sweet fifteen

Yesterday we went to a Brazilian quinceanhera. It was held in an evangelical church in Northeast Philly. It felt almost like being at a party in Brazil--everyone was speaking Portuguese, and the gym was decked out with pillars of balloons.

We'd actually missed this phenomenon when we were in Brazil, although I heard about students at our school whose parents would rent out the fanciest restaurant in Salvador and invite five or six hundred people.

This wasn't exactly that, but given the family's modest budget, it was probably on par. The invitation said formal. (Which R. interpreted as "come dressed as superclown.")


The anniversariante, birthday girl, had chosen fifteen girls (dressed alike, like bridesmaids) and fifteen boys (with matching pink ties) to preceed her up the aisle holding candles.

She entered, singing a song about Jesus.


Meanwhile, Ju made friends with a young lady in a fur stole, who had her eye on his cracker.

There were cheese cubes and saltines, much talk of Nosso Senhor, and a strange ritual called the "mudança das sapatinhos," in which the annivesariante's father knelt before her, removed her shoes and replaced them with high-heeled silver sandals.

Unfortunately, we had to leave right before the dinner was served, because Ju was melting down, but the older boys were fascinated, and would have stayed all night.