Today as I was working on a piece for Cubanology Biweekly about old Cubans, that is to say my parents' generation, I was transported back to our early days of exile in Arlington. After I finished my piece I began looking through my collection of old family photos but could not find any with all of us (somebody has to take the picture).I did find this wonderful photo of my sisters and I by the Christmas tree... thanks to the magic of Kodak I can tell by the furniture and the window that this was taken in the house on 11th Street we rented when I was in high school. The hair and clothes say this was the heyday of Mod London: the Beatles were all the rage, and every girl tried for the Jean Shrimpton look--the long straight hair, big eyes and pale lips--Shrimpton was the first supermodel. It must have been 1965 or so, the year I graduated.
My older sister Beatriz (standing) was in college by then. The youngest, Cecilia is on the left, Silvia in the middle and I'm on the right, with the far-away look. Desperately wanting to amount to something, wondering if I would. I'm still wondering, after all these years...
I feel so lucky to have grown up with three sisters, through all our small tiffs and teasing, rivalries and camaraderie. With less than two year's difference in ages between each of us, we four Maza girls were a tight-knit bunch. We had our own friends in school, but we tended to be herded together so everything we did, we did together. It gave us a sense of how to deal with others.
It's hard to believe it's been twenty-five years since Cecilia died. Bea, Silvia, and I have our own families and we get together but only a few times a year, on family occasions like Christmas. The children, some of them now married and in other cities, are numerous, and we add up to around twenty on Christmas for dinner. Mom and Dad, all of their generation, are gone now, and it is we who are the elders of the clan. The torch passes on. I wonder what our kids will remember of our Christmases together, if it'll be the same for them as the way we remember Nochebuena in Cuba.
