The Horchata Ritual

By: Sofia Membrneo

“Carlos are you listening?” my teacher yells across the room. I currently find myself

sitting in a classroom where Mr. Morales is going on about how to prove a triangle is a triangle

but I stare at my paper examining a three sided shape with corners wondering what else it could

be. I am a 15 year old Hispanic boy, but you couldn’t guess by looking at me. My skin is pale,

not a honey brown like Papá, but my hair imitates that of Mamá with a curl pattern you couldn’t

run your fingers in without getting caught. If someone would try to solve me I guess they could

state I am Hispanic and back it up with the reasoning being I have curly hair. However, my curly

hair isn't the only thing that defines me within my culture, but rather the values within.

Today is the day I learn what it means to truly be a part of my culture as a male. At the

age of 15, girls dream about their quinceanera where they show the world they have become a

woman through a series of dances and amazing food, but for us boys we have a ritual to prepare

for. The Horchata Ritual is what I’ve avoided since I can remember. My parents have mentioned

the ritual at least once a day the past year with the exception of the day that our family bird

passed away. As scheduled, two weeks after my 15th birthday it is now my turn to perform the

ritual. Everyone in the family has a role they play, and today I will be taking the role of Papá and

lead the ritual as my own welcoming to man hood. “Class is dismissed”, states Mr.Morales, my

thoughts were interrupted by the bell indicating it is now time for me to head home and prepare

for what the afternoon holds.

Mamá says that it is crucial I perform the ritual now and for my future family because as

the man of the house it is my responsibility to lead the Horchata Ritual. My people are very

hardworking who prioritize their life's work and if it weren't for the ritual, our families would
never come together for a moment of calmness and reflection. Our family is together a lot of the

time but I wouldn’t use the word calm to describe us. My family starts at my Abuela flor and

Abuelo Jose. They were both born in Ecuador and spend their time bickering every meal. My

abuela Flor loves to cook and my abuelo Jose loves to eat which is why they work so well

together, but they can never agree on the same dish. Their daughter is Mamá and she was also

born in Ecuador. Mamá loves pupusas and would make a trip to El Salvador once a year just to

eat some, which is where she met a young boy, my Papá. They quickly fell in love and moved to

the states not long after their wedding where they had 4 beautiful children. My oldest sister

Xiemena, followed by my sister Laura, me, and my younger brother Luis. We all get along, but

some days are harder than others. In the morning you can hear Xiemena complaining about how

Laura took her clothing and the rest of us questioning why Laura must use the bathroom for so

long. Luis is only one year old so he can't talk quite yet, but he sure likes to eat a lot. I guess you

can say he got his appetite from Papá. Mamá likes to say Luis is my fathers son because he

resembles many of his traits when it comes to appearance. However the same can not be said

about me.

My father is a hardworking man who immigrated from El Salvador with nothing and

became someone who made something for himself at the age of 18. In my 15 years of life my

greatest accomplishment has been receiving one perfect score on a math test in the fourth grade.

I envy my father for being the perfect hispanic man; he is responsible, strong, determined, and

decisive. The ritual is my only opportunity to show him I resemble the same traits, but I struggle

with knowing that I may disrespect my culture and family if the ritual doesn’t go well. The ritual

has a very strict set of rules that must be followed and as the leader it is my job to remember

each rule and guarantee they follow through.

 As I walk into the house, I can see my sisters frantically running around gathering

everything for the ritual. Xiemena has lemongrass and chameleon in her hands while Laura is

holding the lemon and peppermint. The women are in charge of the preparation and clean up,

and the men always lead the ritual. I quickly take off my backpack and get started on evaluating

my mother and sister’s work. The horchata is the most important part of the ritual and the

ingredients must be precise. I start by checking off every ingredient and making sure the amounts

are correct as well. As usual with Mamá’s help everything is exactly where it needs to be. I give

my sisters the satisfaction of knowing they did a good job, and instruct them on the next steps.

They must now make the horchata with boiling water and all the herbs.

