The brassy blast of a trumpet rips me from the embrace of Morpheus.

As the familiar strains of  “Las Mañanitas” register in the fuzzy workings of my brain, I roll over and pry open one eye to peer at the clock. It’s 4:30 a.m. on May 10. Ah, yes. ¡Feliz Día de las Madres!

I patter over to the window and peer through the glass, spotting a troupe of musicians decked out in matching outfits clustered in the bed of a battered pick-up truck. They are belting out the unmistakable melody that will be played in salute to millions of Mexican moms on this day. 

Moments later, Doña Carmen, matriarch of the family next door, slips out of the gate, a rebozo shawl wrapped around her shoulders to fend off the chilly pre-dawn air. Following on her heels is a sizable brood-at least a half-dozen grown off-spring plus their spouses, children and grandchildren. They have pooled resources to spring for this pre-dawn serenade. They all huddle on the curb, applauding as the band pauses before launching into the next number, a rousing rendition of the ranchero love song “Paloma Querida” (Beloved Dove). 

After a few more sentimental ditties, the músicos suddenly hunker down in the truck, clutching their instruments firmly as the driver lurches off into the darkness. The band has a long list of appointments to keep on what for them will be a busy and lucrative work day. Doña Carmen and her clan chatter cheerfully as they disappear once again behind the iron gate.

Once upon a time I puzzled at why any mother would take delight in being roused from sleep at such an ungodly hour. I have since come to appreciate the beauty and romanticism of the traditional serenade known as “el gallo” (the rooster) or “mañanitas” (little mornings). For generations of Mexicanos this has been a fundamental tool for courting and feting women.  It’s just part of the emotional landscape in a country distinguished by its warm, demonstrative people. 

With the sidewalk concert over, I retreat to the bed, snuggle beneath the covers and quickly doze off. But my regained slumber is cut short by a barrage of sky rockets ripping through the air. The blasts are loud enough to wake to the dead, which in fact is exactly their purpose. They are being fired off at the nearby cemetery to announce the traditional sunrise Mass that will start shortly in remembrance of mothers who have passed on to greener fields.

While celebrated on the second Sunday in many other countries, Dia de las Madres here is locked into a fixed date – May 10. It’s not an official holiday on the nation’s civic or liturgical calendars, yet it probably rates as the most widely and fervently celebrated date of the year. 

Since 10 de Mayo so often falls on a weekday, everyday patterns of life are commonly disrupted. Most employers give working moms a day off from their jobs. Progeny blow off regular business to regale mamá with floral bouquets, gifts and family feasts. 

No one minds because it’s “la madre de todas las fiestas” and what counts is the genuine demonstration of love, respect and recognition for the pillar of the Mexican family.