Stories of Lotería

Dedicated to those women I grew up watching, not on tv, but in real-life . When I was a little girl I thought my female teenage cousins were the shit ! We came from a large family with many aunts, uncles, and kids, but there was a recognizable divide between those considered children - around 12 and under - and those who most certainly were not ever to be mistaken or miscategorized as a child - 16 and up.  At family parties, these 4 or 5 young women would gather in a bedroom covered wall-to-wall with Prince or Pat Benatar posters, blasting extremely loud American Bandstand favorites, and plot the newest yet not terribly inventive way they were going to dupe their parents this weekend. Naturally, us younger kids weren't allowed in that bedroom for more than it takes to tell someone the food's ready , but in that instant you could pick up a strong collective whiff of freshly-popped Bubble Yum, plastic jelly-bean sandals, and Aqua Net...a lot of Aqua Net.  The hair...

It was the summer of 1974 when the young Palm was first brought to the house on Vancouver Avenue. The local gardener, Ignacio (who liked to be called Nacho) selected this particular palm for the new family who had recently purchased the home and who had requested that a tree be planted in the front yard. He agreed that it was a good idea to provide some shade and add a little something to the bare yard. "I bring it tomorrow." he told the baby-faced man of the house as they discussed his vision for his new yard. Nacho drove leisurely through the wide neighborhood streets he knew better than his own aging body these days. In the back of the old patchwork yellow pick-up, the Palm fanned its sprite leaves through the warm breeze passing overhead. The ladder, coiled waterhose, mower, and rake all held on tight, not participating in the Palm's excitement. They knew they were only along for the ride - just another gig for the seventh day in a row. They'd be spending anothe...