The South Mountain Village

By Gabriella Villa

A place that I will always call home is the South Mountain Village, more famously know as South Phoenix. A place that is misjudged by those who do not know or dare to visit, it has the reputation of being ghetto and gang-ridden, which in some areas is true but I never felt threatened or scared there. You are just born with that street-smart mentality to know where to go and which places to avoid. Growing up, I never saw South Phoenix as ghetto. I thought everyone lived like that. I did not know of anything outside my area. It is a place where I have everything I need.

I went to St. Catherine of Sienna Elementary School from first grade to eighth. Every Wednesday we would go to the church across the street, St. Catherine of Sienna Catholic Church on Central and Alta Vista. It is a very large church, almost Cathedral-like. When I reached eighth grade, my friends and I would go to Gino’s pizza every Friday after school to eat and play pin ball. When we got sick of pizza we would walk down to McDonald’s, but if you really had guts you would walk to Jack in the Box, which was a little further up on Central Avenue. I never did; I was too scared of my mother. The streets are dirty and they are usually filled with mothers pushing their children in strollers. The houses have their own character, usually painted in bright colors such as pink, light blue, and yellow. The windows have bars on the outside and there is always a dog barking in the yard. People sit outside in their front yards with friends or neighbors just chatting. Children are in the streets riding their bikes or going to the nearest drugstore for candy. It is a place where everyone knows everyone and no matter how high you get up in life you are always welcomed back. South Phoenix holds my family, friends, childhood memories, and the biggest event of my life up to date. St. Catherine’s Church was the church I would go to every Wednesday but the Church that is most close to me is Holy Family which is on twenty Fourth Street and Baseline Road.

It was the night of Christmas day my family and I got home from a long day opening presents at my grandparents’ house. My parents called me into their bedroom. I was so exhausted I just wanted to go to bed but I was curious as to what they wanted to tell me since I had been with them all day. When I got into the room my dad asked me to sit down. This confused me. He said, “Mom and I have been thinking about something for a while now and we decided we want to give you a Quinceanera.” A Quinceanera is a Mexican tradition where a fifteen-year-old girl is considered a woman. It is a mock wedding. She has a church ceremony and party to celebrate. The girl wears a white ball gown, white representing purity, and carries a bouquet. During the mass she is presented with a ring, necklace, or bracelet to represent her unending faith, these pieces of jewelry have religious symbols. During the mass she presents the Virgin Mary with a bouquet of flowers and prays to her. She wears flats and a plain tiara until the reception where her father changes them out for a faux diamond tiara and high heels, which represent her first pair of high heels. Then she has her first dance with her father, her first dance with a man. After the dance she is presented with a beautiful porcelain doll in a white ball gown, which represents her last doll.

I was ecstatic when my parents told me I would be having a Quinceanera. However, it was December and my birthday was in May, so I only had five months to plan the biggest party of my life. We immediately booked Holy Family to have the ceremony and party. Holy Family is a very small church, which was established in 1967. I think that is was not meant to be built as a church because there are no stained glass windows, the pews are steel benches with pumpkin orange cushions, and the ceiling fans sway in a circle. The building is brick. On its west side there is a banquet hall where women of the church cook breakfast and bake desserts every Sunday. I used this hall for my reception. In the center of the building is a court yard, full of green trees and fresh potted flowers. To the east of the building is the church. It is one large square room with no character to it, no cookie cutter accents to the walls or ceilings. There are many statues of Saints, Jesus Christ, and the Virgin Mary. Behind the altar there is a giant stone carved depiction of The Last Supper. The south side of the building is the chapel, which also has statues of religious figures and pews. However, it had a wall length stained glass window of a butterfly. I always liked the chapel better because of this. Every Sunday morning the light would come in through the stained glass window and the colors of the glass warmed the room with its reds, golds, blues, purples, and greens. It was a very spiritual room where I could feel God’s presence.

Father George has been my priest since I was three years old so we are very close. He was a tall Hispanic man, slightly tanned, and had peppered hair to match his peppered mustache. I wanted him to do my church ceremony. My mom said it was a long shot because he does not do Quinceaneras, because he does not believe in them. I figured because it was me that he would do it, so I asked anyway. He told me, “I don’t do Quinceaneras because the girl ends up pregnant the next year, but for you, we will I do it but call it a mass of Thanksgiving.” I laughed and took it. We always had that tough love relationship.

Planning the event went by in a blink of an eye. I did not have too much say in the decorations. My mom just asked me what my favorite color was and I said “purple” and that is all the input I had. However, when it came to choosing my dress I was in complete control of that. Two months before my initiation into womanhood I found my dress.

I went to many stores and tried on countless dresses, coming from a Mexican family every female aunt, cousin, grandmother, family friends were there giving me their two cents. Feeling frustrated that I had not found the one and tired because it had been a long day, my aunt showed me one more. I did not like it right off the bat. I did not like the cut of the bodice and it did not have enough sparkle. I shot the dress down but my mother jumped in and said, “Just try it. You never know.” Humoring my mom, I went to the dressing room. I put it on and it instantly hit me, this is it! I came out and everyone loved it. It made me feel so beautiful and special, I loved the way it moved, and felt; it was not stiff or have scratchy material. It was a cap sleeve scoop neck A-line ball gown with crystal and sequin beading along the bodice.

The night before the party I did not sleep. I stayed the night at my cousin’s house because she would be doing my hair and makeup. I was not allowed to wear makeup until I was sixteen so wearing it for my Quinceanera was a big deal. I woke up at eight am and ate a little breakfast while my cousin was busy pulling out a truck load of hairspray, curling irons, make up, and bobby pins. I sat on the vanity, getting all dolled up for what seemed a lifetime. Finally I was ready to put on my ball gown. Stepping into that dress, I felt an instant change. I knew today meant something special and important. The nerves and excitement hit me. Then my cousin yelled out of her room, “She’s ready!” and like the scene from the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding my mom, aunts, and cousins came rushing into the room and said “awe” in unison.