Everyone should know their family history, and protect the connection with their ancestors. You may think you know who your parents are, but do you? Do you know what they’ve been through to give you life? Keep you safe? Happy?
Being connected with your family means "knowing who you really are." Legacy keeps you from wandering in an abyss and perhaps falling prey to those who won't have your best in their heart.
Show love and respect to family. That isn't all, but it will keep you on the good path. Weather storms, tragedy, ruin, loss. Together. Do you follow the path to everyone and everything that makes life happy for you and others?
Being connected with your family means "knowing who you really are." Legacy keeps you from wandering in an abyss and perhaps falling prey to those who won't have your best in their heart.
Show love and respect to family. That isn't all, but it will keep you on the good path. Weather storms, tragedy, ruin, loss. Together. Do you follow the path to everyone and everything that makes life happy for you and others?
Once you know about the blood line you belong to, a child has a roadmap. Relatives are not who a child is. A child always has choices. Repeat the good, and avoid the bad. Pass on "your path" to your children. That said...
Let me tell you about the heritage you share with those before you. We keep our ancestors alive by what we call, "Bedtime Stories." This messaging is about learning from the past before the past is forgotten. It starts the day a child is born. Here in these pages is your story as much as it is mine. Pass it along to your children. Let them add you to this heritage as life goes on.
Let me tell you about the heritage you share with those before you. We keep our ancestors alive by what we call, "Bedtime Stories." This messaging is about learning from the past before the past is forgotten. It starts the day a child is born. Here in these pages is your story as much as it is mine. Pass it along to your children. Let them add you to this heritage as life goes on.
I've written much about my dad on this blog diary. Here's bit more. Family should know about this great man. My dad was a man of God. He passed too soon, but he left a legacy that I passed to my children.
He was a Mexican American. His name was Alejandro C. My kids called him Pop. He was light skinned with blue-green eyes. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was tall. He spoke fluent Spanish and English without a Spanish accent. He favored watching Spanish TV. He didn't smoke or drink or do drugs.
He dressed nicely. No blue jeans, short pants, sneakers or loafers. He always wore a sleeveless undershirt. I never saw him without a shirt or dressed in sloppy clothes. He didn't always wear a tie, but he did wear a button shirt with a collar, slacks, dress shoes and socks.
He loved to wear white shoes (even thought it doesn't look like it in the picture). Not sure what the significance of white was, but he did. It may have been a personal preference, or cultural, or something from his mother. I just remember his white shoes. Sort of a trademark like Johnny Cash who dressed in black. The way my dad looked and dressed always showed respect for himself and others.
Dad owned several businesses, but when I was little, he also worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad. He was an inspector. If a box or carton was damaged, he'd do an inspection. He dropped me off at Catholic School every day in time for morning mass; and he was there waiting for me after school. I’d go back to the depot with him.
I would see him climb up on the train boxcar. Wow! I thought. One time that I know about, we got a refrigerator with a ding in it for very little cost. I guess that was one of the perks of his job. I also got a lifetime membership to ride the train at Knott's Berry Farm. Very cool.
One time I went exploring upstairs at the railroad station. It was creepy. He came-a-running, grabbed me, carried me down the stairs. He didn't spank me or yell at me. He just hugged me and made me promise never to wander away again. That's my dad. Protective.
As I write this, a funny moment popped into my head. I am remembering when I'd comb his thick, black wavy hair. That sounds weird, but he'd lounge on the couch in front of the TV or on the floor and I'd position myself behind him, ask for his comb (he always carried a 5-in black comb in his pocket) and run it through his hair. I probably would have put in pink doll curlers, too, but I don't remember if I did.
Sometimes he and I would stretch out on the floor and watch wrestling on TV. My dad loved to watch Gorgeous George. That was the name of one of his favorite wrestlers. I think that's what prompted my fascination with Hulk Hogan in the 80s. I enjoyed Hulk Hogan's movies, too. I continue to admire Hogan because of his affiliation with the Make-a-Wish Foundation, a children's charity that son Tim got me involved with a year or so ago. Anyway...
I took a truck trip or two with my dad. That was exciting. He owned a trucking company. Once I remember riding upfront, behind the driver's seat. It was kind of a bumpy ride. He was delivering cartons of food and big big water bottles to restaurants in California along the desert road that lead to Las Vegas. That was an adventure, and I so loved adventures.
Another time, he took me for a drive down the coast of Baja. 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. We were served fresh fish for our dinner. I thought they went out and caught it, cooked it and served it, but I'm sure that wasn't how it went. Dad loved fish. I still love eating fish. Son Steven has a habit of fishing weekends and I'll bet he doesn't know that he probably got that from his "Pop" who also loved to fish.
