It’s time to meet the parents

My mom had been waiting to meet my host mom in Madrid ever since I got my housing assignment. Even when all I knew about my host family was that I would be living with a woman named Rosario Perez, my mom had already affectionately nicknamed her “Mamá Rosario.” (I’d later find out that Rosario has a husband named Julian, and a 9-year-old grandson who sometimes stays with us, named Ulysses.)

This past week, my mom finally got her chance to meet Mamá Rosario when she and my dad came to visit. I wasn’t very optimistic, however, about how the long-awaited meeting would turn out. The anxiety leading up to this felt similar what introducing in-laws will be like.

Rosario and her husband Julian are 75 and 83 years old respectively, and don’t speak a lick of English. Rosario can be a little particular, extremely blunt, stubborn and most of all – sassy. She is the sassiest 75-year-old I’ve ever met. My parents only know a few words and phrases in Spanish, and though my Spanish has gotten much better since I got here, I wouldn’t call myself fluent yet so I was a little nervous about having to translate through a meal. Yet regardless of the language barrier, both sides were eager to meet.

Rosario insisted that my parents come over for dinner. I told her not to make too much food (as she usually does) and she assured me that she would only make “aperitivos” or tapas appetizers. Of course the “aperitivos” were more than enough for a full meal: she prepared a salad, traditional “gambas al ajillo” (shrimp with garlic and olive oil), meatballs, ham and cheese, grilled peppers, olives and a Spanish tortilla.

After the two-hour “appetizer” my parents left the apartment and with a sigh of relief I knew it could not have possibly have went any better. My host parents were patient as I attempted to translate throughout the evening, the food was great and overall it turned out to be a really special occasion. I could tell Rosario took so much pride in her food, her home and how she’s been taking care of me for the last month and a half. She paraded around the tiny apartment making sure to show my mom every room, corner and closet, and constantly asked how the food was and if my parents needed anything else.

Even though my parents and host parents couldn’t communicate in the same language, they managed to get along really well. By the end of the night it felt like a real family dinner, and made me realize how lucky I am to have not only a loving and supportive American family but an equally great Spanish family too.