For those readers around the world, who are not familiar with the term, "My Two Cents," it's a phrase used here in the United States, and simply just means the opinion of the person.  In this case, this article is my opinion...and based on my experiences in my life going back to when I was a kid. 

I was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico, which is a sleepy one-horse town, with about 500,000 in population...including the horse. 

I think the biggest racist and bigoted institution in this country, is the U.S. Congress.  This is the epicenter of racism and bigotry. 

"My Mother Was a Racist"  That's pretty bold!  This is not a novel...and this is NOT fiction!  This is the truth of what I believed her to be.  After you read this article, I think you'll see why...

I am Hispanic, and my family lived three doors down from the railroad tracks, in the worst part of Albuquerque.  It was a scary place to grow up.  My family consisted of ten kids...five boys and five girls.  I was third from the oldest. 

Right next door to the railroad tracks...this was a tough neighborhood, where I was always looking over my shoulder.  Gangs; drugs, winos, prostitutes; and the most hated by me and my sisters...the hobos, who jumped off the railroad cars and combed the neighborhoods in search of food and money!  As young kids, this was terrifying for us!  We wouldn't open the doors to anyone...and hobos knocked on the door all the time...especially at night! 

This neighborhood was predominately Hispanic and Black...and there were no white people at all.  The neighborhood was so tough, that the school system closed the Middle School I attended...Lincoln Junior High.  I think we were a pretty normal family...and I don't think the colors of my mother showed clearly until all of us began to graduate from high school, and to go off and get married. 

During this time in my life, us kids mostly spoke something called, "Spang-lish", a combination of English and Spanish.  I was the only kid in our family who spoke Spanish.  My parents never spoke to us kids in Spanish...they spoke to us in English...because they wanted for us to the English language, so we could get through school and get a job, etc.  And, even in 2011...most people don't think I'm Hispanic, until I start speaking Spanish, and then they say, "I didn't know you were Hispanic." 

My father moved the family out of this dreadful hole in 1957, when I was 13 years old.  We moved into a white neighborhood called, Snow Heights, and this would be a culture change for me and my sisters.  All of had terrible Spanish accents, and we had to get adjusted to life in a white neighborhood. 

My sisters and I struggled in school, because, in the old neighborhood, we were far behind the new school...so we had to catch up.  To make a long story short...I went through middle school and then on to high school.  Sandia High Schood was the largest high school in Albuquerque, with about 3,500 students.  My graduating class was over 500 students.  Sandia High was one of the best high schools in the state, ranked behind Los Alamos High and Roswell High schools. 

Learning that my mother was a racist took many years, so I'll just try to summarize what happened.  I think the family became a dysfunctional family, when my two sisters graduated from high school and went off and got married.  One of my sisters married a white boy;  and the other married a Hispanic.  I didn't notice anything unusal about this at the time. 

The difference between my father and my mother, toward people was amazing.  My father was really outgoing, and welcomed everyone into the house.  "Come in and have a taco and a beer," my father would say.  On the other hand, my mother was very introverted and reclusive...and especially after we moved into the white neighborhood.  My mother never associated with the neighbors or anyone else.  I didn't notice anything at the time, because i was just 13...still wet behind the ears, etc.   

It would be years, before I would notice anything was going on within the family, but in due time, we became a dysfuntional family...and it all started with my mother. 

Growing up in the 50's, I remember the old television series called, "Life Of Riley," in which when Riley got himself in trouble, he would say, "What a revolting development this is!"  Over several years down the road, I pictured my mother saying this over and over again.  Why?

Because my mother had ten kids...and NINE of those kids married white folk!  My mother was not a happy camper over this and that's why I always pictured her saying, "What a revolting development this is."  Only my sister, Dorothy, married a Hispanic.  As the reader might guess, this took a long time, probably over a decade...one after the other the kids left the house...and went off and married a white boy or a white girl. 

A racist, with a racist point of view, and a racist outlook on society...you can imagine what and how my mother felt.  About this point in time, is when the family became dysfunctional...because of my mother's hate for others. 

