The Magic OF MI FAMILIA

When I was a kid, every Sunday with my Mexican American community - full of wonderful traditions and warm tortillas - felt like a holiday.

- DESIDERIA MESA

On Sundays when I was a little girl, my dad would buy me a donut before we headed to Mass. But the real celebration began after the closing cathedral bells. After church, he would pull his station wagon into the driveway of a tiny house in a tiny suburb outside a big city in which all of my tios and tias were likely already eating whatever delicious food my abuela had prepared. My cousins' laughter could be heard from the backyard. My dad would put his fingers to his lips and let out a three-toned whistle. I imagined the signal as words: "I am right here!" A two-toned whistle would answer back: "Come in! Come in!" We never had to knock—that was for strangers.