Blame It On My Youth

Moon Over Mexico City

In September of ’62, I started at my new elementary school. Most of the kids were already in their cliques, and I was an outsider. It was tough at first, but at least I was able to leave Mommy’s house of horrors for the day. Once I got involved in sports, some of the kids talked with me and soon school became my refuge.

Vincenzo made his appearances every now and then, but most of the time Mommy met him away from the house. I was surprised to see how long this “friend” of hers stayed in the picture. He was always friendly to me and Debi, his ultra-white smile gleaming through his sun-kissed skin. On a few occasions Dad came home unexpected while Vincenzo was visiting. The moment Vincenzo left; the fighting would start. By the time the holidays came around, Dad packed his bags, moved out of the house, and only visited from time to time.

Mom and Vincenzo were now and item and spoke of marriage. But first, he had to divorce his wife, and Mom still had to divorce Dad. They planned to travel to Mexico and get their divorces together. During the next few months, Debi and I met Vincenzo’s three children and surprisingly we all became good friends.

By the spring of 1963, Mommy packed our bags, and we were off to Mexico City for their divorce. It was a long flight but watching the periwinkle blue sky through puffy white clouds felt as though we were sailing through heaven. After we landed, Vincenzo hailed a cab. The driver and Vincenzo chatted away in Spanish. Mommy chimed in from time to time. She managed to find out everything about this man: where he lived, how many children he had, and if he liked living in Mexico City. We arrived at the Galleria Plaza Reforma thirty minutes later around 11:30 in the morning. Before we exited the taxi, Mommy hired Miguelto drive us exclusively around the city beginning that very afternoon.

He smiled and waved as we headed into the hotel. “I waita for you righta here,” he shouted in broken English.

I had never seen anything as ultra-Moderne as this lobby. Most every hotel I ever visited had gingerbread moldings, plush Persian rugs, and traditional antique furnishings, but this lobby had low, sleek grey sofas, glass and black iron coffee tables, light teak wood paneling, and miles of beige marble covering the floors and front desk. Overhead, black marble with gold veins encased the largest chandelier I had ever seen. I tried to point it out to Mommy, but right at that moment, she bulldozed her way through the crowd and stepped up to the check-in desk next to Vincenzo.

“I’ll take care of this.” She shoved Vincenzo out of the way.

The clerk stopped dead in mid-sentence and stared. His mouth hung open in complete and utter shock. Of course, I was used to her massive frame, red bouffant, and plunging neckline, but I’m sure this short Mexican man had never seen anyone like her in his life.

“Kay, he won’t understand what you’re saying,” Vincenzo said, trying to take back control over the situation.

“I speak the universal language. He’ll get my message just fine. Don’t worry. Now, go get the bellman for our luggage.”

Vincenzo pulled the man aside. “Permitame le presento a mi esposa.”

From what I gathered; Vincenzo introduced Mommy as his wife.

The clerk said, “Si? Si,” exceptionally long and drawn out, shaking his head in total disbelief.

Mommy threw out her hand, waving it. Then, in her usual booming voice, insisted on getting the Presidential Suite for the price of a standard room.

I faded behind a towering square teakwood column and stepped away. The last thing I wanted to see was Mommy take down another man. As I explored the lobby, the massive overhead lighting created a soft warm glow over the cool gray sofas. At the far end of the lobby, a wall of ceiling-to-floor windows looked out onto Calle Umbergo.

“They drive like maniacs here—and I thought traffic in NYC was nuts…geez,” I muttered.

After visiting the lounge area, I wandered back and stood in front of our luggage. A moment later, the bellman stacked it onto a trolley and escorted us to a private elevator. Mommy’s face was a bit flushed, but she looked like the cat who had just swallowed the canary. The bellman pushed the button to the top floor: La Alcova Presidencial. As usual, Mommy got her way. I was not surprised in the least.

Double wood doors with large brass pulls opened to reveal an enormous suite. Two beige, low-rise sofas, an oval iron and glass coffee table with matching end tables, two striped black and beige club chairs, and a TV credenza were illuminated by the floor-to-ceiling windows looking out onto Zócalo square, and a view of a glistening golden angel perched high on top of a large, filigreed column.

To the left of the windows, a huge bed peeked through opened teakwood doors. The second bedroom room had two full beds and was located on the other side of the living room. The dining area and the galley with a mini fridge, bar sink, and matching teak cabinets faced the windows.

Mommy tipped the bellman, and Debi and I went to our room to unpack.

“We can’t keep Miguelwaiting, so make it snappy, girls.”

All I wanted to do was jump into the pool and float around like a lazy duck, but with Mommy is was always go, go, go.