I didn't marry Wendy because she was Hispanic or any other race...I married her because I loved her.  And, I'm sure my brothers and sisters felt the same way.  (Is there a federal law that says that you or anyone has to marry within their own race?) 

When my sister, Diana, got married, she and her husband (Miller) moved to Tennessee, and she was never seen or heard from again.  To date October, 2011), I haven't seen Diana in over 40 years...and, I think it all had to do with my mother.  Something went wrong between my mother and Diana and we'll never know what. 

The first and only time, my family met Wendy (wife) was before we were married.  We attended a Christmas gathering of the family, at my parents house.  Nineteen years later, my mother never called her; we never went back for a visit; Wendy felt unwanted by my mother, etc.  My brothers and sisters who married white people felt the same way me and Wendy felt...we felt shunned by my mother. 

During those 19 years, I did nothing about the situation...I didn't want to open a can of worms.  Beside, at that time, I didn't know for sure about anything.  I just know that my mother hated white people, but I didn't know things would get this bad, etc.  I think my brothers and sisters and their wives and husbands felt uncomfortable around my mother.  My mother would not pull any punches...she would just walk away from you or go out in the back yard and rake leaves, etc.  If you are a white person, she wouldn't have anything to do with you. 

This family became so dysfunctional, that my mother and father divorced, when my father was 70 years old; and my mother was 66.  When the prisiding judge had a hearing on the matter, I was the only one of the kids to attend.  None of my brothers and sisters attended...although most of them live in the same town.  I don't think any of them wanted to see my mother again. 

I'm glad I attended the meeting, because I might have prevented a murder.  My mother, told me on two occasions, that if this divorce didn't go through for any reason, she would poison my father....and I knew she meant it.   She told me that, she would rather spend the rest of her life in prison, than to spend another minute with my father!  During the meeting with Judge Cass, I met privately in her office, and I told her what my mother told me, and she told me that she would quickly approve the divorce and get the paper-work moving. 

I would rather have a racist for a mother...than a racist AND a murdurer for a mother!  All this was getting scary, and so I was pleased I attended the meeting, to tell Judge Cass what my mother told me.

When my father left the house, and moved out to an apartment, he closed the checking and savings account and stole all the money...leaving my mother for dead...without anything!  My brothers and sisters had already fled the coop, so I knew there would be nobody to help my mother.  My mother had nothing...and my father could not be found, to go forward with the divorce and settle things finaciancally, etc. 

I paid my mother's mortgage for over a year; gave her money to live on and paid for her expenses.  The divorce was finally settled after my father was found.  After 19 years of marriage, Wendy and I parted our ways, and I gave my mother my PO Box number.  She never wrote to me or never called me.  She was about 70 at the time.  I didn't even get a thanks out of her.

I think the turning point in all this, was when I went to the divoce hearing with Judge Cass.  All my brothers and sisters live in town, except Dorothy, who lives up near the Colorado line.  when nobody showed up for the hearing, I knew something was wrong...and it had to be because of my mother.  

 And, how my mother died, was the most peculiar thing that has ever happened to me.  I was online just surfing like everyone does...and suddenly there was an obituary column from the Albuquerque Journal in front of me...on the computer screen!  I was terrified!  As I looked closer...my mother's name was there, "Esther L. Aragon" for Esther Lopez Aragon.  I suddenly jumped back from the computer...as nothing like this had ever happened to me and I was startled by what I saw! 

This was scary; eerie; spooky; you name it.  I just sat back on the chair and watched what would happen next on the computer screen.  Nothing happened.  The obituary on the screen would not go away!  I finally pulled the plug on the computer...and now I was relieved...this is how I found out my mother died!   

I hadn't seen my mother in 15 years, from the time she was 70 years old, and I think that's the way she wanted it. She died at age 85...and sadly, she took her hate to the grave with her! 

As we all get older in life...and from time to time, I think about my life, and if I have any regrets...or feel guilty about anything, etc.  When I die, I want no woulda; coulda; shoulda; I want no regrets...and I have no regrets concerning my family! 

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Copyright; 2011; Jerry Aragon; The Humor Doctor;
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