Home, Where Memories Wait to Be Remembered

Teresa Villarreal Rodriguez's Home, where memories wait to be remembered brought old San Antonio alive again for us. Like her, during the 1950s, my father grew up on Rosillo Street-callejón Elvira-between El Paso and Guadalupe. Away for a long time, the Westside has been patiently waiting for him to come home. Through her book, he went back to his grandmother's house, sitting in front of a block of ice in a tin tub with a rotating fan-their make-shift air conditioning-eating ice cold sandia, and playing with the big, black seeds amidst the summer heat, as the chicharras chirped.



Like Mama Tere, his grandmother kept a garden for her remedies: ruda to treat earaches, or freshly picked tomates that were sliced, grilled on the comal, and placed on their necks and feet to cure sore throats. Mama Ruben's sayings made him wish he had written those dichos of long ago with which his grandmother bombarded him, knowing he needed guidance. 



The magic of Teresa's memories took us down memory lane, especially to Joske's Fantasyland during Christmas, where you didn't have to buy anything to experience the magic. At the mention of Coney Island, Mom and Dad recalled splurging their savings on the best hotdogs and chili in their world. My parents said, "Pero ya no es como más antes." As for me, I was glad to intimately know 

San Antonio when it was theirs. 



-Gabriella V. Sanchez

10th generation San Antonian, with her parents Gloria V. Sanchez (9th generation) & Ramiro T. Sanchez (2nd generation)