I was born in Chihuahua, Chihuahua Mexico. I am the middle child of five. My mother lost my twin brother when she was only five and a half months pregnant. The doctors were able to keep me in the womb for the rest of the pregnancy. When I was about fifteen months old I got really dehydrated and had to have a blood transfusion from my dad. I still have the scar on my ankle from the incision. I don’t remember much of my life in Chihuahua since we left when I was three years old. My mother tells me of the wonderful family which was always there to give help, whether to send us milk from their dairy, or beautiful clothing for all of us. This family is my father’s who settled parts of Chihuahua way back in the late 1800s. They were and are my family from Valencia and Vizcaya Spain.
When I was three years old, my parents moved us to Tijuana, Baja California. My mother took the best care she could of us children, as my father was an alcoholic and was gone many days at a time.
My wonderful mother was a nurse when she met my father. She used these skills by giving penicillin shots to people in the area, who were ill. Many days went by with us not having more than one meal a day. She would buy bread and a can of evaporated milk which she mixed with water to go around. As children we were very thin and had distended bellies. This went on until I was seven years old, when I remember boarding a Greyhound bus. We were moving to California United States of America. My little sister had fallen off a wall and fractured her skull. She was four years old. She was rushed to children’s hospital in Hollywood, Ca. So the whole family was moved to California to be near her. My father had already moved up about a year before and was sending money to our mother. He found a place for us to live. We moved into a house. My father was a grounds keeper, my mother a housekeeper, and we helped with yard work and whatever else needed to be done. I thank my parents for teaching me such wonderful work values.