Let me tell you about my Mama

My grandmother, Evelina, is the reason her grandchildren speak Spanish.

The ornery old woman — of dense body, worn-out chancletas and heavy perfume – refused to allow my cousins and me to speak English inside the house.

“Afuera, coño! Afuera!’’ Mama would yell. “En mi casa no se habla ingles.’’

When it’s 98 degrees in Miami, you don’t want to get kicked out of the house. Besides, there’s only so much time a kid can spend harassing lizards. (Oh, the things we did to the poor lizards.)

So, while our parents increasingly spoke English to us as we grew, my grandmother stuck by her rule. Not once did she budge. And while she understood English, she refused to speak it. (I bet, though, if Bob Barker had stepped out of the TV screen and into her bedroom, she would have whispered sweet gringo nothings to the Price is Right host, her novio.)

I rebelled, of course, and spoke as little Spanish as possible, even at my bilingual private school. As a teen-ager I saw little use for Spanish and the crazy that was the Cubans with their blaring Radio Reloj, Castro-obsession, and chaperonas. I was all about Tiger Beat and Seventeen. I wanted to be a blonde. I wanted to be part of those TV families who ate pot roast and didn’t yell. I wanted a picket fence in some New England suburb and a husband named Bob or John.

And then I grew up.

As a journalist working in newsrooms with few or no Spanish-speakers, the language my grandmother demanded made me invaluable. I got stories no one else could do. I frequently translated for my colleagues, and I have visited Cuba three times as a journalist – twice to translate for my husband, who writes for a national newspaper.

The ability to speak a second language has enriched my life. It has opened doors, brought me good friends I would not otherwise know, and I would venture to say, fueled people skills and broadened my brain. So many other things, too. So many.

So when I think about my bossy Mama, who passed away in her sleep several years ago, I am grateful for the house rule. It is my strongest desire her legacy of language passes on to my daughter, her cousins and second cousins.

And in that way, my Mama lives.

So, bossy ain’t so bad.