Mortified—and Forever Cheered On—by Mom
She was Facebook Before it Existed, Stiff-Upper-Lipped, and My Biggest Supporter
No one can mortify you like your mother. Growing up in northern Mexico with an American mother, I had extra reason to be mortified. Mom was just so—how to put this?—different.
She spoke Spanish with a heavy gringa accent. Worse, she insisted on speaking to all my friends in English, seeing as they were studying it. A typical exchange when my best friend in middle school would come over: “Alfonso, how good to see you. How’re your parents?” “Muy bien, señora. Gracias,” he’d answer sheepishly, while I wanted to slink beneath …
