Friends. Where would any of us be without our friends? They’re our shoulders to cry on, our favorite ones to laugh with, and some of the people who love us the most in this world. Some friendships are for a lifetime, and others just make cameo appearances for a chapter or two. Something my mother has always stressed is honesty and open communication. As she likes to say:
Basically, what this does is emphasize the need for transparency in a friendship. Always make sure things are in the clear, whether it be something that bothered you, or owing someone $5. People have falling outs over the most minimal to the most majorly horrific things. My friends laugh at me when I pay them back $2 and tell me I’m being ridiculous.
My mother would’ve had a much more difficult time with us as children had it not been for her friends. It’s true that it takes a village to raise a child, and now I see that with my own friends. Not every friend is meant for the long haul, and that’s ok. Typically the ones that stay are the best ones to keep, and the ones who go were fun while they lasted. But, in the end, I always have my mom, and I couldn’t ask for a better friend than that.
William Caballero’s most recent comedic short film, “HOW YOU DOIN,’ BOY? VOICEMAILS FROM GRAN’PA,” features 3D modeled/printed miniatures of his grandfather. That project has developed into the weekly web series, “Gran’pa Knows Best.” Follow along on Wiser With Age as Gran’pa gives advice on various topics.
http://youtu.be/E80S7phn9ew
William D. Caballero is a NYC/NJ-based filmmaker, composer, and multimedia storyteller. Born in Coney Island, NY and raised in North Carolina, he obtained the prestigious Bill Gates Millennium Scholarship, and returned to NYC where he graduated from Pratt Institute (2006) and New York University (MA, 2008).
Victoria’s mom, Belgica, dancing with her brother. They’ve been bolero-ing together since the ’70s.
I have a tendency of being a bit of a dweller. I think about things and analyze them time and time again. Frankly, it’s borderline torturous. Many times the person forced to listen to me and my “what ifs,” “could haves” and “should haves” is my wonderful mother. When she gets to a point where she thinks I truly need to get over it, she says,
“Ay, Victoria! Olvidate de ese tango y baila bolero.â€
(Direct translation: Oh, Victoria! Forget that tango and dance bolero.)
My mother has always pushed forward. She left her country, and pushed forward. She raised two kids on her own, with no family around, and pushed forward. In 2015, I’m going to do a better job of pushing forward.
A new year is a new opportunity. Some things will be great, and others will not be so great. When they’re not so great, just remind yourself to move on. Forgive yourself, and move forward.
In 2015, I hope to do a little less tangoing and a lot more bolero-ing. It seems to be working for my mom just fine.
The one thing my mother truly laments about her life is not being able to get an education. Being a woman from a third world country made this incredibly difficult for her. She’s always said if she would’ve been given the opportunity she would’ve been a teacher.
This is one thing, among many others, my mother never wanted us to feel. She never wanted us to lament not having an education. Frankly, my brother and I didn’t have a choice. As kids, I remember her always telling us:
For the record, neither of us became either of those but her whole point was to ingrain the idea of higher education in our minds. I thought this was the norm. I thought this is what everyone was told at home. I was wrong. I was also incredibly lucky.
Having raised us by herself she talked to us about a lot of intense topics early on. One of those included what she wanted for us if she passed away before we finished our schooling. These were always her words to us:
“Si yo me muero y ustedes no se han graduado de la universidad, el dÃa que se gradúen ustedes van a mi tumba y me dicen ‘Mami, cumplÃ.’”
(If I die and you guys haven’t graduated college, the day you graduate you will go to my tomb and say, “Mom, I did it.â€)
As an adult, I can’t imagine how hard it is to say those words to your children. Today is five years to the date that I graduated college. I’m a journalist and my brother, who also graduated, works as a marketing manager in Chicago. She told my brother and I the exact same thing when we graduated:
“Ya usted cumplió conmigo.”
(Loosely translated: You’ve done all I’ve asked of you.)
That’s all she ever asked of us, to get an education. She said it was the only gift she could give us. It will forever be the greatest gift she gave us.
