Font ResizeHer father lost his warehouse job. Her mother still had work assembling parts in a medical factory in Milpitas, but she was depleting cash in the hour-plus commute. The mortgage on their Brentwood house was becoming harder to afford, and families around them were losing homes and livelihoods.
It was time for a talk.
"Everybody knew that ever since I was little, I always wanted one," said the teenager, speaking of the Latin American coming-of-age celebration that marks a girl's 15th year. "I always had little details in my mind of what I wanted to do."
Maybe she would prefer a car instead, her parents suggested.
"You only turn 15 once," Kimberly said. "You can always get a car later."
Maybe she could hold off on the party until later.
"They said, 'We could try to have it, but it's bad timing right now,'" Kimberly recalls. "My mom said, 'If it doesn't happen this year, it's going to happen next year.'"
The Heritage High School student got the point. "I didn't really argue," she said. She waited it out.
A year ago this week, Kimberly turned 15 with little fanfare -- certainly nothing to compare to the extravagant quinceanera her sister Leslie, 18, celebrated a few years earlier.
"We know, in this time, it's not the time to ask for good stuff -- whatever's easy for us, she said it's OK," said her
Yet six months later, as spring arrived, the economy was looking as dismal as ever and the family's chance of hosting a party appeared less probable. Her dad was unable to find a new job.
He was determined, however, to give his daughter her quince before she reached 16.
"She deserves it," he said. "She's very good in school, and I think she deserves it. That's why we do it."
Quinceaneras happen weekly at Immaculate Heart of Mary Church, a bright and airy Catholic church that opened five years ago with stained glass windows depicting the fields of suburban Brentwood's rural past.
"They still come here with a big dress," said church volunteer Emilia Galvan, who organizes quince services almost every weekend. "They're still the same, the same big ol' party."
Foreclosures have ravaged Brentwood, and Latino families have been hard hit by the loss of local jobs. Some have scaled back on quinceaneras, but Galvan said the tradition has persevered.
There were dozens of Mexican-American families, but also Salvadorans and other Latinos, who celebrated lavish quinces at the church this year, she said. One girl recently came looking like a "china poblana," dressed in a vintage-style gown of multicolored embroidery. Another family pulled out all the stops in a charro, or cowboy, style -- complete with horses and a mariachi band outside.
Galvan never had a quinceanera herself, so the organizer celebrates them vicariously. Her daughter, 7-year-old Brianna, cheerfully tags along, helping out and not-so-secretly planning her own for 2017. Galvan said her own parents could not afford a party after moving here from Mexico when she was 12.
So when Kimberly Sanchez arrived for her long-awaited quinceanera Mass this month, Galvan recognized in the U.S.-born teen a kindred spirit -- someone who truly appreciated what she was about to go through.
"Some cry, some are really, 'Whatever,'" said Galvan, imitating a sulking teenager. "But she really paid attention. She really listened to what the priest said, listened to the readings."
After a church service, the teen in the flowing white dress lifted herself into a hulking GMC Denali limousine, accompanied by eight tuxedoed chambelanes, or men of honor.
"Since my oldest cousin had a quince, I know she's always wanted one, and ever since my sister had hers, she's wanted it even more," said her beaming 21-year-old brother, Frank. "It's one of those moments you know she's not a kid anymore. She's grown up now."
The perks of Kimberly Sanchez's quinceanera -- the limo ride with a booming hip-hop soundtrack, the dress, the dance instructor, the decorations, the live band and the butcher who sliced mounds of birria for hundreds of guests at an evening reception in Pittsburg -- did not come from any newfound wealth that dropped upon the Sanchez family this year.
Rather, family members credit the combined generosity of the padrinos -- godparents and extended family who, according to tradition, are charged with helping to raise a girl.
Every quinceanera has its padrinos, who are celebrated with their own dance, and this one had a lot of them. Of the close to $20,000 it cost to host the event, the family estimates, the padrinos contributed at least half.
"We can't ask people for too much, because people are losing their jobs," Kimberly said. "So we thought it would be better to have more people giving what they can."
As her parents negotiated arrangements, Kimberly focused her attention on perfecting her coming-out waltz. Carly Longden, 16, said her bubbly and meticulously organized best friend was obsessed. A few chambelanes were kicked off the court of honor for goofing off at practice.
Neighbors also noticed something brewing when the music of Dmitri Shostakovich began emanating from the Sanchez family garage three evenings a week. The teen and her entourage sometimes moved out to the cul-de-sac, stepping around each other in graceful patterns of one-two-three.
"She likes to be unique," said sister Leslie. "She wanted to do something people had never seen before."
On her big night, Kimberly Sanchez and her crew walked outside the reception hall and huddled in a circle. "This is it," one of the men said. They prayed, promised not to drop her and walked out to applause.
"I kept having to look down and seeing I was the one in the big dress. It's my party," she said. "I never really imagined all these people would come out and do this for me."