Dad owned and operated two waterfront eateries in Balboa and Costa Mesa: a bathing suit walk up or walk-in; and a white tablecloth restaurant. He owned a lettuce field, the trucking business, a mortuary and drug store. Now, that's quite a mix. He was the ultimate entrepreneur and role model... but there's more.
He also owned an ice cream parlor, apartment house and he was a home builder. His businesses stretched throughout California and Mexico. I never saw him drive a fancy car or wear ritzy rings. He had a watch. It looked normal to me. No diamond bezel. He collected old coins. He had a lot of shrink-wrapped coins. My dad cared for my grama and grampa; and was generous with family in need.
My dad loved ice cream and hot dogs. Many times in Mexico, I watched him order more hot dogs than he could eat... and then give the "extra" hot dogs away to people who looked like they were hungry.
Dad was a hard worker but he spared plenty of time to be attentive, caring and thoughtful — a great dad, a dad who enjoyed being a dad.
Time is precious. My self employed dad with all he accomplished should have had little time for family or me. After I got older, I realized how difficult it must have been. His time was the best gift he game me.
He was a Mexican American. His name was Alejandro C. My kids called him Pop. He was light skinned with blue-green eyes. He wasn’t a tall man, but he was tall. He spoke fluent Spanish and English without a Spanish accent. He favored watching Spanish TV. He didn't smoke or drink or do drugs.
He loved to wear white shoes (even thought it doesn't look like it in the picture). Not sure what the significance of white was, but he did. It may have been a personal preference, or cultural, or something from his mother. I just remember his white shoes. Sort of a trademark like Johnny Cash who dressed in black. The way my dad looked and dressed always showed respect for himself and others.
Dad owned several businesses, but when I was little, he also worked for the Southern Pacific Railroad. He was an inspector. If a box or carton was damaged, he'd do an inspection. He dropped me off at Catholic School every day in time for morning mass; and he was there waiting for me after school. I’d go back to the depot with him.
I would see him climb up on the train boxcar. Wow! I thought. One time that I know about, we got a refrigerator with a ding in it for very little cost. I guess that was one of the perks of his job. I also got a lifetime membership to ride the train at Knott's Berry Farm. Very cool.
One time I went exploring upstairs at the railroad station. It was creepy. He came-a-running, grabbed me, carried me down the stairs. He didn't spank me or yell at me. He just hugged me and made me promise never to wander away again. That's my dad. Protective.
As I write this, a funny moment popped into my head. I am remembering when I'd comb his thick, black wavy hair. That sounds weird, but he'd lounge on the couch in front of the TV or on the floor and I'd position myself behind him, ask for his comb (he always carried a 5-in black comb in his pocket) and run it through his hair. I probably would have put in pink doll curlers, too, but I don't remember if I did.
Sometimes he and I would stretch out on the floor and watch wrestling on TV. My dad loved to watch Gorgeous George. That was the name of one of his favorite wrestlers. I think that's what prompted my fascination with Hulk Hogan in the 80s. I enjoyed Hulk Hogan's movies, too. I continue to admire Hogan because of his affiliation with the Make-a-Wish Foundation, a children's charity that son Tim got me involved with a year or so ago. Anyway...
I took a truck trip or two with my dad. That was exciting. He owned a trucking company. Once I remember riding upfront, behind the driver's seat. It was kind of a bumpy ride. He was delivering cartons of food and big big water bottles to restaurants in California along the desert road that lead to Las Vegas. That was an adventure, and I so loved adventures.
Another time, he took me for a drive down the coast of Baja. 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. We were served fresh fish for our dinner. I thought they went out and caught it, cooked it and served it, but I'm sure that wasn't how it went. Dad loved fish. I still love eating fish. Son Steven has a habit of fishing weekends and I'll bet he doesn't know that he probably got that from his "Pop" who also loved to fish.
Dad owned and operated two waterfront eateries in Balboa and Costa Mesa: a bathing suit walk up or walk-in; and a white tablecloth restaurant. He owned a lettuce field, the trucking business, a mortuary and drug store. Now, that's quite a mix. He was the ultimate entrepreneur and role model... but there's more.
He also owned an ice cream parlor, apartment house and he was a home builder. His businesses stretched throughout California and Mexico. I never saw him drive a fancy car or wear ritzy rings. He had a watch. It looked normal to me. No diamond bezel. He collected old coins. He had a lot of shrink-wrapped coins. My dad cared for my grama and grampa; and was generous with family in need.
My dad loved ice cream and hot dogs. Many times in Mexico, I watched him order more hot dogs than he could eat... and then give the "extra" hot dogs away to people who looked like they were hungry.
Dad was a hard worker but he spared plenty of time to be attentive, caring and thoughtful — a great dad, a dad who enjoyed being a dad.
Time is precious. My self employed dad with all he accomplished should have had little time for family or me. After I got older, I realized how difficult it must have been. His time was the best gift he game me.
