Texas State Historical Association - My Texas

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A Mother's Curse

A month before my fifteenth birthday I became a ward of the state of Texas.

My social worker, Miss Elena K. Davis, and I walked into an office in the old courthouse in Brownsville. The door read Department of Juvenile Delinquents.

My escape from sexual and physical abuse at home had brought me here. I'd run away the night before, taking a bus to Brownsville and arriving at the convent of the Sisters of Charity around 3 a.m. that morning. This was the convent/orphanage where Mother had once left me. Sister Alberta, a milk stream of a nun, opened the door and let me sleep in my old dormitory. She wouldn't awaken Sister Collette, the mother superior.

By the time Sister Collette and I spoke that morning, the Harlingen police were flashing my school photo around, asking my school friends about me and boys.

I had never been alone with a boy, much less trust one well enough to run away with him; experiences at home had made me extremely fearful.

The nuns contacted Miss Davis, who had been visiting me at Vernon Gay Jr. High, and she picked me up. We rushed to the courthouse, barely avoiding my mother and her husband, who we'd been warned were on their way.

Fortunately, I spoke to a judge privately. And after the details were noted, I officially came under the protection of the state. What next? Harried phone calls! A woman from San Benito was urged to take me in "temporarily." She did so, reluctantly. There was no other place for me to go. This big-hearted lady was Lucia Montalvo. With all her faults, and there were many, she took her job as a professional foster parent seriously. My new home was in a constant state of flux! At one time, Lucia had six boarders besides me. Some came from the courts; others were relatives, or had been wards of the state, had grown up, left, and returned for a spell. I hated the lack of quiet and personal space. Lucy made no bones about keeping foster children because of the money she received, but that does not detract from the fact she took an interest in each of us. Attending a new school provided another big shock. My grades had slipped drastically that last year and I had failed ninth grade. I, who had loved school, suddenly couldn't concentrate. I was tearful and developed the habit of sleeping with my arms crossed protectively across my breasts, facing the doorway. Another abused girl at Lucia's did the same.

I hated attending San Benito High school. To make matters worse, the Harlingen and San Benito football teams were bitter rivals. And although I only attended one football game ever, I was constantly asked which team I supported.

I couldn't have cared less, I hated sports!

Everyone in this very small town knew I was one of "Lucia's girls." The assumption was that I had been "in trouble." I had , but not in the way meant in those days.

I signed up for classes that didn't eventuate for lack of funds. Secretarial class didn't have enough typewriters to go around. I took religious studies, but the priest never came. And I signed up for driving classes, but no car was available that year.

I was not in hell, but not quite delivered either.

My foster father, whom we called "Uncle Fred," was a loud-mouthed, nasty-tempered old man who resented our presence. So why did Lucia take in foster children for so many years? She had nursing experience and was well respected in the community, having worked for the Valley's first paediatrician, Dr.Vinsant. (Dolly Vinsant Hospital was named after his daughter.) Lucy had helped raise close relatives, so the obvious next step for her was to do it professionally. And she liked money.

Her own children were grown up and married, so the big house was filled with other people's children. Her spacious house had so many renovations that it took on the look and feel of a warren. She was Catholic. Her husband was a Knight of Columbus, so we all attended mass every Sunday.

I hated the smell of alcohol exhaled in the breath of old men as they passed the collection basket at Mass. Alcoholic breath reminded me of mother's husband for many years. I loved and missed Mother's children. They had been my only company. I had helped select their names and ironed their starched frilly outfits, dressing them as if they were dolls. Of course I'd noticed the preference shown to them in countless ways. Years later these children had the music classes I had asked for and been denied. Cars were bought for each of them as soon as they entered junior high. But I also carried her blood, I was Mother's first born; what was her gift to me? I received her curse. Mother had been insisting on seeing me, but I refused, out of fear. Miss Davis and my foster mother thought it would be a positive move. Lucia always attempted to soothe interfamily relations. We agreed to meet at Fair Park, near Mother's house. She, her husband, and their children were waiting when we arrived. I was pleasantly surprised to see the baby walking--she was crawling when I'd left home. I only had time to say "She's walking!" before Mother attacked me verbally.

She was furious, contending I had lied about being sexually abused and being born out of wedlock. She cursed me and my unborn children, as Miss Davis hastily sped away. Mother's words flowed like a poisoned ribbon unfurled in the breeze.

I've never felt cursed! I suspect her curse rebounded, poisoning those closer to her than I.

Alma Iris Ramirez
Adelaide, South Australia
Published: January 26, 2006