“Now, girls…we only have four days, and there’s so much to see!”

Vincenzo followed Mommy around the room like an overgrown puppy. We were back onto the elevator and trooping through the lobby by the time the clock in the square struck twelve.

We all slid into Jorge’s cab, and at first, he chatted away with Vincenzo in Spanish. Then, he commented in broken English about the points of interest as we drove around Zócalo square. My first question was about the angel.

“Ah. El Ángel…Si. Si. She is the symbol of our Independence from Spain. She was finally finished in 1910 to commemorate our hundred years of freedom. She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

“Oh, yes. I can’t wait to see her in the square.”

“She carries in one hand a laurel wreath and the other a three-linked chain. The laurel was placed on the heads of the triumphant leaders of the day, and the three-linked chain represents the three hundred years of Spanish rule.”

“So interesting. Isn’t it Mommy?” I could not believe she remained silent for so long. I half expected her to jump in and correct Jorge, but she listened as intently as I did.

“Yes. Very. You’re so knowledgeable on this subject, Jorge.”

“Si. Si. Señora. All true Mexicans know her story since she lived through so much of our history.”

“Why? What happened to her?” I blurted out.

“Ah, Señorita, when she was completed, those times were a very rough. A revolution started on the very day she was placed on top of the column. It lasted twenty-five years.”

“Really?”

“Si. And she isn’t the original. Just a few years ago in 1957, we had a major earthquake that cracked the column, and she crashed onto the square.”

“Oh, no! How horrible.”

“Si…we were all heartbroken. But, thanks to God, we created a new one and she proudly protects our city again.”

“What a story. Thanks for telling us. Now, I really can’t wait to visit her!”

For the rest of the day, Miguelwas a fountain of information. He was the best tour guide we ever had.

We arrived back at the hotel just as the city lights twinkled in the square. Mommy ordered room service and we ate some amazing local Mexican dishes. After dinner, I begged Mommy to go for a swim in the rooftop pool. We waited the customary hour or so before I plunged into the sparkling water.

The next morning, Miguelarrived to pick up Mommy and Vincenzo. They had an appointment with their attorneys. Debi and I planned to go to the pool. Mommy had arranged for one of the lifeguards to keep an eye on us. I was old enough to take care of myself, but Debi definitely needed looking after; she being only five-years-old, she constantly whined and drove me crazy. Going to a rooftop pool was so cool. There was nothing like this in Queens, that’s for sure. The time ran away from us and soon Mommy’s bellow was heard by all.

“Girls. Time for lunch in the room. Get a move on.”

We gathered up our things and headed back to our suite. I wanted to see the Angel right after lunch. I could not wait. After Jorge’s story, it was the only thing I really wanted to do. I asked Mommy if I could go.

“You’ll have to take Debi with you.”

“Do I have to? Can’t I just spend a bit of time by myself and see the Angel…please?” I gave Mommy the “cow” eyes. Perhaps this time they’ll work, I thought to myself.

In a moment of weakness, she agreed.

“Yay! Thanks Mommy!”

“Okay. Now go. We’ll meet you at the Angel in one hour. I want to freshen up a bit before we go sightseeing through the square.”

After picking up my bag, I headed toward the elevator. The ride down seemed extra-long as my excitement built. The lobby was crowded as usual, most people bustling about, checking in and checking out. The bright sunlight streamed through the revolving door as I exited out onto the street. Although we could see the Angel and Zócalo square quite easily from our suite, it hid from passerby on Calle Umbergo. As I turned the corner, a ray of golden light hit my face and blinded me for a moment. My vision cleared, and there, Le Angel pierced the sky. Without a single cloud in sight, the contrast of gold on blue was simply dazzling.

Traffic slowed and bottled up the street. Several cab drivers stepped out of their cars, looked up, and honked their horns. I weaved through the cars, and finally arrived in front of the intricately carved figures at the base of the monument. I glanced up the long column until I finally set my eyes on the Angel. She looked so much tinier, high above the ground. From our hotel suite, she was almost eye level. The whistling and clapping grew much louder and drew my attention away from her.

As I turned around, dozens of construction men and a few suited gentlemen held their heads high, facing down the street. I followed their gaze, and shrieked, “NO!” My face burned hot. I blinked as tears streamed down my face. I watched in horror as Mommy paraded around in front of the ceiling-to-floor windows, her massive boobs exposed like two bright, white watermelons soaking up the sun. She stood there for a moment and then turned, exposing her massive butt…I almost fainted, but managed to shriek, “GET AWAY FROM THE WINDOWS!” I gulped some air and sprinted back to the hotel.

As I raced through the lobby, all I could see was the image of my mother, mooning Mexico City…