if I ever run into him today I would punch him dead in the face . And to think that neither of my parents ever said anything to me about it. Bless them both .

St. Mary’s is where I learned to study and get Honors because that’s what was expected of me from my parents. They always told us that our responsibility was to ” study and get the best grades possible because this is what was needed in order to have a good job with a healthy income to live comfortably.” It is here that I received the Sacraments of First Communion and Confirmation after eight years of a strict Catholic education. We were to be instructed not only academically ,but religiously as well. Most of our teachers were Nuns from the order of The Sisters of Saint Joseph. I still don’t know how they were able wear their black heavy linen habits in this unrelenting hot Florida weather. I was sure one of them would faint at some point ; but not one of them ever dropped. It’s all a matter of their indoctrination that tells them what to wear, when to eat, when to sleep and when to wake . They took vows of obedience that were to be followed for all of their lives. They also took vows of poverty and chastity and this was so that they would live as Jesus lived. They lived in the two story church convent , right there next to our school. It was always very mysterious in that only a few of us had ever gone inside the convent doors. I was asked to deliver some papers one day and it was extremely sparse inside the convent. In my mind it felt in need of furniture and accesseries. And it was very quiet with thick air quality. It almost felt and smelled like the inside of the church. I left those papers on a console table and quickly ran back to my class. I don’t think that life there was one to envy . But being a nun is most definitely a calling and a way of life that most women will not choose. But I applaud those whose devotion to God leads them to , what must be , a gratifying and rewarding life.

Our nuns wore the typical Black long skirts with long sleeves . Their heads and part of their faces were covered with black fabric that resembled a veil ;but there was a stiff white head band that covered most of their foreheads. It seemed to be very tight and I always wondered if it hurt. That same stiff cardboard like material was used as a large white bib/collar. And they wore a large cross hanging on a chain over that bib.Their sleeves were long and served the purpose of being a secret storage for them. Every once in a while ,just like a magician pulls a rabbit out of his hat, they would pull something out of their sleeve. It could be a rosary, a handkerchief, or a ruler to whack someone with. Yes, they were allowed to smack or paddle kids for misbehaving during those years. And I’m here to tell you that there are many kids today that would benefit greatly from a good Nun- whacking. For the record, I never got hit by any Nun or teacher. I was just too good ; or maybe for fear of death from my mother my behavior was in check at all times.

I remember the famous changing of the Nun’s outdated , and uncomfortable habits. I was in 7th grade and we were going to witness history in the making. We had heard that there would be some kind of outfit change for our teachers who had worn the same kind of clothing for centuries. But we were not informed as to how exactly this change would manifest itself. And one morning, in they walked with their shorter skirts, three quarter sleeves, they removed those headbands and long veils; we got to see their hair near their foreheads. And the bibs were gone ! There was a large pale mark across their foreheads that, clearly, the sun had not seen in many years. They wore stockings and closed shoes that looked more comfortable than the prior ones. But what I remember most of all were their smiles. They seemed happier and grateful to be out of those wretched trappings that should have been changed to more modern and easier to keep clothing. And we all smiled along with them celebrating their freedom into todays world.

To be continued…