I head to my room and pull out a piece of paper under my pillow. This piece of paper is

bruised by eraser marks and wrinkled by the weight of my hands and my pillow. A part of my

job is to say a few words to lead us into the ritual. I have thought about what to say over and over

in my head like a record that never stops but it never seems significant enough. I remember

hearing my fathers speeches; they seem so effortless and cohesive with his thoughts. My words

take up about half the page but my thoughts right now wouldn’t even fit in one notebook. I grab

another clean piece of paper and start to rewrite my speech. As much as I'm struggling, my

family must never know or they might think I am a weak man. I finish writing my speech in my

best handwriting and head to where my family is waiting for me.

Everyone is sitting at the table with the horchata in the middle and one seat open for me. I

take a stand in front of my chair and pull out my piece of paper from my pocket and start to read,

“ Today marks two weeks after my 15th birthday and I couldn't have learned more from this past

year. As I become a man in society I must reflect on where I need to grow. We know the color of

horchata reflects red, I must show independence and freedom. Throughout the days I learn more
and more about how I can become a better person and resemble much of what my parents are.

From my father, it is vital to be hardworking and from what I know for my future, work is

everything and never something to be messed with. Not once have I ever found my mother away

from the kitchen. Growing up she has always taught me the importance of keeping a house to be

a home. And from her, I’ve realized that keeping a house well kept, can be and is essential in

terms of a family’s well being. All my parents have done for me and taught me is to realize the

true meaning of work. As we take in this horchata before us, we must reflect on where we are as

a family. Abuelo and Abuela made the hard decision to move to the states to provide for their

family. Every day we must remember our family is above all and at times sacrifices are

necessary. Papá and Mamá also came to the states and had to work countless hours to be able to

provide for my sisters and I. From them, I now know that nothing will ever be handed to you on

a silver platter. Nothing is worth as much when you don't work for it. Putting yourself out there

is what gets you places and adds a whole new meaning to what is being given to you. And

everything ever given to me holds a special place in my heart. Whether it be school supplies to a

birthday present. It means so much more knowing my parents worked extra hard to get me

something that would put a smile on my face. To all that have shown me a new perspective, I

wish to thank you for the contribution you have given me in becoming a man.”

As I wrapped up my speech, I glanced up from my clammy hands wrinkling the paper

and saw all eyes staring blankly at me. Seconds ticked by and nothing. It wasn't until I looked in

my mother's direction that I saw tears forming at the corners of her eyes. At that moment, the

core root of the ritual begun. I took my seat in the circle and watched as a goblet of horchata was

passed around to each individual to sip. Everyone wipes the edges with their sleeves before

meeting it to their mouths. Seeing that reminds me of the times at church when we drink the
wine and eat the bread to signify the body and blood of Jesus. Each of us have to share the same

cup, but we realize thats its quite nasty so we a sneak a little wipe before hand.

The cup is being passed around, person to person, so each member can have a sip before

leaving the last bit to me. The reason that I have to go last is to represent my selflessness and

allow most of the contents to the other family members. With the final person taking their sip, I

reach my hand over to grab it to find there to be a decent amount left for me. As quick as this

turned out to be, I looked around and realize that my fears that i've accumulated all years, were

truly nothing. I tipped the goblet back and took my sip of the remaining horchata and set it aside.

As we all took some time to debrief on our year and life lessons, I internally thought

about how hitting the age 15 was never as bad as I thought it would be. Tuning back into the

conversation I heard glimpses of “I learned all about how to protect myself,” or “This was the

year I finally made a change and put all my efforts in my academics.” Time moved on and pretty

much all of my family members have went and shared their thoughts about the new year. We all

got up and the cleaning process began.

The kitchen was the biggest mess of all and I noticed my mom cleaning up and Papá

sitting as a presence. After all i've said tonight, I went in to help her with her ritual “task.” When

I walked into the room, she turned her head to glance at who it was and turned back away seeing

it was just me. We worked in silence next to each other, putting dishes away or cleaning the

countertop. At the table Papá starts to speak, “I may not say it often but I'm really proud of you.

I've noticed how much this ritual has been bothering you but even that didn't phase you. I

understand that it must've been hard. Yours nerves almost got the best of you but you didn't let

that happen. Now you realize that it wasn't as bad as you thought. All we have to worry about

now is for this ritual to happen again next year.”

 At that moment, I felt relieved. He was right, I felt nervous for no reason. Now that the

ritual is over for the year, I can tell myself that becoming a man was never as scary as it was

made out to seem. My father recognized all my hard work and I have truly became a man in the

best way with my families help.