My Childhood Memories

My Childhood Memories

I grew up a girlie girl, shy and modest. I was sheltered, sent to private school and raised with what we'd call today, "old-fashioned values." You know. Mind your manners. Respect your elders. Say your prayers. Don't steal, spit on the sidewalk, chew gum. If you can't say something nice, keep quiet.

Dad always made me feel good about myself. Needless to say, I learned a lot from my dad. He gave me the best childhood and the best memories, too. He taught me so much. I pay it forward to my children, so his legacy to me lives on in them.

My dad excelled wherever human interaction required integrity and compassion. My dad was a good human being. He was my hero.

 

I was raised hanging around my dad's Mexican restaurants. My grandma cooked up her own unique flavor of Mexican food recipes. I have memories of my grandma's cooking that I devour like a kid in a candy store. It's like opening an old cigar box where my grandmother kept her heritage recipes. Scrumptious recipes passed down for three generations. Maybe more.

I recall with vivid detail the food she made for me, as well as, the food I made... that my kids still love to eat today.

I've been making homemade Tamales and Enchiladas at Christmas for years. I believe my family enjoys eating my grandma's legacy recipes more than anyone else's Mexican food recipes. Me, too.

Tamales are time-consuming and tiring to make. It became a challenge.

Growing Up
You could sum up my entire childhood in four words: me and my dad. I barely watched television. Didn't listen to music. Not even Elvis. Until much later.  Sometimes, I got to go to the movie theater to see a story unfold on "the big screen" that we now call the 62" flat screen mounted on the wall in the great room.

When I was 4 or 5, dad would lounge on the couch in front of the TV, and I'd comb his wavy black hair like little girls do. I might have put in a few of my pink doll curlers. I don't remember, but I know it would have been okay with him.

I used to watch Gorgeous George on TV with my dad. That was his favorite wrestler. Dad and I would give points to each wrestler at the end of each round. It was a competition to see who could predict the winner, and it was so much fun. Dad wasn't a fighter himself. He didn't yell or raise his voice. He didn't use foul language. He never said a bad word about anything or anyone.

I played with my dolls, rode my bike, went roller skating now and then. My world wasn't one big tea party. Growing up, I played outdoors more than indoors. I rode my Radio Flyer tricycle, strapped roller skates on my Stride Rites, played a game of jacks by myself and read Nancy Drew

My dad built me the most incredible playhouse. He made me a lemonade stand and just about anything else I wanted. My daddy made my life magical.

I spent a lot of time with my dad at his restaurants. I've been with him to the mortuary. (There was an apartment upstairs.)

I visited his drug store. I never saw the lettuce fields, but dad let me ride along on a truck delivery now and then. That was exciting. I'd sit on a pillow in the cab behind the driver's seat. It was kind of a bumpy ride. He delivered cartons of food and big water bottles to restaurants along the desert road in California that led to Las Vegas. That was an adventure, and I so loved adventures.

The Balboa and Newport Beach area is where I spent most of my time growing up as a girl. These are extra ordinary memories.

When I was 5 years old, I'd sit on the counter of Nana's Tacos and greet people. It was a waterfront walk-up like a food truck only a building. It was close to the Pavilion and the Fun Zone.

A few years later, Nana's Tacos moved to a bigger building just a few feet from the ferry landing.

Newport Beach is one of those spots on the map that sings to you like a Siren in Greek Mythology. Once you've spent time here, you have the feeling that you never want to leave.

My dad knew someone, so I'd ride free... Inbetween Balboa Island and Balboa Peninsula just for fun. I spent many happy hours at the Balboa Fun Zone.

Nana's Tacos was the name of just one of my dad's restaurants. The place offered my grama's Mexican food made from her authentic recipes.

The building was on a corner, one side on the street side and one side on the beachfront side. It had a double front door leading into a sit-down area with a concrete floor and room for 30 or 40 tables. Inside there was a long counter where customers would place and pickup their food order. The open kitchen was on the other side the counter.

Customers could see their order being cooked, fresh, right then. Opposite the kitchen, a dutch door that opened to create a walk-up window. This made it easy for hungry beach-goers to buy food in their sandy bare feet and swimsuits.

It had rooms in the back for storage and a room for me. I'd fall asleep there and wake up late at night. My dad would be mopping the floors. I could see it was a grueling job. I could see that he wanted the place sanitary clean, not just clean. He cleaned every corner every night. His customers loved him and grama, too. I saw the same faces come back day after day, year after year.

