The Confessional

In which we learn about the past musical indiscretions of Elena's three children.


AN: For those of you who are unaware, the family tree that was published in the novelization was put together by a third party, not by the film staff or writers. And there is a mistake on it: Gloria and Carmen's names are switched. Gloria is supposed to be listed as Berto's wife, while Carmen is supposed to be listed as one of Elena and Franco's children. Lee Unkrich and Adrian Molina have both pointed to and named each family member, so we know which character is which. And we know that the one they refer to as Gloria is Berto's wife because she was present in the original design for the family, is the only one of the tías seen interacting with Berto's children, is always holding the twins' hands (or just Benny's in the original design), and is stated in a bonus feature to be Luisa's sister (and if you draw the two side by side, their shared features become obvious). Meanwhile, latecomer Carmen (who was added to the family around the same time as Manny) is very clearly designed to be Elena and Franco's daughter. She looks very much like Elena and has several of Franco's features as well (including his cowlick). Not once do we see her interacting with any of the kids, even in the promo materials. These simple facts make it perfectly clear that Gloria is not a Rivera by blood; Carmen is. So in my fics, as well as in my fan art henceforth, I will refer to Gloria as Berto's wife and Luisa's sister, and to Carmen as Elena and Franco's daughter, and Berto and Enrique's sister.

Also, please note that my knowledge of how a Catholic confession works comes entirely from watching M*A*S*H and Leverage.


Padre Ignacio was used to having children come to confession, and they tended to be some of his favorite cases. The sins they confessed were the epitome of childhood innocence, and more than once he'd had to assure them that theirs wasn't a crime unless they intended it to be in their hearts. Oh, to be sure, there were actual sins involved; a boy accidentally broke his mamá's vase with his fútbol and then tried to cover it up, or a girl made fun of another girl in school because of her clothes or some such thing. But then there were the cases of, "I burned the pan dulce accidentally, and Abuelita was sad," or, "I had a really bad stomach ache at school, and I threw up on the teacher when he asked me what was wrong." He love hearing the relief and joy in the children's voices when he assured them that these things weren't in and of themselves sins, and if they had already apologized and tried to make it right, they had already absolved themselves.

Not to mention most of the kids who sat opposite the panel from him in the confessional were just so darn adorable.

There were some kids who routinely attended confession, often because their mothers gave them no choice but to regularly attend mass and make use of the padre's legendary patience and wisdom in seeking forgiveness for the sins they'd apparently accumulated during the week. And then there were some kids that Ignacio didn't see often because their parents were so strict as to prevent their little "angels" from ever needing the confessional—and said children knew the wrath that would befall them at home if it was discovered they'd had to make their way to the church between services for any reason.

Ignacio wasn't entirely sure where Elena Rivera fell on that spectrum. All he knew was that the boy squirming in the seat on the other side of the panel now was one he hadn't seen here before, though he was a familiar face in the early, music-free Sunday mass.

Berto was about eight years old, chubby, and seemed to love fútbol as much as the next boy in Santa Cecilia. Ignacio initially guessed the boy was about to confess the common crime of breaking some precious item belonging to his mamá, or perhaps a window. Ignacio prepared his usual speech assuring the child that accidents happen, that it's important to take responsibility for them when they are one's fault, and that one should never lie about them. But what he got was an entirely unexpected confession.

As he took his seat on his side of the confessional, he slid back the panel, leaving just a dark screen between himself and his young parishioner. "Blessings, my son," he began. "What have you come to confess to me today?"

Berto didn't seem to relax any. He remained quiet for a moment, though he was still audibly fidgeting in his seat. Ignacio was about to repeat himself when Berto took a deep breath and began his confession.

"Bless me, padre, for I have sinned. It has been...actually, I don't think I've ever been here before. So...eight years, five months and ten days since my last confession? Or...maybe eight years, four months and ten days since my baptism? I-I don't know. Does a baptism count as a confession? Mamá said I was a month old, but I don't remember, so..."

"My son, you're rambling," Ignacio said gently, stifling a chuckle. This wasn't an uncommon opening for children. "You don't have to recite anything perfectly. Remember, the Lord sees the heart."

Berto seemed to tense at that. Apparently that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Ignacio guessed that this would be another case of inward rebellion.

"Please, continue," the priest bade him. After a moment, Berto obeyed.

