Dante
WHENEVER it was snowing and the TV would warn my town to stay inside and safe until the storm would ride out my Mother would always take this as an opportunity to pull me and my younger Sister close and tell us stories.
My Madre was different. I took pride in that.
She would never tell us stories of monsters, gods, or heroes. Instead she would always tell us stories about her life, the friends she had, the sad moments and the happy ones too.
On this particular day I remembered my Sister was holding my hand tight, her brown eyes wide and her nose red. The TV was on in the background and the oven was baking fresh goodies my Madre was preparing for her sweet children.
As soon as she slid the tray filled with cookies into the warm oven she wiped her nose, put her hands on her hips and smiled.
She grabbed me and my sister and ushered us near the fireplace and looked down at us with a devilish grin as if she was about to tell us a big secret.
"Do you want to hear one of the happiest days in my life?"
Isabella and I nodded our heads eagerly and Mother would chuckle at our reactions before clearing her throat.
"I was ushered into the hospital quickly. See, your father is a busy man. So busy that he forgot his wife was pregnant and it took eons before I reached the hospital."
My sister and I giggled at her exaggeration. We all had our fair share of father and how busy and forgetful he was.
"See it was on a day like this, a cold storm brewing outside, so by the time the car pulled up and I was in the hospital and the doctor was already urging me to push. This was my first time going through labor. I was afraid, in pain, and angry at your father."
"How angry?" Isabella asked her eyes wide.
My mother took a second and crossed her arms. "So angry I was kicking, yelling, and screaming at him for getting me pregnant," She stopped halfway and raised her hand "But, your father loves me and is a very patient man. So while I was screaming and kicking at him he held my hand and kept my hair out of my eyes."
"Soon, I was pushing. My son was so kind that he gave me a painless labor. Just one big push he practically flew out of me." Isabella giggled and my Madre smiled at me.
"Just c-continue the story." I stammered as my cheeks went red.
"So out you came. You were so quiet when you came out. My baby boy was too big of a man to cry," She tsked "Nuh-uh. My boy was a strong fellow. Not one peep came out. Your father was in tears holding his first child in his arms. It wasn't long before the doctors took you. They needed to make sure you were fine."
She reached forward and enveloped Isabella and I in a hug. "I knew you were going to be fine. Any child of mine is a strong one."
And it seemed that I never cried for the rest of my life -- not literally, of course.
When I was a toddler and didn't get a toy I wanted i'd make a fuss but once I matured and entered school it was hard-wired into my brain that a man who cries is a weak one.
So I never cried and It stayed that way for the rest of my life.
Not when my sister was born, not the year my dog and favorite uncle died and not even my graduation.
I never let my eyes water. My father already didn't think I lived up to the expectations he held for me in his mind and I didn't want him to have the glory to see me cry.
