Not-so-Unknown Mami and Friends

Today, I’ve invited my friend Maureen to describe our friendship. Here’s what she has to say…

When I first met Unknown Mami, I didn’t like her. What is that you ask? How can someone whose delightfulness radiates from the page not be liked? Well, roughly 15 years ago, in the theater department of the college Mami  and I went to, I was hanging out in the hallway, as was an uber-hip, red- lipped Mami. At the time, Mami had a boyfriend that I thought was very cute, sort of a rugged Michael J. Fox in overalls. Let’s call him Larry. I was sitting around and I see Larry approach Mami with a bag from Taco Bell. He had brought her lunch! He was both cute AND thoughtful! The two of them start unloading the loot and the first thing that comes out of Mami’s mouth is, “You forgot to ask for no onions.” No, “Thank you my darling.” No, “How thoughtful you are.” It was all about the onions.  All I could think of at the time, as I sat by my boyfriend-less self, was here this chick has a cute and thoughtful boyfriend and all she can think of is to the complain about the onions on her Taco Bell burrito.

Months pass and “No Onions” (I called her “No Onions” in my head.) and I end up working on a show together. One day backstage, I am sitting right next to her. I don’t really know what to say because little does she know I hate her. Then, she speaks. “I like your shoes.” Is she talking to me? “Oh, thank you. I got them for $5 at (wherever it is I bought them),” I said enthusiastically. (You have to understand. A fashion compliment from Mami really holds a lot of weight. The gal doesn’t wear high-end designer labels, but she knows how to dress. I have no such gene, so I was incredibly excited that someone like Mami liked something I was wearing.) “No Onions” was no more.

Our friendship blossomed when I returned to the Bay Area (after 6 years) and we worked with each other at a local theater. Our friendship is not a traditional “girl friendship.” Our friendship grew at work, where a group of us sat around and ate, drank and talked, even now that we do not work together, our “dates” are still quite the same. I treasure the time I spend with Mami and her girls. (Unknown Papi too, of course.) It is through this time together that I really get to know her. This is not to say that Mami is not warm and charming upon first meeting. Even my curmudgeon of a Dad finds her delightful. It is just that it’s taken me over 8 years to really get to know the real Unknown Mami. She does not give herself all in one sitting. She gives you bits of herself over time; little keys into her heart.  Aside from the obvious, an award-winning smile, a sense of humor that will knock you off your chair, and knack for great writing, Unknown Mami is also painlessly honest and is the least judgmental person I know. She will show up early for a party to help you set up or give you a small gift just because it reminded her of you.  Mami doesn’t gloat about her generosity and might not even realize how much her actions mean to people. However, to me, these are actions of a good person. As I get older, I find less and less people that I can pinpoint as good. Not perfect, but who I think make a difference in our world and I’m thankful to have in mine. I have learned a lot from her. Through her eyes and honesty I have begun to see the injustices in our world; how people of color and different economic classes are treated differently. How racial stereotypes permeate our media and how my own culture of privilege has affected me and my path. She’s not on a podium. It’s just through honest conversation that I’ve seen the world through a different lens, that leaves me saying, “Ya know…you’re right.” I am now an elementary school teacher whose students are not unlike the young Mami. I think of her more than she knows. When I look into the eyes of my 4th graders, whom I love dearly, and realize that, while I’m there for a hug and a tissue, I don’t actually know what it’s like to have the struggles that they have or to be, as Mami was, an incredibly bright child whose parent doesn’t really understand how important it is to nurture their child’s love of learning. Mami sharing herself with me helps me be better at the work I do and, I think, has made me a better person. I will say to you, the lucky readers of this blog, that you have a short cut into Mami. She’s shared with you things that it took me years to learn. I love this blog not only for the wonderful writing, but also because I continue to get to know her. I am no different from you. I laugh and cry just as you do when I read this blog; I just have the honor of knowing that she’s only a phone call, e-mail, or text away.

This entry would not be complete without a quick shout out to Unknown Papi. Papi is the peanut butter to Mami’s jelly, the salt to her pepper. I say that because while they are very different, they are perfectly matched and would not be the same without the other. They have a beautiful relationship. Over the time of our friendship, I have watched them grow from being a wonderful, supportive couple to a gorgeous, love-filled family.

One final note. Did you know that Unknown Mami looks like Cher? Obviously not like the current Cher or even of her Sonny & Cher time, but of Cher’s Moonstruck time.

It’s something in the nose; I love Mami’s nose. Apparently, we have Unknown Abuela to thank for this. Allegedly, upon hearing the same comparison being made about her daughter some years ago, she boasted that she prayed to God that she would have a daughter that looks like Cher. How I love a good Unknown Abuela story! Oh, and yes, Mami’s Mami is just as awesome as she sounds.

Thank you Maureen. What can I say? I simply can not tolerate onions in my Taco Bell burritos. Is that so wrong?

This post is part of a series celebrating friendship. Stop by tomorrow to read what I have to say about Maureen and don’t forget to nurture the friendships in your life.

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Today, I want to tell you a little bit about my friend Michele. I could write an entire book about my relationship with Michele, but who would read a 500 page blog post?

I’ve been thinking about how I would like to describe my wonderful friend to you and nothing seemed right, nothing seemed adequate and then it came to me right before I fell asleep one night. It came to me in one concise sentence:

Michele is better than me.