"It was all Javi's idea. We were playing fútbol after school, me and two of my friends, when Javi and two of the other older boys came and started picking on us. They tried to take the ball away even though it was Alejandro's ball that he'd just gotten for his birthday. We tried to stop them, and Javi said we could have the ball back if we could beat them in a fútbol game. So I said, 'It's already our ball, so that's not good enough. What else do we get? I say you give us the ball back and buy us helado.' And my friends agreed. So then Javi said, 'Well, if we win, we get to keep your ball, and you have to give us free cleats, zapatero.' And I said, 'You're on!' Even though I knew Mamá would probably never agree to make free cleats, I could try to make them in secret, maybe, even though I've never made shoes before."

Berto paused his narrative to catch his breath. Ignacio waited patiently for him to continue, figuring this story would end with Berto trying and failing terribly at making shoes, and in the process wasting shop resources or damaging one of the business' machines.

"So then we started playing," Berto continued. "And we lost, really badly. So we lost the ball, and I owed Javi a new pair of cleats. But I told him that I couldn't do it. Mamá would never give them away, and it would be a long time before I could save up money to buy cleats from her. So I told Javi that he would have to wait. But he didn't want to wait. So he told me that I had to do something else for him. He said I had to come to his house and clean his room. I figured that was fair, so I did. When I got there, he had a lot of records. He said he was going to sit on his bed and listen to his records while I sorted them. I told him I wasn't allowed to listen to music. He laughed at me and said, 'You must be a baby if you're scared of a little rock n' roll.' And I said, 'I'm not scared of music, I'm scared of Mamá's chancla.' And he laughed even harder and kept calling me a baby who always did everything my mamá told me to do. I yelled at him to stop teasing and said, 'I'm not scared of her, and I'm not a baby!' So he said, 'Prove it. Put on that record.' So I did, and he got mad because I didn't know how to set the needle, and he had to set it again, and when it started playing, I..."

The pause in Berto's story was followed by more shuffling in his seat. "Go on," Ignacio gently coaxed.

"Well...I liked it. It was some crazy stuff, and by the end of the night, both of us were singing along to Javi's records. He had some from that Ernesto hombre, and even some from America. And even though I didn't know the words very well, especially the ones in English, and Javi said I was a terrible singer, we still had a lot of fun, and I wanted to go back. And I did. And now, for the past month or so, I've been sneaking to Javi's house to listen to Ernesto and Elvis and some other music."

Berto ended his story and sat in uncomfortable silence. Ignacio waited for him to continue, and when he didn't, the priest was confused.

"So you are confessing to...listening to music?"

"Sí, padre," the boy said glumly.

Ignacio was at a loss for words. He fumbled for something to say for a moment, when suddenly it dawned on him who he was speaking to. Everyone knew well the ban the Riveras had on music, and that they didn't attend later masses because of it. But Ignacio never would've imagined that the music ban extended to any and all activity outside the home, even when the children weren't being supervised.

He sighed, then prepared his absolution speech.

"My son, as I understand it, what you are confessing to is an act of defiance of your mamá's most important rule in your family."

"Sí, padre."

"Well, as I said, the Lord looks at the heart. Rid yourself of the rebellion in your heart. Children are to honor their father and mother, even if they don't understand their rules. Perhaps one day the rule against music will change..."

Berto snorted. "Yeah right, that won't happen in a million years!"

"But..." Ignacio continued, "you still need to honor your mamá in everything you do, and that includes following her teachings even when you're not at home. That's the only way to get her to change her mind on a rule you believe is unfair. You must exercise respect. Do you understand, my son?"

"Sí, padre," Berto confirmed for a third time.

"Now, go in peace." Ignacio gave his blessing in Latin, as usual, and Berto hopped down from the confessional seat.

"Gracias, padre. I will try to always honor my mamá and papá."

Ignacio smiled. Berto was always a very dutiful son, as could be expected of a firstborn. He would certainly take today's lesson to heart.

As for Ignacio, he'd have to put this one on the list of most peculiar confessions he'd ever heard.


Teenagers were a common sight in the confessional booth, and many of their sins related to discovering their sexuality for the first time. Ignacio was certain he'd heard it all, and he would mentally flip a coin to bet on whether a teen in the confessional wanted absolution for sneaking to a girlfriend or boyfriend's house, or whether there would be some other act of rebellion involved.

When he recognized the soft voice of Carmen Rivera on the other side of the screen, he knew it would very likely be the latter, but didn't entirely rule out the former. The 15-year-old girl was quite shy, and didn't seem to be attached to a boy at all. Nonetheless, Ignacio knew from experience that one should always be wary of the quiet ones.