Hurtful Hurdles. Dad excelled at a time when Mexicans were spit at, turned away and regarded as less than human.
Dad was never shy to share his thoughts with me. He went without and saved and started a business. He was spit on and called degrading ethnic slurs, his business was burned, and he was hung in effigy to try to run him off. He didn't yell and scream. He didn't give up? He believed in the American Dream. About real freedom. About doing what God planned for him, and me and you.
My father believed in the American Dream. He lived it. He achieved it. I am so proud to be his daughter.
The History books, my dad’s talks, what I heard and saw myself told me a lot about my dad and his strength to persevere. I was very young by the time he had achieved so much. The worse may have been behind him, but some “haters” were still able to do their worst. I was a “fly on the wall,” but somethings you never forget. I’m pretty sure you know what I mean.
The greatest gift my dad gave me was the time he shared with me.
My dad showed me what’s important in life. The greatest gift my dad gave me was the time he shared with me.
My dad shaped my life and prepared me for what was to come. No one told him. He was there for me because he loved me.
God lifted my dad up and carried him back to joy many times. God had a plan for my dad. My dad did what God asked of him. I’m sure of it.
My dad and I were close. He was the best. He gave me many gifts including good values and rules to live by. The greatest gift was the time he shared with me. I can't say it enough. He game me his time. I cherish every moment with all my heart. He taught me so much.
Since the day my children were born... I pay it forward to them, so his legacy lives on. I am honored to have his name.
Well, that's a little about memories of my dad. It's like a diary for my family. My kids may like to know. This is for them. About My Mother and How She Changed My Life
About Our Ancestors
Every year I honor my dad’s memory on his birthday. On Father’s Day, I spend a little extra time thinking about him and how lucky I am to have had this wonderful person in my life. He was the best dad ever.
On balance, I can’t remember feeling anything when mother died. I didn’t travel to attend mother’s funeral. I’m thankful I behaved like a good daughter should. I did the right thing.
My sister and I spoke on the phone when she was with mother in her hospice room. After mother passed, my sister and I spoke often. She had a lot to tell me, and nothing good to say about how mother treated her. She would say, “I only have one sister.” I knew what she meant. My nephew and I were speaking on the phone the day my sister died, at home, with only her son by her side.
My Godmother was also my mother's younger sister. Her name was Lucille and we were close. She gave me a beautiful string of pearls, a very old stamp album and understanding. She knew my mother.
My grandmother on mother's side was Delfidra. I can't remember her ever saying a word to me. I was a young girl and my grandmother, although bi-lingual, spoke Spanish and was very secretive. She whispered a lot, so that's what I thought.
All I
know about my grandfather is that he is a descendant of Venustiano
Carranza who was the 44th President of Mexico 1917–1920; and he died
from diabetes. I think it was him,but it might have been her.
My family has a ranch in Hermosillo, Sonora, Mexico. It's been decades
since I visited. Not sure if it's still there. That's where I found my
love for horses. I learned to ride without getting black and blue on my
bottom. Not sure that has anything to do with anything. Mother took Kim to the ranch to visit once. I wondered if that was a mistake. I don't recall Kim telling me much about her visit.
 |
| Venustiano Carranza (left) with his daughters, c.1890s |
His family were
wealthy land owners and cattle ranchers. He
lived during the Mexican Revolution, Pancho Villa and U.S. President
Woodrow Wilson who he apparently had some dealings with. Enough said on that.
I also noticed that the online account didn't match the "bedtime stories"
of our family. I was told he loved the "people." If there was time,
I'd say more, but this little bit of ancestral
history is enough for a child to realize the trials and struggles life
takes to succeed.
He was assassinated during the Mexican Revolution in 1920. I took his
assassination to mean much the same as it does today. He didn't go along
with the "Democrats of Mexico" if you know what I mean.
In any event, no one could take away who he was and what he did. Carranza ushered in Mexico's Constitution
of 1917 and elections that made Carranza the constitutional president.
I was about seven when I first remember. My grama’s incredible love of food, cooking and recipes gave us common ground. I remember her standing in front of a white stove, making homemade tortillas with her hands. Fresh from the skillet, she’d slather one with butter and hand it to me. I recall that bite. It was melt-in-my-mouth delicious. She was so kind to me. I might have made a pest of myself.
My children's great grandfather, my dad’s dad. was in a wheelchair when I knew him. He was an attorney. Hia name was Jesus, pronounced (Hey Soos --rhymes with Zeus). I was told he was an ambassador to Spain. Not sure under what President. I don’t know when he passed. I was still a little girl. One day, he was no longer at home. Grama never spoke about him again. It was too painful for her. She loved him so much. Even a young girl could see that.
After I left the “viper’s nest of hate,” I wasn’t told when my grama passed. ///
After I left the “viper’s nest of hate,” I wasn’t told when my grama passed. ///