Elvis, Moms and Simply chicken

 

When I was in 7th grade I became an Elvis Fan. I had always been aware of the great legend. When Elvis died August 16^th, 1977, I was bombarded with Elvis movies, music and documentaries. My first Convention was an Elvis one, not Star Trek, as most of my friends believe. I bought memorabilia and album after album. I met some of his back up singers and was thrilled to be there. I was trying to get all of his work. 

I had seen all of Elvis' movies and liked them. I started to dress like him. I started to play guitar and sing his songs. I eventually gave up singing (I couldn't sing) and took up drums. I eventually became a professional drummer for a while as a young adult. I had Elvis posters along with now lesser-known the Beautiful Jayne Kennedy , who according to her was too black to be an actress on Charlie’s Angels. I also had, of course the black velvet zodiac signs in my room. Elvis' image had the wholesomness of being a good guy, but could also be attractive to women. Since I was a goodie-goodie I waned to be more like Elvis. 

I felt a common bond with Elvis because of his legendary closeness with his mother and his love of music.

I would hear stories about Elvis and the special relationship he had with his mom. I also knew that Elvis had a twin that didn't survive birth. I had brothers that didn't survive. My would be little brother, lived for 6 hours and was even named Mitchel. I sometime wonder what my life would have been like with a younger brother. Like Elvis, I  was the only male that survived.  

I began to alter my clothing to look like his Las Vegas Jump suit, Wide legging my pants, I bought large collar leisure jackets and walked around the house saying “Ugh,ugh, That's alright momma", and "Thank you very much !" in my best Memphis Elvis accent.

My parents have been together for more than 65 years. I have always considered myself lucky to still have them. The same is true today as it was back then with most young struggling parents; the further along the family ages the further in fortune and prosperity. Since I was the last-born, I didn’t have to experience the struggles that my sisters might have had growing up. Although we were far from financial security, we were comfortable. Through my father's work ethic and my mothers rearing I was always clothed, fed, and at 6 years old had my own room in a house that my parents purchased in 1970. A 3-story brick row-house in Nicetown Philadelphia. 

I remembered my mother would sing as she cooked diner. I could tell by the smell of sofrito. The aroma of garlic, peppers onions and cilantro sauteing permeated the whole house. She would be listening to my cousin Alberto Martino's afternoon radio show.  He was pioneering Latin Disc Jokey in the city at WTEL, the local AM Spanish station. She never liked cooking. She was just taking care of her family. She would pass the time singing along to the songs that came over the radio into the house. I would be watching Gilligan’s' Island or The Monkees, until dinnertime, after I did my catholic school homework of course.

My mother has a combination of strong-mindedness demeanor with a compassionate nature. She never liked hearing bad news. She was so empathetic feeling others pain, that she that she would get sick. I get the feeling that she had some kind of clairvoyance or empathic ability. 

Now it’s a  real possibility that she may go to a nursing facility against my wishes.

 I was a momma's boy and now proud to be, but wasn’t always. There was no way of getting out of that role. I was the 4th child and as mentioned earlier, the only boy that survived. My mother had seven miscarriages in her life. They were all males. From the 50's to the late 60s she would have incomplete pregnancies. 

I was also in danger. I was born 2 months premature. I was placed in and incubator, an isolation chamber in which I could mature until I reached 9 months. It was thought that the incubation would help with the development of a premature baby in those days. My mother was not able to touch or hold me when I was an infant. Preemies are very sensitive to touch. This is probably why I have issues with close contact. A hug for more than 3 seconds and I am uncomfortable.  She always made me feel special. 

My mother cooked the usual Puerto Rican dishes. I never knew the following dishes were poor food, like: Plain Rice and Beans, Potatoes and Bacalao with Olive Oil, Rice and Eggs and even Rice with canned Corned beef. Once in a while my mother would cook something that no one else cooks. 

Whether it was necessity, ingenuity or both, my mother did make a stewed chicken that was very good and simple, even without sofrito.

Recipe as follows

Ingredients

• Whole fryer Chicken cut up in pieces
• 2 cups diced Onions or 2 large onions
• Water, enough to cover chicken and then some
• 1/3 cup White Vinegar
• Salt &Pepper to taste
• Half teaspoon garlic powder

Place chicken in boiling water.

Dice onions and add to the stewing chicken, add rest of ingredients and stew at medium heat for about 45 minutes. The chicken will be tender and you can serve it over rice or vegetables.

My mom was and still is a native New Yorker; she had an adventurous spirit and always liked to go out. When I was younger she would just pack herself and me with some clothes,  get on the train and end up in either Brooklyn or the Bronx with relatives. She didn't worry about planning too much or even when she was lost. She always eventually got there. 

I believe I have adopted this philosophy of not planning vacations too much. I usually just plan a destination and go. Mom is about to go to a nursing home now. She wishes to see her great grandchildren and is not able to. She wants to visit Puerto Rico and cannot go. She never learned to swim, but loves the ocean and is not able to feel sand or the water. She is limited physically and has been confined to a wheel chair since 2006. She makes her wishes known and I have tried to accommodate them. Whenever I visit them in another state. I make sure we are going out somewhere. 

Her spirit is still there but her body has been betrayed by the one impulse that her and millions like her cannot resist. The desire for sweets and the slow degeneration of the body due to diabetes. It is my hope that she finds comfort soon.

I love you Mom

I feel sometimes that I have failed because I haven’t been able to be successful enough, prosperous enough to make her life more comfortable.

In choosing to help others with all of the Youth Work that I have done in the last 20 years. I have failed to help my own. It is a regret that I will have to deal with. 

Life sometimes gives you second chances. I have a grandson.