He need not have worried. Carmen might as well be a novice in the abbey. Today, she was here to confess to something else.

"Bless me, padre, for I have sinned. It has been about four years since my last confession."

Ignacio had to wrack his brain for that memory, but he finally found it; a trembling 11-year-old confessing to taping shut the mouth of her then-four-year-old brother, whom she'd said was driving her crazy with his constant noise making. It seemed that little Enrique fancied himself a professional animal impersonator at that age, much to his quiet-loving sister's chagrin. Carmen had felt just awful about it afterward, and seemed to be very comforted by the advice and assurances Ignacio had given her.

Ignacio nodded, acknowledging that he'd heard the girl's opening. Carmen gave a shaky sigh and continued.

"One of the most popular girls in school had her quinceañera recently, and everybody who was anybody wanted to be there. Even though I'm not really a big fan of parties, my friends convinced me that I had to go; that I couldn't be shy forever, and that this was the perfect opportunity to come out of my shell. But the girl who was having the party was the daughter of a mariachi. So I knew there would be even more music than usual there. But all of my friends were going; Gloria, Ana Maria, Lucha...all of them. So...I decided they were right; I couldn't be shy my whole life. So the night of the party, I pretended to go to bed early. I dressed up as best I knew how, and I snuck out. And...while I liked the music and all, especially since we never listen to it normally, I didn't much like the party. Most of my friends were hanging out with other people, and I felt really out of place. On top of that, I realized that Gloria wasn't there, and the reason she wasn't was because she'd decided to go out on a date instead. With my brother, of all people. She wanted me to go to that party so bad, then ditched me for my brother. At least, that's what it felt like to me. So I went home and got back into the house okay, and sort of just...cried myself to sleep. I was pretty much over it by the next day, but...I just felt like I needed to come here."

"Sneaking out for a party" was not an unusual confession for Ignacio to hear, and he was always relieved to know that the rebellious teen in question had come away from that situation unharmed and with all dignities still intact. Still, it was a bit surprising to hear this sort of confession from the shy Rivera girl. Though the musical aspect was a bit less surprising after hearing Berto's confession years before.

"My child," he said, "many young people find themselves in situations of tremendous peer pressure, and often they find that giving into that pressure is unrewarding. They also frequently learn that the peers who pressured them are no more daring or courageous than they are. It's likely that your friends didn't intend to put such pressure on you to attend, and I'm certain that Gloria had no idea that changing her own mind about the party in favor of your brother could possibly hurt you. Every young person wants to be liked by their peers, and some will go to dangerous lengths to achieve such a goal. They are afraid of rejection. But if you stand firm on your values, even in the face of rejection, you will find that in the long run, you are more accepted and respected, because you are seen as brave."

"But padre, I'm so shy," Carmen protested, quietly of course. "I'm not brave at all."

"My child, bravery doesn't require being brash and outgoing. Some of the bravest people I know are actually very shy. As for sneaking out for parties, I have complete confidence that you won't be repeating that mistake."

"No, padre."

"Then you are absolved already, my child. Go in peace." He gave the teen his benediction.

"Gracias, padre," Carmen said as she left the booth, a smile evident in her voice.


As the elder two of the Rivera children approached adulthood, Ignacio saw more of them in the confessional, bringing routine concerns and sounding almost bored, as though they were required to come. Carmen always enjoyed hearing the padre's advice that was given in response to her brief, quiet confessions, but Berto was in danger of becoming as detached from the whole concept of confession as his papá. It was pretty clear that Franco and the kids only went to regular confession because Elena insisted on it. Elena herself was a routine attendee, and most of her sins had to do with losing her temper, though she apparently never truly regretted threatening errant musicians with the chancla when they strayed too close to her home with their melodies. The youngest members of the family, it seemed, were exempt from the confession requirement. So it was just a bit of a surprise when Enrique, who currently held that title, showed up in the booth.

Ignacio was familiar enough with the Riveras by this point that he was certain the ten-year-old's first confession would have something to do with music. He was not disappointed.

"Good morning, my son," Ignacio greeted as usual. The boy on the other side of the screen remained silent. "Do you seek absolution from the Lord?" the priest prompted.

A deep, sharp breath was all the warning Ignacio got before Enrique launched full-throttle into his confession.

"Bless me, padre for I have sinned, I have never been to confession before and I'm sorry I never have and I'll try to do better I promise and I just want to stop feeling so bad about watching that movie at Andrés' house and..."

