Poco a poco se muere la niña
My sister was right—Julia Alvarez does indeed have another book coming out, but it’s non-fiction and its topic is that of the (in my humble opinion, not-so-wonderful) tradition of the quinceañera (that’s the Latino equivalent of the Sweet 16 to you, Americans—our young women are introduced into society a year earlier than yours are). IP lives right in front of a Catholic church, so we frequently see 15 girls and boys march out of the church, decked out in wedding wear that makes them look 10 instead of 15. Salon has an excerpt of Alvarez’s new book, which is sure to be much more engaging than her previous work, a novel that I mentioned in last year’s book list.
As interesting as the book will be, however, none of what’s mentioned in the excerpt shocked me. I’ve been witnessing quinceañeras since I was 11. At one point, I wanted one badly, but in my mind at the time, it was about maintaining a connection to the Mexico I had lost when my family moved in 1992, back to the hellhole of Saline, Michigan. I could never have one, with all my close friends absent and the guy I wanted as my chambelan lost to me. However, the costs (ridiculous that one could spend so much on a birthday party), the meaning behind it (announcing that your daughter, at a precious 15, is ready for womanhood—which clearly isn’t the case, remembering my own fifteenth year on this planet), the spectacle of it all, has convinced me that no daughter of mine should have one. It’s a display of a girl as chattel for the hoped-for and almost inevitable wedding in which she’s sold, and that frightens me now, as someone nearly twice these girls’ age—no kid should have to go through something so serious.
The money quote in this excerpt was this:
It’s from Priscilla [Mora] that I first hear that when the quinceañera makes her vow in the church, “it’s about chastity. You’re promising God that you’re not going to have sex till you’re back at the altar, getting married. That’s why it’s important that these girls learn all about the meaning,” Priscilla insists. Otherwise, the quinceañera “is nothing but a party.”
Sounds like a Latino version of the purity ball, except done at an older age, at a time in which you declare your daughter fit for manly consumption within the bounds of a matrimony. Quite creepy, that these girls are paraded around as brides and then forced to vow that they’ll be good and not engage in sexual activity until the Church says that they can; yet, there’s no converse for the male half of the Latino population. Surprise! “Here’s my daughter—feel free to take her, but if she knows what’s good for her, she won’t become a slut; but please, take her!”
However, the money quote makes me quite happy that I never had a quinceañera; nothing warps a young mind more than a vow made in complete ignorance, both in terms of life experience and the level of knowledge made available to you (Latinos, I can safely say from experience, are the ones who pull their kids out of the sex ed classes, because what’s life without a little sexual ignorance?). And if my 15th birthday party—which is in the grand scheme of things just another year—had been reduced to my chastity, I think I would’ve been seriously squicked and freaked out, afraid that the eyes of God were watching my every move.
As it turned out, the quinceañera was a no-go for my family from the start; there was very little money in our coffers at the time of my 15th birthday, and my father thinks it’s one of the stupidest traditions that Latinos still hold dear. I have to say, too, that I’m not upset that I missed out on the spectacle and the guilt and the vows; if I had to wait for a marriage proposal, I’d be one bitter, unhappy and unsatisfied woman right about now. Priscilla Mora, forgive me and my wanton ways!
