The snow was perplexing. Its color and ticklish, yet wet, texture was foreign to me. It made me cringe whenever it first landed on my nose, eyelashes, lips or palms, but the feeling afterward—of coolness, of softness, of calmness—was always purely delightful.
I remember that with one yank my mom could swing a child across the room.
I remembered the first day I saw snow; it had been much later in life, when I was a teen and only knew the strong sun, suffocating humidity, hurricanes, and the occasional breeze of the Caribbean.
Soledad kneeled on the snow beside Pilar and huffed. and she was tired, but kneeling on the snow brought instant relief. Her aching knees relaxed, her arms gave in, and the sharp, stabbing pain near her clenched jaw stopped. She sat on the heels of her feet and watched her daughter incessantly spread open her arms and legs.
My mother was right, kids do grow up fast.
My earliest memory was when I was three and it wasn't pleasant. We were on our way home and I was asleep on my fathers shoulder when the sound of gunshots had rung out
It feels like just yesterday that I had Pilar and know shes three.
Sure she will have to change and she will want to pick her outfit
This must be how she feels so i'll let her have fun.
She was being a three year old
Suddenly my chin had started banging against my father’s bony shoulders and my parents had started running home with one hand on me and the other on their heads, as though their hands were bullet-proof.