Tita says, Who’s Your Girl

We do not need some outside credential, or certification, to justify our worth or experience; it is there, underneath the surface, always for us to tap into when we’re not sure of our next work move. What feels right? If we were truly listening to our hearts, we might wonder, what would our abuelitas advise? – Michelle Herrera Mulligan

As someone who has scrambled around to acquire various credentials over the years, this was a nice article to run into. From teacher workshops to notary public, medical billing, and proofreading certificates, I’m always trying to push myself and earn validation. Push myself where exactly, I’m not always sure. This year I’m taking Vanessa Mártir’s essay-a-week challenge (her hashtag is #52essays2017), but so far I’m doing it more like twice a month which would turn into to 24 essays at the end of the year, if even that. These self-exploratory mini memoirs are leading me ‘somewhere’, no doubt. But like I said, reading this quote felt good. It made me think of not so much my abuelitas, at least not at first. I called my paternal grandmother "Grandma" and my maternal one "Mama Ana" or "Mami Ana" so I don't exactly associate the words abuela or abuelita with my grandmothers. But one of my bis-abuelitas, my great grandmother on my father’s side, Berta Astor, maiden name Mendoza a.k.a. “Tita”, comes to mind. "Tita" sounds closer to "abuelita"- and I was told that title of hers stuck because my father couldn't pronounce "abuelita" as a baby, he said "Tita" instead.

Tita was originally from Arecibo, Puerto Rico but came to live in Spanish Harlem in the 1920’s, then later in the Bronx.  She had seven children, went to church regularly I think, and hosted informal English classes in her kitchen, as my other paternal great grandmother Maria had done. Her birthday was on May 4th, as in the “May the fourth be with you” joke, and the same day as Audrey Hepburn’s except, 20 years earlier, in 1909. Tita died in December of 2004 when she was 95 (“and a half,” my dad would include), so she would have been 108 this year.

Tita and I weren't that close. I mean, how could we be? We were “great grands” apart and many, many relatives in between. I felt closer to her daughter-in-law, my Grandma Lillian, someone she considered too wild for her son, or so I heard. But when I think of Tita, I remember her big family gatherings in Castle Hill, her backyard BBQ’s, the welcoming cheers we received as we walked in, and our “Puerto Rican good-byes” when we left, meaning all the goodbye hugs and wrap-up convos that took place before we actually left. Going upstairs to use the bathroom or getting our coats to leave, I would see her old, beautifully framed family portraits on the walls, bedroom dressers and night stands.

One time I drew her a picture of myself. I told her it was so that she could remember me. She assured me that she didn't need that, that she can remember me without any drawings and it made me feel special and loved. Someone with so many children, grandchildren, son and daughter-in-laws, etc would still remember little ol’ me. Maybe that was also her polite way of not having to accept my scribbly, scrappy drawing. 

These days my daughter tells me something similar about me taking so many pictures, that I do it so that we won’t forget what we look like. I tell her yes, but also reassure her that we also have our memories.

Once Tita asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I said something like a singer or an actress. She nodded in acknowledgement and then told me that as long as I’m an honest and good person, that that's what matters more. One of my favorite sayings is, “It doesn’t matter how rich, talented, educated, cool or attractive you think you are. How you treat others ultimately tells all. Integrity matters most” 

Tita really liked the 1964 “Eydie Gorme y Los Panchos” album and so do I. My parents had the CD and I’m sure she had the 33 ⅓ rpm LP.  

She felt that Gloria Estefan was nice but “hasn't lived enough yet” to really get into her. I understand what she meant, she’s more of a “safe” or pleasant singer, nothing too edgy or hopelessly heartbroken. Still, I felt that the story behind her song, “Coming Out of the Dark” was moving and I might decide to see "On Your Feet!” on Broadway one day (but for $200 a pop? Ehh...).

When I was little I liked Gloria Estefan in “The Miami Sound Machine”, with songs like, “Rhythm is Gonna Get You, “1-2-3” and “Conga” and yes, when I was 10 I belted out “Anything For You” to myself on the corner of my block one morning, dedicating it to my unrequited crush on Omar like I was in some gotdamn musical or video. I liked her sad “Cuts Both Ways” and “Words Get in the Way” songs as well. But it wasn't until her 1993 “Mi Tierra” album did I really start paying attention.

I bought the cassette, pulled out the Spanish lyrics and copied them down in my black and white composition notebook, ready to dissect and learn. Her first album in Spanish, with a stunning 1940’s vintage black and white cover and gardenias in her soft wavy hair, as opposed to the wet, frizzy late 80’s waves- which looked great too, don’t get me wrong!

I poured over the lyrics, looking up words I didn't recognize (Oh, I would love to be a Spanish to English translator one of these days... see, now there's another certificate I gotta chase after!)

Tita misread my passion for ‘vintage’ style and language and assumed that Gloria Estefan was “my girl”. That's what she called her when one of her songs played on the car radio one day.  Deeming certain singers or movie stars your girl or your boy was definitely something both Grandma Lillian and Grandpa did. Yule Brynner, Richard Burton, and Michael Jackson were some of Grandma's 'boys', Cyd Charisse, Doris Day, and Eleanor Parker were Grandpa's 'girls'. Now that I’m thinking about it more, over a dozen singers and actresses come to mind who are more “my girl” than Gloria Estefan. Billie, Ella, Marisa Monte, to name a small few. But I let her believe it because it wasn't an outlandish misconception, it was just a little off.

Grandma Lillian died in April of 2001, three years before Tita. A few of us stayed over her house in Connecticut during the funeral services that week and I slept next to Tita in the TV room couch that opened up as a bed.  I was devastated about Grandma's death and kept to myself at night, usually in tears. We were both lying down one night and she reached over to pat and rub my back a little- no words, just compassion, acknowledging how I felt without having to explain myself.

These are things I’ve learned from Tita by example, whether she knew it or not; the beauty of unspoken compassion, striving to be a good person, placing that as most high, relying on the strength of your own heart and memory, and the love of boleros. And she got me to weigh in the singers I consider to be more “my girl” ;)

One of the many family reunions. Tita, in the light blue dress and pink cardigan, looks as though she is looking at me, in the white sweatshirt with black and white stripes. I don't know what year this is, but it has to be the 80's. '87?

I believe this is in '93. Me, around 16, posing with Tita and my mom in Connecticut. This is a rare shot because any picture of me with Tita always included the rest of the family.

Another rare one I came across this morning (7/29/18)- Grandma (Lillian), me, and Tita- early 80's I'm guessing. (I'll try to properly rotate it eventually- I'm having no luck with that so far).

This hangs in our hallway now. My dad says this is the late 50's, at the Copacabana. Tita is sitting on the far left.