San Diego, Texas.  You’ve probably never heard of it.  It’s a town in South Texas outside of Alice, Robstown and Corpus Christi.  It’s where my dad was born.  A small town where Spanish was spoken more than English and families were trying to make ends meet and chase the American Dream.

My dad’s father died when my father was 11 years old.  He had three brothers and his mother was left to raise them alone.  She washed clothes for money, which was scarce.  She knew how to save and spend little but I imagine it was harder than anything I will ever endure.  Her dream was to raise her boys and send them to school.  How in the world would four little Mexican boys with a single mother and hardly two nickels to rub together manage to get to college in the 1940’s?

They all went into the military, served our country, and came home and each graduated from the University of Texas.  Uncle Lalo became a radio broadcaster, my dad, Gonzalo, became a teacher, superintendent and principal, Uncle Tino was a teacher and coach, and Uncle Johnny was a lawyer.  They each married the loves of their lives, raised their families, and had a work ethic that most people today would never be able to endure.

And when they got together to visit, the laughter was deafening!  I am sure you could hear them blocks away as they drank their Lone Star’s and reminisced.  I miss them all dearly.

Uncle Lalo lived in Austin and whenever I was in town, I would go by to visit.  He lived in an amazing house in the hills of Austin and hearing his stories always warmed my heart.  Uncle Tino lived in Corpus Christi.  I remember visiting his house often, sitting at the bar in Aunt Mary’s kitchen and always thinking that it was really fancy because it was tiled.  And Uncle Johnny.  How I loved my Uncle Johnny.  He lived in San Antonio and I saw him every time I went to the TMEA conventions.  He would pick me up at the convention center, take me to dinner, and always force me to take a little “spending money.”

And my dad.  He was just an amazing man.  I have a few little mementos of my dad’s, but the most precious one is not tangible.  In his last days, when he was no longer speaking.  When I wasn’t sure if he knew who I was or not, I leaned over to kiss him goodbye and he raised his arm and patted me on the shoulder.

That was all I needed.

PS.  My grandmother, Felipe Rangel Campos, was a mighty, strong, brave woman, who never gave up.

Today I Am Thankful For:

1. Mindfullness workshop
2. Father’s Day lunch at home
3. AC!
4. movies
5. my husband, Joe MacDonald, the love of my life