Saturdays have always been special to me. When I lived in Mexico, Saturday was the most hoped for day of the week. I remember that my cousin and I were always wishing for the school week to end and for Saturday to begin. Every Saturday morning would start the same way: my cousin would come to my house to wake me up. Around 10 a.m. we would go out of town to my family’s ranch. Once at the ranch, we enjoyed a variety of activities. The sun shone down on us, as we lived out our wonderful Saturdays away from the city.
We would play soccer, run with the dogs and sometimes hunt birds and lizards with my uncle. There were occasions when we got to help my uncle sow (plant seeds) corn or chiles. Those days were hard, but we still enjoyed them. When we came back from work, we would be rewarded with warm bowls of my grandma’s pasta and beans, accompanied by handmade tortillas and mugs of chocolate caliente (hot chocolate). After we ate our delicious feast, we would retreat to the lone pine tree behind the house to climb the branches and rest, at last.
Usually in the afternoon my uncle would take us to the lake; the water was icy cold but it did not matter since there was nothing comparable to the fun that we had at the lake. There was a garden just a few miles away from the house, and often on Saturdays we would go there. Following our swim in the lake, we would eat luscious fruit from the trees. For two hours or more, we would savor sweet peaches, mangos, juicy oranges and sweet guavas. Then, we would return to the house at sunset. On our way back, my uncle would let us ride the mule, since the journey was long. At last, my family would gather around a bonfire to tell scary stories under the starry, dark sky. All of these meals and excursions were such heavenly fun—it is easy to see why Saturdays in Mexico were the most exciting days of my life.
My Saturday experiences have changed since arriving in the United States. Here, there is no longer my cousin to spend...
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