It’s as simple as that. She is better than me and I love her for it. Please don’t think that I am putting myself down because I am not. I like who I am, I am proud of who I am. Regardless, she is better than me. And I am a better person because she is better than me and she inspires me. She has taught me so many lessons just by being herself.

I’ve know Michele since my painfully awkward years in junior high school. We met the very last year of junior high and bonded enough to sustain a relationship for over 25 years and counting even though we didn’t attend the same high school or college. I could tell you countless funny stories of our friendship because we’ve laughed and had much fun together, but instead I’ll tell you a story that isn’t funny at all.

Sometime around the early 90′s Michele and I lived together in San Francisco. Living with friends can put a strain on a relationship and many friendships don’t survive, ours suffered a bit of wear and tear. I remember Michele doing dishes in our kitchen and somehow she irritated me. Irritating me is not so hard, I’m easily put upon. Anyway, I opened my big mouth and said something rude and derisive. Not one of my best moments. A smaller person would have taken the bait and fought back or put me in my place with a cutting remark. Not Michele. She looked up at me with her big beautiful blue eyes welling up with tears and she very calmly said, “Do you feel better after saying that to me? Because I feel awful.” I felt like such an ass for being an ass to her and I learned that sometimes when I think I’m being clever, I’m really just being mean.

Now here is the part where I speak directly to Michele:

Michele,

Thank you for being my friend all these years even when I’ve been difficult and not very nice. Thank you for forgiving me even when I didn’t have the decency to apologize. Thank you for your generosity, your humor, your sense of style, your taste in music, for making Christmas Eve better every time you spend it with me. Thank you for loving me just as I am.

I am so unbelievably proud of the woman you have become. Life has been so difficult for you lately and you continue to amaze me with your strength. Honestly, I am in awe of your resilience. I love you, I admire you, and look forward to knowing you for the rest of my life.

Your friend,

Not-so-Unknown-to-you Mami

I hope you all have a friend that is better than you.

This post is part of a series celebrating friendship. If you missed what Michele had to say about me, you can read it here. Come back next week on Monday and Tuesday for more. Most importantly don’t forget to honor your friends.

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It seems to me that a good way to get to know a person is to ask their friends about them. I’ve invited my very good friend Michele to stop by and tell you a little bit about me and a little about our friendship. Here’s what Michele wrote…

Unknown Mami and I went to the same junior high school. I didn’t really know her until our last year, when we had some classes together, including World History and gym. U.M. tells the story of how we really became pals in gym class, when we decided we needed to go out for some banana cream pie. What first made me want to be better friends with U.M. was that I discovered that she was hilarious and smart, and I love people who make me laugh and think. It didn’t take too long for me to also realize that U.M. was a great person and an amazing friend.

Our years in junior high and high school (though we didn’t attend the same high school) were full of capers, and when we are together now with new folks, we tend to retell and retell the same tales from that time. We really can’t help it: These stories are still, well, hilarious.

For our history class, we partnered on a big project where everyone had to make a timeline of world history. It was a preposterous assignment. There was no Google or Wikipedia then to help us. We got together after school to work on it plenty of times, and, of course, we found all sorts of other fun things to do until the weekend before the timeline was due. U.M. and I must have stayed up for 48 hours straight, pasting and cobbling this crazy timeline together. My dad cut a roll of paper for us with an electric saw. We half-typed in random world events into the DOS computer and printed them out on the dot-matrix, hastily cutting and pasting the pieces onto our surely crooked timeline. We ate pizza all weekend. All night, all day.

We sort of finished on time. We loved our history teacher, who was a hard-ass we were eager to please (though not so eager that we actually started our homework in advance). That Monday, we crawled into class with our giant, disheveled timeline, exhausted though triumphant. Then, as if on cue, both of us passed out cold on our desks. Any hopes of pleasing our teacher were gone in a matter of seconds, when he publicly called us out for sleeping in class! We sort of deserved it, I have to say.

There are so many other stories I could tell you about my friendship with U.M., whom I have now known for more than 25 years. Like how sometimes I would go pick her up from her house to go to the movies or midnight bowling or what have you (we were such dorky teenagers with what we thought were very important things to do sometimes), and she would get into the passenger seat with a piece of her hair sticking straight up, or wearing something we would usually not be caught dead in (such as a baby-blue shirt adorned with panda bears—not a hip look for a 17-year-old who normally preferred heavy eyeliner, thick red bangs, and black clothing). And she would wait for me to say something while she barely kept a straight face.

(I could also tell you about the time she kissed my college boyfriend in the back seat of my car after they both had had a wee bit too much vodka. I was the designated driver who witnessed it from the driver’s seat. What of it? We were like 19. What can you do? She apologized profusely the next day, but of course we laughed about it.)

U.M. still really knows how to make me laugh. But she also has always made me think, hard, as well. She’s one of the most sensitive and thoughtful people I have ever met, and she cares fiercely and deeply for everyone she loves. I was very happy when she married the wonderful Unknown Papi, and I swell with pride like an auntie whenever I see her beautiful children. No one forgets U.M.: She’s like no one else you will ever meet. If you’re her friend, you are unbearably lucky, because she will love you forever and she will always make you laugh.

Thank you Michele, that was beautiful and it is absolutely true that I will love you forever.

This post is part of a series celebrating friendship. Stop by tomorrow to read what I have to say about Michele and don’t forget to nurture the friendships in your life.

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