By Dinah Perez, 16, San Fernando HS

“Being a ninth grader in high school was cool. I was in the marching band at San Fernando High School playing the alto saxophone. It was so exciting. Playing at football games, meeting different people, everything was so much fun.
When I got home I was usually doing something—practicing, doing homework. My little sister, the youngest of 11 in my family, was always hanging around, wanting me to do the opposite of what I wanted to do. Like go outside and play volleyball or something.
“You’re weird,” M.E. (short for Maria Elena) would tell me. She didn’t understand what I was doing. She was clueless.
I preferred to talk to my five older sisters, since they somehow understood what I was talking about.
It wasn’t until the beginning of my 10th grade year that everything began to change. I began to notice that high school was a trick. Things weren’t what they seemed. People said, “Well, you’re going to be my best friend forever,” and a month later they would have a fight with you and talk about you behind your back. I realized that my sisters would always be there for me, and there’s no way they would turn their backs on me. Six sisters—what more could a girl want?
One afternoon last fall, I had just gotten back from practice with the band at San Fernando High School. I went into my room, turned on the light and noticed my little sister wasn’t home. I couldn’t find her anywhere. I went to the kitchen where my mom was making dinner.
“What’s wrong?” my mother asked as she juggled some hot tortillas.
“Where’s M.E.?” I asked. She said, “She’s at practice.” M.E. had started playing trumpet in an all-girl mariachi band at San Fernando Middle School. My mom smiled because usually M.E. asked for me, and now I was asking for her.
I went out to the living room couch. My sister Dalila, happy as usual, said hello to me and asked me what was wrong. “M.E. isn’t here,” I responded.
“Now you know how she feels when you are at practice with the band and she doesn’t get to see you,” Dalila said. I looked up at the ceiling, resting my head on the couch. I began to think of all the times I wouldn’t pay attention to M.E., after she hadn’t seen me for hours.
Soon she would be singing in front of hundreds of people, something I always wanted to do. I love mariachi music. It is what I love to listen to the most. Many people think that mariachis can only play La Bamba or La Cucaracha. They think mariachis play obnoxious, annoying music for drunk Mexican people.

Listen for the beauty within
This music has a beauty within that you can only hear if you dig down past the dirt of all the stereotypes and criticisms. Last year I heard some of the best mariachis in the world at the Mariachi USA festival at the Hollywood Bowl. As I sat there, I felt proud to be chicana. There were little kids singing beautifully. Others danced folklórico while the mariachi played. It was a neat experience.
When M.E. got home, I wanted to talk to her about what she had done at practice. I noticed that when I talked to her, she was focused on what I was saying. She made me feel important, unlike people at school who always brushed me off, just another girl with dreamy ideas.
I remember the first time I heard my sister’s mariachi perform at her school’s Christmas concert. It’s really something to see, 12 girls in a mariachi, dressed in their matching trajes (outfits) and playing their instruments: three trumpets, five violins, two guitars, one guitarón, (a bass guitar) and one viguela (a small guitar). They are called “Las Alteñitas,” named for a hilly area of Jalisco, Mexico.
When M.E. began to sing, I got the chills all over my body. I was so excited. “How cute,” “How pretty,” “Neat, no guys,” I heard other people saying. The only thing I could say was, “All right M.E.!” I couldn’t stop yelling.
Her long beautiful hair was tied back in a pony tail. Her white suit embroidered with burgundy fit her perfectly. She looked like a hardcore Mexican charra, a lady so simple and pure and confident. After her performance I ran up to her. Everyone was telling her, “Wow, you sing bad!” “You sing dope!” She told them, “Thank you.” When she looked at me, she didn’t say anything. She kind of smiled and gave me a hug, and she knew that I would get it, how happy she was and proud.
An all-girl mariachi is not too common, so my sister’s group has gotten a lot of attention. When I went to interview the group for this article, they had already been on Channel 2 and featured in the Daily News. But I could tell they were excited, plus they knew me, so they felt a little more comfortable talking to me.
I learned that being in the mariachi helped a lot of the girls to get on track, like Cristina Ibarra, 16. I thought she was always into mariachi music because she talked about it a lot at school, and she had mariachi pictures on her notebook. But she told me it wasn’t always that way. “When I got into the mariachi class at San Fernando Middle School, I was in it for an easy A, but after I began playing the violin, I couldn’t put it down.”
Norma Ramirez, 15, said, “I used to be a trouble maker, but when I got into the mariachi there was no time for doing all those bad things because I had to go to practice.” She smiled, ashamed of what she used to do.

They manage the group themselves
Violinist Maria Flores, 15, had to learn how to lead the group without being too bossy. She’s the one that organizes things, getting the girls to vote on the songs, and trying to line up places for them to perform. Sometimes the other girls start chatting or talking about something else, and they won’t listen to her. Then her voice gets a little louder and harsher until they pay attention. “The biggest motivation comes from within the group,” she said.
So far they have played at birthday parties and other little events. But they’re going to be big one of these days, I can tell. These girls are ambitious. They look up to all the great mariachis, like Orgullo Mexicano, or Alma de Mexico.
Many San Fernando Valley mariachi members take time from their busy schedules to help them learn songs, improve their vocals, and teach them how to tune their instruments. Some come from Gardena and North Hollywood, others are in school, and most work. They don’t charge a cent. They thank a man named Sebastian who has been the biggest help for them. He teaches violin but helps the group on vocals and tuning.
“I am thankful for all the help I have gotten. I want to help those who are barely beginning so that they can feel the happiness I feel when I play mariachi music,” said trumpet player Esmeralda Garcia, 15, who never thought music would be of any importance to her like it is now.
Some of them have problems with their parents because some of the other mariachi players who help them are guys. Some of the parents think something’s going to happen. That ticked me off because there are other girls who are on the streets and fooling around. These girls are trying to go somewhere.
One time my sister went straight from school to practice and she forgot to call to tell my parents she was there. My dad and I went to pick her up at about 8:30 p.m.
My dad started getting into the whole thing, how come she didn’t call, they were worried, that he trusted her, he didn’t want her to do something that was wrong and then he wouldn’t trust her anymore. She had to learn how to be responsible.
She said, “but Dad!” and this and that. She was kind of upset. Her voice was getting louder. I said, “Just shut up, don’t yell at my Dad.”
When we got home, she said, “But you know, I didn’t do anything wrong! I was practicing.” I told her I knew how she felt. I said, “You’re getting older and you’re not ugly, so it’s going to happen. You’re going to get those lectures. Even though you’re mad, you have to respect your parents.”
M.E. and I have been hanging around together a lot lately and I like it. Soon we will be at the same school and I can’t wait. I hope that she will never forget what our friendship means because not only is she my sister but my best friend.”