As far back as I can remember, I’ve always felt as though everyone’s upbringing was the same. In my youthful innocence, I believed we all followed a similar path. I imagined that when people looked at me, they could see the struggles and joy that shaped my childhood, the experiences that made me who I am today. But as I’ve grown into a woman, I’ve come to realize how mistaken I was.
Growing up in a small town had its unique charm. From 1st through 7th grade, my classes held only about 15 to 30 students each. The school, accommodating preschool to 7th grade, was a tapestry of Hispanic, Native American, and Caucasian cultures. Each morning, we recited the Pledge of Allegiance first in English and then in Spanish, embracing the rich cultures of New Mexico.
The school playground was modest, bordered by a wide field and a line of trees along the fence. My friends and I cherished one particular tree that was both huge and easy to climb. It became our little sanctuary, a place where we could let our imaginations run free, crafting a world of our own.
I can still remember making homemade pizza in the adobe brick fireplace just outside the main building, its warmth and aroma creating a sense of community and delight. In second grade, we even made homemade ice cream, and our teacher, who resembled Mrs. Frizzle, infused her classroom with the same magical atmosphere. I loved everything about my elementary school, including a memorable field trip in the upper grades. We ventured up the hill across the street, where we learned to make a fire and study various types of bugs, exploring what we could survive on in nature.
That field at school was our haven, where my friends and I played countless games of softball and flag football. It was also where we launched our fashion designer club, eagerly exchanging the folder where we kept all our cherished designs. In that same field, we held our whimsical ‘weddings’ with our boyfriends and lay on the grass, gazing up at the sky, discovering who we were in a world that seemed boundless.
I can only hope that someday my sons will be able to build the same kind of memories that he can cherish for a lifetime.
A Mom’s Unscripted Life 