Months before we moved into the house my father was building with the money he won in the lottery, I was one of those kids starting kindergarten at 4 years old in a neighborhood school. If you’re thinking that was very young, let me clarify that this wasn’t my first time in school; I had attended when I was 2, before moving to Villa Mella, but that’s a story for another time.

For me, starting kindergarten at 4 years old was a big step toward independence. I wasn’t afraid of going to school; on the contrary, I was really excited. I had begged my parents to let me go since my older sister started school almost four years earlier. What was truly significant, however, was that I was starting kindergarten at 4, about to move again for the third time, and adjusting to life after my mom left.

I loved school from the very first day. I felt at ease with the other kids and really loved my teacher. Mind you, those were the days when school discipline included hitting a child’s bare hands with a ruler if they misbehaved. I was lucky to be an obedient child, but it terrified me every time someone else was disciplined in front of the class. Despite that, I wasn’t afraid of the teacher or of going to school at all.

In retrospect, I think school was probably a refuge for me—having other kids around and the predictability that comes with the structure school provides. It was also a time of coming of age, as I was able to understand more and become more aware of what was happening around me.

Starting Kindergarten at 4 and Having Grandma’s Support

There is a gap in my memories of 1981, which I believe is because that was the year my mother left after divorcing my father. My mom had been separated from my dad for a while and had stayed home a couple of extra years because I was too young when the separation happened, and she wanted me to know and remember her. Although I have memories from that year, I honestly can’t remember her being there with me—a privilege my older sister enjoyed.

What I do remember is how my grandmother got me ready for school, walked me out of the house, and sent me off to el colegio. I had to walk down a hill and then up another hill, but it was low enough that my grandma, standing on top of the first hill, could see me as I walked.

Every morning, we performed a kind of dance. My grandma, Mamá Amparo, would stand on top of the hill as I walked toward the school. Every few steps, I’d look back to make sure she was still there, watching over me. She always said, “Keep going, keep going, I’m here.” However, some days she would think I was already okay and would leave after I was more than halfway there, but that wouldn’t work.

Every time I turned around and she wasn’t there, I would simply go back home, sometimes crying and complaining because she wasn’t there, and I got scared. It’s a bit funny because at times, I was already closer to the school and ended up walking a longer way back by myself than what was left to get to school. So, she would come out again and watch me until I turned the corner by the store, where she could no longer see me and I couldn’t see her.

Starting kindergarten at 4 was a challenge, but I think it was also a godsend, as my life was changing forever. The excitement of going to school, making new friends, and learning kept me occupied. At some point that year, we moved to the house my dad was building—still unfinished, but bigger than where we were living, and with the promise of being the house of my grandmother’s dreams.

I wish I had memories of life with my mother, but I don’t. All the memories I have are from after she moved out—her visits and the times I went to see her at her mom’s house. Growing up, it was hard to sense the judgment of people when they learned my mother had left; people are used to fathers leaving and kids staying with their moms, but in my case, it was different.

Not having her was really difficult at times, mainly because of the expectations and comments of others. At the same time, I was happy to have my grandmother to care for me, to make my world whole, and to provide that loving mother figure every child needs. So, most days I felt okay, like any other kid, though there were days I struggled.

Ultimately, my life was shaped by the unconditional love Mamá Amparo provided, and in time, it would come to define my life and who I am as a mom.