15

When I was 15, I had my fiesta de Quinceaños (15 year party) in Mexico. This is a traditional Latin American celebration of a girl entering womanhood, kind of a cross between a sweet sixteen and a wedding. There are many traditions involved in this, including a fancy dress, flats that are exchanged ceremoniously for high heels, a last toy that is gifted to the quinceañera, sometimes a last game that is played with young friends and family,  Mass, dinner, cake, and a panel of gentlemen (chambelanes) and sometimes lady friends (damas) that accompany the quinceañera and perform several choreographed dances with her. I had it all. My mom and her sisters never got to have a big party when they turned 15, so my mom especially wanted it all for me, and my aunts and cousins made it happen! I only understood so much of what it took to pull this off at the time, and now am so appreciative of the opportunity I had. Of course, at 15, I was still pretty young. Right off the bat, I committed a major faux pas by selecting a navy blue dress (still remember the gasps and exclamations “azul marino!?!” from, well, everyone) instead of the traditional white or pastel pink. Everyone went with it, though, and party guests concluded that the color was flattering on me.

Celebration of womanhood or funeral?

We were in Mexico for three weeks total, and I think had one week before the party to learn all the dances and finish the last minute preparations. We rehearsed all day, every day, it seems like for the week. I did not inherit any hip-shaking ability with my Mexican blood. I had my chambelanes to help me out. This included my cousins Julio and Emmanuel, and some of Julio’s friends, who accompanied me during the party.

 Handsome group, they were

I actually had my two close friends, Jackie and Jessa come with me to Mexico, but they preferred to provide comic relief rather than participate formally in the party. It seems like all we did was laugh, hang out with my cousins, hang out with their friends, laugh some more, take lots of pictures, and have the best time ever.

Las tres alegres comadres

 

The party was beautiful and the end of our three weeks came much too soon. For me, this was the visit. The one where I had reached a level of maturity to get to know my many relatives and appreciate the culture and my roots. On the less than mature side, and in typical teenage angst, my friends and I cried for approximately 525 hours, sad to leave behind our many trips for Mexican KFC, Mexican ice rinks and movie theaters, Mexican nights, and Mexican boyfriends. 

 

My cousin and I during the big entrance

I even had mariachis!

And relatives who traveled from Florida and Vermont!

Good-byes came much too soon