My Role Model

Every time I think of someone who is a role model I think about that Charles Barkley Nike commercial. The one where he says “Just because I can dunk a basketball doesn’t mean I should raise your kids.” He does also say that parents should be role models. I truly believe that as well. I think that parents can show us more than they know. They demonstrate how to be good people, they teach us how to overcome failures, and what not to do as a parent.

Recently, I had dinner with a good friend that I haven’t seen for nearly 6 years. We stay in touch through social media, so to me, we see each other all the time. We cried together, we laughed together, we just enjoyed our time together. When the night was over, I dropped him off at his house, I got out of the car and we had an amazing hug. It felt like our daily stresses, worries, and pain was lifted off of our shoulders.

I share this because he told me he was proud of the man I have become, he told me that he was proud of the fact that every goal I have set in life I accomplished. He was proud of me because of the work I have put in. He told me that I motivate him. I was at a loss of words, and completely vulnerable. I told him that none of my success would have been possible without the hard work of my Mom. Then The Weeknd came on at the cigar bar and we started to cry about old flings. A wonderful night.

My Mom. My role model. My everything. We don’t get along like we used to, going to therapy has shown me that less is more for me. I love her, I just know that the fact that we think differently causes us to bump heads. I have told my mom that she’s the reason I have this ambition, this drive to succeed, this thinking that failure isn’t an option. She gave me the reason to keep pushing.

My mom immigrated to Los Angeles in her early 20s. Like my father, she came with pocket lint and the American dream. Because of her hard work, she reached a version of the American dream; all three of her kids graduated college, she improved the house she’s currently living in, and she has her grandkids who she loves dearly.

Let me talk about the house part.

When we moved to the Midwest we moved to Council Bluffs, Iowa. A whole lot of space, muggy summers, the coldest winters. It’s great! I love it here. My dad had a goal, he wanted to own a restaurant. He was able to accomplish that goal, but long story short, we were up against Applebee’s 2 for $20 deal and La Mesa’s Mexican cuisine, at the time, no one wanted to spend $20 on a plate of pasta. My dad’s idea was to create a fine dinning Italian experience. My guy was ahead of his time. We cooked veal together, hand tossed brick oven pizzas, and I made the tiramisu. The demographic and foot traffic wasn’t there at the time. Unfortunately, the restaurant failed, I was unaware that at the time, he put the house we were living in as collateral.

The restaurant closed and my mom started working two jobs in order to pay for the house, bills, kid’s expenses, and whatever was left over from the restaurant. From what I remember, times were truly tough. I was old enough to understand what was going on, but young enough to not be able to get a job to help. My dad was hired at the local meat packing factory, but it wasn’t for him. He was miserable. My mom supported him and told him to quit. He took time off and started looking for a job, he landed the first job he applied for. He was offered a position at the Country Club. He was going to become a sous chef again.

I remember this part vividly, it was summer time and my little sister and I were home from school. My dad woke us up and made breakfast. A true Salvadorian breakfast, frijoles, huevos, tortillas echas a mano, and crema. It was heaven. On this day he was going to walk into the meat packing factory and he was going to quit. He was done, he was going back to what he knew, the kitchen. He was hyped, my dude was wearing his nicest black button up, his cleanest slacks, polished wingtips. I remember the way he smelled, how he ironed his undershirt, button up, and socks. He was ready.

That morning, he left and I never saw him without handcuffs or in the US again. There was a ICE raid at the meat packing factory. He was in Douglas County Jail with no bail. We probably couldn’t afford bail anyway. We have our thoughts about what happened that day and how the raid came to be, what the lawyer did to my mom, and what could have been. My dad was deported in 2008. Somehow my mom and big sister were able to wrangle up some money for my little sister and I to go visit him in El Salvador. A place that was foreign to us as much as it was for him. He hadn’t been back to El Salvador for nearly 30 years.

One the way back from El Salvador my little sister and I were hit with the worst news possible, we were homeless. My mom lost the house, it was foreclosed. We landed in Omaha and had to immediately pack up the house and move everything into a storage unit. As if we weren’t already going through enough, the loss of a restaurant, deportation of a parent, and now losing a home. Homeless. Nowhere to go. We were able to stay at a friend’s house for the night, but then it was back to figuring out what was next. During the time my dad was looking for a job, my mom worked at the local grocery store and at night worked as a waitress. At that job she met a nice lady who had a room available for rent. We moved into that room. My mom, two sisters, a dog, and I in one room. I slept on the floor, my sisters and mom slept on the bed that was also on the floor. I had a Hitachi TV set sitting on the ground. I was cheering on Michael Phelps as he won 8 Gold Medals in the 2008 Olympics.

What I remember most about that time was that my mom never stopped pushing. She was tired, heartbroken, and lost. She kept going, she worked three jobs trying to get us out of that bedroom. In the winter of 2008, she was able to buy a house. She did it! She got us out of that bedroom. She called this house a stepping stone. A restart. She knew it wasn’t her dream home, it wasn’t what she wanted, it was just something for us to get more space. I don’t think I have ever told her, but I was honestly proud of what she was able to accomplish alone. Working three jobs, caring for her kids, and losing the love of her life.

In 2010 she was able to sell the house and purchase a new one in a better neighborhood and with more space. It was everything she wanted. It was perfect. Over the last 12 years that she’s been living in that house, she has gone back to working one job, remodeled the kitchen, cared for the landscaping, hosted many Holidays parties with her family, and raised her grandkids.

I wonder what our life would be like if my dad wasn’t deported, I think about how my relationship with my mom would have been like. I wonder if I would have had that motivation today. If I would have noticed what my mom did for us. How she was the glue of the family, the engine that kept running for us, the reason we are here today.

My mom now has a bit more time to relax, spend time with her grandkids, watch the Netflix I pay for, and occasionally play softball with me. I think this is a dream she doesn’t want to wake up from.

I wonder what she thinks about her life today. Is she proud? Would she change anything?

Thank you, Mom.
You are My Role Model.