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My mom cleaned houses for many years. Her clients were busy people who rarely paused to learn anything about her. Once, she took the @latimes to work & proudly showed off one of my front page stories. “My daughter,” she said pointing to my name. Her client couldn’t believe it.
That day, she came home so happy. “You should have seen the look on the señora’s face,” she told me. “She asked me all about you & your work. She wanted to know how you got your job & if I was proud of you...I said yes, of course. Very proud.”
My mom used to love telling that story. Still does. It’s one of the few times — in all her years of scrubbing, washing, dusting, bringing home old, discarded furniture from Americanos’ houses — that she actually felt seen. Someone understood her worth.
