A dozen kids, please…
…..
Chapter VIII: When the older brothers marry
Historic Center, Santiago de Queretaro, Queretaro
Talking about large families, my father was the apple that fell close to the tree; or if you prefer: like father, like son, as you will. My name is Francisca Díaz, and I am the eldest of five brothers and four sisters. Ten siblings may sound numerous, but my father was the eldest of eighteen, neatly divided into nine brothers and the same amount of sisters. So, I guess that as Grandfather used to say, Father was, without a doubt, just the proverbial chip, off the old block.
Father had his own unusual view on family size, “If I could only be sure of having twins, I’d immediately go for a dozen, once and for all; it´s just such a nicely rounded off number. We could have a half a dozen boys and another half a dozen girls, just like buying bread (I’ll have half a dozen buns and half a dozen of those sweet rolls, if you please), at the Colombian’s bakery, in Sutiapa.”
Mother, of course, had her own specific opinion on the subject, for, as far as she was concerned, he was most welcome to search for somebody else to help him out in that respect; insisting, she’d closed down the shop after María Blanca, the tenth and youngest, of my siblings was born. From her point of view, ten was a perfect and a final number, and that was as far as she was willing to go. Joking she’d add, “We’ve had more than we need, and I’d be happy to sell off a few, or at least, I would consider giving some away. When I see how they eat, I can’t help but wonder about the money we could save.”
In the land of volcanoes’ Chapters Purchase the book