Twenty-nine years ago, I first encountered the Garcia family when I volunteered to serve as a mentor to Deb, the youngest child. In this particular mentorship program, my commitment was for seven years: 5th grade through high school graduation. My job was to help her succeed in school and encourage her continuing education after graduation.

Thankfully, Deb was highly motivated and her family supported her aspirations. Yet, we had the usual glitches along the way, including mean girls in middle school and a creepy teacher in high school. I sat in the bleachers and cheered during her softball games, celebrated her birthdays, and bought her little incentives along the way. I tried eating in the school cafeteria with her on several occasions, but the food was so dreadful, I brought her lunch once a week, as we caught up on the week’s events.

I was so proud of her the night I handed her a diploma–as proud as I was with my own kids. Four years later she graduated from Arizona State and got a job with the State Department of Economic Security. That accomplishment was not surprising because she is bilingual. Her English is so impeccable few people realize her talent. Not only did she excel at her job and breezed through a number of promotions, she married and has two small children.

But my blog is not just about Deb, it’s about her entire family and how they’ve enriched my life. I marvel at the joy they exude when together. They laugh and sing. I’m stunned by how well they all get along. Remarkably the cousins are very kind to one another. They assist the younger ones who struggle opening a bag a chips or forking up some lasagna.

When they were all at my casa last weekend, one of the five-year-olds whined, “There’s no more cookies left.”

His teenage cousin handed him hers, “Here, Luis, take mine.”

I was struck this sense of sharing also included more exciting things, like inner tubes and rafts, beach balls and diving toys, and even turns jumping off the diving board. And as my fiesta drew to a close, every child gathered up his/her own stuff. Every child hugged me and thanked me for having them.

I know many Mexican Americans display a strong family bond, which I suspect is passed along from generation to generation. Unfortunately, for many of us that dissipated the more mobile and transient we became. My children grew up without Sunday dinners at their grandparents’ home and family holiday traditions; they saw their cousins once a year. In fact, my entire family is scattered across America, and all of us haven’t been together for four years. Indeed, I’m in awe of mi familia, and I am most grateful to be embraced by them.