Mamí Norma
By Alexandra Fernandez
Norma Torres was just a young girl of thirteen years old when her father kicked her out of the house and forced her to leave Puerto Rico. “Don’t come back here until you can afford your own plane ticket home.” He said to her with an undertone of hatred. Norma’s father never wanted to have a daughter. He mistreated her nearly everyday, but to kick her out of the only home she had ever known was an entirely new level of cruelty, even for him. Norma was the youngest of five children and the only girl. She questioned why her father didn’t treat her older brothers the same way, but did as he said and left for New York. She didn’t speak any English, and even though the odds were against her, she was determined to make the most of her new life in a new city.
The year was 1954, and Norma had arrived in New York with nothing to her name. She stayed with her aunt who lived in the South Bronx, and while it saddened her that she wouldn’t get to grow up in the same house as her older brothers, she knew that there were so many opportunities for her in this big city. “It was difficult for me to just start over, but I knew that it was the best thing. I would have been miserable if I continued to live with my father. He was a brutal man, and I think him kicking me out was a blessing.”
As the years went on Norma felt like New York was her home, and began to find comfort in its chaos. The sounds of children playing in the street and old men chit chatting as they played dominos on the street corner were so familiar to her now. She earned a living by cleaning houses, and she did this six days a week to help her aunt pay bills. She didn’t mind her work, but felt unfulfilled. On one particular day when Norma showed up to clean her neighbor’s house as she typically did once a month, the neighbor had also entrusted her with the task of watching her newborn baby while she ran an errand. “I was nervous when she told me this, but I did what she asked me to,” Norma recalls. From that moment on whenever Norma showed up to her neighbor’s house, it was to watch the baby rather than clean. “I started going over a few times a week to watch the baby, and after a while it started to feel like she was my own.” This neighbor began to tell her other friends about Norma and as the word continued to spread Norma was no longer a cleaning lady, but was now the neighborhood babysitter.
Every week from Monday to Friday, Norma's home buzzed with the energy of children, ranging from six months to eleven years old. It was initially overwhelming, but as the weeks went by, Norma forged individual bonds with each child she cared for, earning her the endearing title of "Mamí Norma." From cooking their meals to tidying their messes and orchestrating outings to the park, she became their pillar of care. Even on the days she didn’t have to watch the children, she found herself missing their presence immensely.
On one hot summer day in 1965, a local boy from the neighborhood was to have his seventh birthday party in the basement of a building nearby. “Birthday parties back then were serious. Everyone from the block would go. We would dance, listen to music, eat great food, and just enjoy each other's company. It was just a great time.” Norma recalls. She brought all of the children she babysat to attend the event, and the party was lively with children and adults from the neighborhood celebrating. Norma remembers eating a plate of arroz con gandules when all of a sudden she was struck by the strong smell of smoke.“I looked around the room, trying to figure out where the smell was coming from. When I went out to the hall of the basement that’s when I saw the flames.” Everyone from the party ran around in a frenzy, unsure of what to do next. The adults screamed and the children cried. The flames blocked their original point of entry and inched closer to the party with each passing second. Norma’s first priority was the children that she watched over. “I’ve never been afraid of dying. When I saw the fire getting closer and closer, I didn’t even think of myself. In that moment I was only afraid of losing my babies.” Everyone from the party was able to squeeze through a window that led from the basement and into the street and they safely exited. When each child was safe in the street, Norma followed. She was the last person to leave the building.
When these children grew up and no longer required Norma’s care, more followed in their place. Norma was the local babysitter for nearly two decades, and every single child that entered Norma’s life was showered with love, care, and attention. She was able to create the loving home that she was never able to experience as a child, and watching over these children healed something deep within her. “I was able to give them the love that I never got from my own parents.”
All of the children that Norma cared for still call her their "Mamí Norma" today.