Keeping A Tradition -- A Quinceanera Celebrates A Time When A Nina Becomes A Senorita

SUMNER, Pierce County - It is hot outside the Northwestern Shoreman's Club and it is hotter still in the kitchen where the three women stand now, at an open flame, trying to warm and not scorch a pile of corn tortillas.

The women have come long ways - from Hidalgo, Mexico; Fargo, N.D., and Riverton, Ore. - and work without complaint, making sure the birria, a traditional Mexican meat dish, will be served with the essential accompaniment.

They are doing what they can to make everything perfect for the only person that matters: their niece, Michelle Rangel.

Michelle, 15, is out in the hall, mingling among the guests, kissing the cheeks of relatives, tickling the necks of small children and hugging the shoulders of friends of friends.

This is Michelle's quinceanera, the coming of age party for Latinas when they turn 15, and Michelle is radiant, smiling constantly and posing graciously for the photographer who follows her everywhere.

Michelle first went to a quinceanera - a "quince" as they are called sometimes - when she was about 5 years old. Nevermind that the music was a bit too loud; it was the sight of her cousin draped in the most beautiful gown that enthralled her. She knew then that she would have to have one.

As she neared her 15th birthday, her parents offered her a choice: a trip to Europe or a quinceanera. She chose the party over Paris. "I figured (the trip) would still be there when I got older," she said.

The decision delighted Michelle's father, Ernesto, a 42-year-old Boeing sheet-metal worker who emigrated from Mexico. His daughter, the eldest of three children, would be participating in a celebration that, in Mexico, traces back to the Aztecs, the Mayas and the Toltecs.

A young woman

A quinceanera is when a nina becomes a senorita and is presented to the community. It is celebrated throughout most of Latin America and in neighborhoods in this country wherever there are Latinos.

It is a Latino bas mitzvah, Sweet 16 party, debutante ball that includes a court of damas and chambelanes (male and female attendants) and a specially choreographed waltz. It is often preceded by a Catholic ceremony.

In the U.S., it is a ritual that is sometimes more social than spiritual. Thousands of dollars are spent by Cubans, Colombians, Puerto Ricans, Peruvians and Mexicans for the gown, the crown, the flowers, the bands, the hall to host the party, the food, the drink, the photographer, the hairdresser, the dance instructor and maybe the limo. "Like a wedding, without the groom," Ernesto Rangel said.

Those who can, go all out; those who can't fall into debt or settle for a nice dress and a simple party. Maybe just a dinner, family-style, at home. Almost always there is some type of celebration among the immigrant families raising first-generation American children, trying to preserve cultural traditions.

Ernesto Rangel and his wife Linda, a 38-year-old woman of French Canadian, German, Irish and Dutch ancestry who also works at Boeing, spent nearly $7,000 and more than six months preparing for Michelle's quinceanera.

Find the hall. Hire the bands (three of them). Compose a menu that would appeal to Mexican and American guests. Tap family and friends to be padrinos (godfathers) and madrinas (godmothers).

And the dress. That was tough to find. The Bon, J.C. Penney didn't have the right kind. It had to be flowing and frilly, wedding gown-like, but in pink, mint, lime, lavender or whatever color the girl wished. Department-store clerks couldn't help find a dress for an event they had never heard of so the Rangels went to a small store they heard catered to quinceaneras.

La Preciosa Boutique, in Burien, draws families from throughout Western Washington and from as far away as Vancouver, B.C. Michelle really wanted something in lavender but she fell in love with a $600 taffeta gown in rose, with a sequined and beaded bodice, a V-cut in the back, a bow at the waist and ruffled sleeves that, when paired with a hooped petticoat, made her look like a storybook princess.

Which is how Michelle looks now, in her gown, her feet in rose-colored pumps that she spent days breaking in, her face done up in make-up she applied herself, her brown hair done professionally in ringlets. She has pink press-on nails (she didn't have time to get a manicure) and - her braces off just weeks ago - the perfect smile.

"She looks like she belongs on a cake. She looks gorgeous," says Cheri Cornforth, whose daughter Sara is a dama.

At St. Andrew's Catholic Church, about two dozen family members linger in the entrance, talking small, waiting for the 13 attendants - girls in emerald dresses, boys in black tuxedos - to escort Michelle down the aisle. (There are usually 15 attendants, one for each year of the girl's life).

"We're here to thank God that she completed her 15 years and to pray that she'll continue to be a good girl," an aunt says proudly.

Religious training

Michelle, a Sumner Junior High student, took 8 hours of catechism class to prepare for the church ceremony she participates in now. She renews her vows to the church, pledges to be a good member of the community. She receives quinceanera gifts from her godparents: a ring, a medallion, a Bible.

On her head, Michelle wears a crown of small roses that looks like it's made out of porcelain. It is not. It is bread dough. Celia Rangel crafted it, modeled after the crowns quinceaneras in Mexico wear.

Esperanza O'Campo, Michelle's grandmother, made the flower bouquet that Michelle carries and the corsages and boutonnieres worn by the attendants and family members.

O'Campo also made the embroidered invitations and the recuerdos, the small souvenirs given to guests. Dolls, tiny books, salt-and-pepper shaker holders, each one crocheted in pink and white. Champagne bottle holders are made out of painted wicker. Small, plastic high-heeled pumps are adorned with ribbons that say "Mis quince."

The recuerdos are the smallest decorations in the hall that often caters to Bingo and is now gussied up with pink and white streamers and balloons. It looks like a wedding. There are tables full of smoked salmon, grapes, cheeses and crackers that will later hold smoked chickens and the birria. In one corner, a fountain gurgles underneath a seven-layer cake; in another, a bartender busily pours drinks. On stage, crews hoist amplifiers and lighting systems to augment the music that will throb through the night.

In the past, a quinceanera announced a young girl was ready to be courted for marriage. It now can mean changes like permission to date, to put on make-up, wear high heels. For Michelle, who already has a boyfriend, it means a chance to refuse family outings and stay home to hang out with friends.

"I guess I feel a little more mature now," says Michelle. It is the only thing she says about the festivities, other than describing how happy she feels.

As nervous as he was when he learned his first-born would be a daughter, Rangel looks euphoric now in his tuxedo, standing on stage with a handwritten speech in his hand.

He looks at Michelle and tells her: "I hope you become the best person possible. I hope you know that if you make a mistake. . .you can count on our support and understanding. We hope we've been a good example."

About spoiling her, Rangel later says: "They can say whatever. That's my daughter. I do what I can to make her happy."