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Grandma taught me anyone can be family
Nana Rafaela always believed in the importance of visiting family, and that was also the case with people she called family but may not have really been.
“That’s your tio go say hi mijo,” she would whisper into my ear. I never questioned her introductions, but as I turned older, I began to second guess the number of tios and tias that were really in my family. They must have had some kind of family connection, but not everyone I shared a hug with was probably a brother or sister of my parents.
Either way, to nana Rafaela, everyone had some kind of family connection. Most people do in small towns. At least it feels that way. So, there were plenty of family and houses to visit.
Nana never learned to drive. Tata was her chauffeur. He worked at the smelter. She worked at home. When she needed to get around, she waited for him or one of the older grandkids to get her from one place to the other. Trips to Wal-Mart or other grocery stores were common, but not as common as a visit to a tio’s house.
When I drive around my hometown, I pass by the houses I visited with nana. Where I live, many of the homes were built in the 50s and 60s. They have long front yards that begin with gates and end with metal doors that open up to wooden doors that open up to small warm living rooms.