Barney Smith is a retired master plumber from Alamo Heights, Texas. At 93, he still treasures the trade that was passed down to him from his father by memorializing damaged toilet seats.
Every day, Smith goes to work in his garage to create art on toilet seats. He houses all of his works of art there as well, as he refuses to sell any. There are so many currently in his garage, that it is now known as the Toilet Seat Art Museum.
“Number 1,156 is the one I’m working on now. I’ve been working on it for several days,†says Smith who spurts out the toilet seat pieces by number, as well as the significance of each, with ease. “I have a catalog, but I have memorized many…â€
Smith has made toilet seat art with everything from state license plates to sea shells. He gets inspired by experiences he wishes to remember, and the materials he has available at the moment. Sometimes visitors come by and bring him materials to work with. He says once he even had a visitor came from Seoul, Korea who stayed for three days.
“I get a bunch of stuff, and I say, ‘Okay, what am I going to do here?’,†says Smith, saying his latest project developed because a scooter club member walked in with a light bulb and some spark plugs.
Smith says joyfully that it takes him anywhere from 20 to 200 hours to completely adorn one toilet seat cover.
“It took me 200 hours to find rocks in the Rio Grande River and polish them,†remembers Smith as sharply as if it were yesterday. “My wife and I spent hours on those rocks. We went all the way to Laredo to try to find some pretty ones.â€
He says he’s traveled a lot – from NYC (for appearances on “The Today Show,†“The View,†and “The Montel Williams Showâ€) to the Auschwitz concentration camps in Poland.
“I wanted barbed wire from the concentration camps,†says Smith. “I put it in my pocket and took it home, and put it on a toilet seat – that was in 1995. In 1996, we went to Germany and saw the Berlin wall, and all the way down to Austria. We saw the mountains from ‘The Sound of Music’…I picked up a rock and nail from the Berlin Wall and two flags, and I put a piece of the rock from one side of the wall, and the piece of barbed wire on a toilet seat. I’ve got a lot of history hanging up in the Toilet Seat Museum.â€
Smith says he got the idea to use toilet seats as his canvas when he was still a plumber. He had gone to the plumbing supply house to purchase materials for a job and noticed a pile of slightly damaged toilet seats that were going to be discarded.
“I took about half a dozen toilet seats to my apartment,†remembers Smith. “I went back to the job, and when I got through that night, I started my artwork. I went back and showed the manager of the store what I was doing, and he told me I could have them all. So I had almost 50 seats to start out with.â€
Until this day, Smith says he calls plumbing supply houses for damaged seats. Sometimes, people even bring them to him.
Smith says he gets so many visitors that he now only opens up by appointment only.
“I can’t afford to open up every time someone passes by in their car,†he says, taking his work seriously. “I got someone saying they want to come by this weekend from Georgia.â€
Smith says he still has lots of energy to keep making his art, and if he is lucky to still be alive in May, he will be making his 94th birthday seat.
“I have two decades worth of birthday toilet seats,†says Smith, who tries to fit all of his birthday cards for each year on each birthday seat. He has three daughters, seven grandchildren, and 12 great grandchildren.
If he had one piece of advice to give his younger self, what would it be?
“I have been married for 74 years. I lost my wife a year ago,†says Smith, adding he met her at the age of 18, and she was 17. “I advise to keep God in the arrangement. Anything that comes your way, ask the Lord if this is His will, or don’t do it. That will keep you together..If God is in the arrangement, you will want to stay together. Our long-lived marriage is because of God in the arrangement. That is my advice to anyone.â€
Victoria Moll-Ramirez is a broadcast journalist based in Atlanta, GA. She is originally from Miami, FL and had the great fortune of being raised by the sassiest, spunkiest, wisest, most hysterical Honduran woman in the world. Victoria’s mother, Bélgica, is 60-years-old, resides in Little Havana (Miami) and enjoys a good margarita accompanied by a heartrending ranchera. Victoria blogs about her mom’s funny and wise sayings on, “In My Mother’s Words.â€