By the time I was a teenager, I knew everyone along the boardwalk from the Pavilion fishermen to the shopkeepers and fun zone booths. There was a big difference between tourists and regulars. I was a "regular."

One year my dad said I could keep every dollar bill I found in the cash drawer with the words "In God We Trust" on the back. I think it was 1957 or 58, a highlight memory for me and not because of the money. I had all the money I wanted.

My Big Radio Debut.  One day someone was broadcasting a radio show standing on the boardwalk near The Wild Goose. The "guy with the mic" called us over and asked if we wanted to talk on the radio. A few moments later, the microphone was in my face... and I was frozen speechless. I couldn't say a word. Nothing came out of my mouth. I smile, remembering that time like it was yesterday. All I can say is... Writers write. We don't talk. I was speechless. Yes. but really just, shy.

I spent time at the beach on ocean side at 15th street. It was a hot spot for kids. The church was on the corner. My dad's other restaurant was in Costa Mesa just up the coast from Balboa. It was named Casa Don Carlos. It was not a swimsuit walk-up like Nana's Tacos was. It was a white tablecloth restaurant.

My dad was ahead of his time. Genius, I think. I had absolutely the best days of my childhood right there... at the beach.

Dad loved animals. I still do. Dad built me pigeon coops for the homing pigeons I raised. I had 2, then 30. I also had a duck named "Sad Sack" and two rabbits. One huge turtle who lived in the backyard. I love horses. Still do.

My Red looked
like this

I wanted a horse. He bought me a horse. My horse was "Red." Dad boarded my horse nearby, and I'd ride with my girlfriend who lived in Lemon Heights. Her name was Judy Jenson and she loved to ride, too. Good times. I can only recall one dog, a beautiful black Cocker Spaniel.

I was probably 12 or 14 when Dad took me for a drive down the coast of Baja. It wasn't developed then. Mostly blank. It was either Rosarito Beach or Ensenada. Not sure. We pulled up in front of this shack of a restaurant. It had wood slat floors and you could see the sandy beach below. I've never seen anything like it. Dogs barked outside, probably waiting for scraps. I could smell the ocean and hear the waves crashing on the beach out front. It was dark, but a starry night. I wasn't afraid — I was with my dad.

We were served a good-tasting fish dinner. I thought they went out and caught the fish, cooked it and served it, but that probably wasn't how it went.

When I started high school, my “manly” dad took me shopping. One day he took me to buy a "merry widow" to wear under the new dress he bought me for a school dance. That is a fun shopping day memory.

My dad used to start my car and warm it up for me every morning while I got ready for school. I loved him doing that for me. It made me feel so special and cared for.
My First Car. My dad bought me a green '57 Ford Thunderbird when I was 15. It was pre-owned, but I didn't notice. I had a driver's license because we lived in a rural area, and I got permission to drive to school. But I drove a lot more places than just to school. I loved this car  — still do. Here's what it looked like.

Anyway. It was a hardtop convertible with porthole windows on each side. The inside was pristine. My dad made sure of this.

I was head majorette imy sophomore year. That's 10th grade, I had a baton-twirlling team of 7. We were like cheer leade at football games. I participated in parades and competed in baton-twirlling competitions.

One year I was chosen to do my thing at the National Convention of the Democratic Party held in the International Amphitheatre in Chicago, Illinois. I suffered a sunstroke during the initial parade and was not allowed to participate in the opening ceremonies as planned. 

A week later, I did twirl my baton in front of thousands gathered at the Cow Palace in San Francisco, California, for the Republican National Convention. President Dwight D. Eisenhower and Vice President Richard M. Nixon were the party's candidates that year, and of course, Eisenhower won the renomination. Nat King Cole was there, too.

My parents were Republicans, so needless to say, I had the time of my life. Wow, what a memory.

Well, that's a little about me, probably more than you wanted to know. This is my testimony. Maybe my family will want to know about me growing up some day. For some reason, they never asked me about my childhood or my school years... Even after they became adults, I don't think they ever knew who their mother is. Not sure why they didn't seem interested?  I thought I was doing the right thing staying silent, but the older I get, the more I realize I was wrong.  Children should know the who, what and why about their mother.