Day 03 – Your Parents

I grew up a poor, black child.
I kid, I kid. Ahhh, but I do love me some Steve Martin.
I am first generation American.  The product of a Cuban mother and Puerto Rican father.
My mother had the unfortunate fate to be named after her Patron Saint-Gliceria. Her middle name is Margarita and after making it to the USA, she thankfully took on the moniker of "Maggie."
She was the elder sibling and had to take on the role of translator at an early age.  At 18 she began working in the Workman's Comp Claims industry and has been there ever since, despite a few attempts to revisit College.
She met my father shortly thereafter and I was conceived before she could legally drink. (In case you were wondering, it was in Vegas while watching 'Saturday Night Fever')
My father hails from Puerto Rico and swept my mom off her feet at an early age.  I'm not sure if it was his long hair, his penchant for great music or his brief stint in the military, but boy she was smitten. 
Sadly, their relationship perished by the time I was 2.  As much as I wish they would have/could have stayed together, I am happy they didn't because now I have 4 wonderful siblings that came from their future relationships.
I love my parents deeply, and they did the best they could-I could never resent them for that. At 21 I didn't know what color I wanted to dye my hair let alone could consider having a child. Kudos to them doing what was best.