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, my son! I'm having a hard time following you. Let's take it one step at a time, okay?"

Enrique clamped his mouth shut and nodded.

"Alright, then. First of all, don't worry about this being your first time here. You're young; don't feel like you're required to come every day, or even every week. Just when you need to, alright?"

The boy nodded again.

"Now, what's this about a movie?"

"Well..." Enrique began. And suddenly he was off again. "I was over at Andrés' house and he wanted to watch a movie, and I said sure, why not, and he said he wanted to watch a new movie that he got on video and it was 'Los Tres Caballeros,' and he said there was a lot of singing in it, and he asked me if it was okay with my mamá that there was lots of singing, and I really didn't want to watch the movie with the volume all the way down like Mamá has us turn ours down when there's going to be music because Andrés' tele doesn't have captions, so I lied and told him that it was perfectly okay with Mamá if I watch movies at friends' houses with music as long as I don't sing at home, even though Mamá doesn't want us listening to music at all no matter where we are. (gasp) So Andrés put in the movie and we watched it, and we both really loved the movie, like a whole awful lot, and our favorite character is the rooster—his name is Panchito Pistoles—because he's really funny and he's from Mexico, and the other two are from America and Brazil, so it's nice having someone made by Disney who's from Mexico, and we watched it, like, three times in a row, and by the time I had to go home, we knew all of the songs, and I was singing them while walking home and I almost kept singing them when I got home, and now whenever Andrés and I hang out together, we secretly sing the songs when we're sure my brother and sister can't hear us."

Enrique gave another large gasp as he finished his flurry of a tale.

Ignacio's head spun as he tried to pick all the relevant bits of information out of the story. Something about lying to a friend about the family's strict music ban, and some kind of Mexican rooster who was friends with an American and a Brazilian. Apparently it was a Disney film. Ignacio didn't concern himself much with the Disney brand, so the film was unfamiliar to him. He assumed it was a cartoon. As he processed all this, Enrique sat utterly silent, as if awaiting his judgment. Ignacio quietly cleared his throat and prepared his best, most gentle answer.

"So...your friend wanted to watch a movie with a lot of songs in it?"

"Sí, padre."

"And you lied to him about your family's rules?"

"Sí."

"My son, I believe you know exactly where you went wrong here."

Enrique didn't respond, but Ignacio watched his silhouette slump.

"The best course of action here is to be honest with your friend. Let him know that from here on out, you are not, in fact, permitted music at a friend's house, as you wish to honor your family's rules. Confusing though they may be. We don't always understand our parents' rules, but it's important to respect them as best we can. And that most certainly includes not lying to friends about what those rules are. It may be easier in the future for your friend to pressure you into violating your family's rules a second time. You need to be prepared now to explain to him that you made a mistake before, you're sorry you lied to him, and that you wish to honor your family from here on out. Do you understand?"

"Sí, padre."

The response was quiet, not unlike his sister. But the priest heard it well enough and knew it was sincere.

"Excellent. Then go in peace, my son." Ignacio bestowed the benediction and dismissed the boy, who was off like a shot the moment he left the confessional.


Decades passed, and a new generation of Riveras began to attain adulthood. Ignacio watched over his parish, noting what changed and what stayed the same. Things mostly stayed the same, and he preferred it that way. But one year, sometime after Dia de los Muertos, the entire town was in upheaval over the apparent crimes of their favorite idol, Ernesto de la Cruz. And the source of that upheaval was altogether entirely unexpected. Miguel Rivera, son of Elena and Franco's youngest, had discovered that his great-great-grandfather was the true author of de la Cruz's songs, and as a result of this discovery, music had apparently returned to the Rivera household.

Ignacio was the first outside the family to learn this, apparently, as on the Sunday following Dia de los Muertos, the family missed the early, music-free mass (that, he'd discovered in the years since Berto's odd confession, had actually been set up at the behest of Imelda Rivera, who had instituted the music ban), and had instead shown up at the more traditional mass, bringing along their ailing matron, Señora Coco Rivera, the town's oldest denizen. Their presence there had shocked the priest, who decided he was much too old now for such surprises. He watched in awe as the music seemed to revitalize Coco, her face lighting up as she attempted to hum along. She turned to her great-grandson more than once and asked him if he might like to be a choir boy; his voice was apparently very good. Miguel laughed it off and told her that for the time being, he only wanted to sing for his family.

After the service, Ignacio couldn't resist stopping the Riveras and asking them what had happened.

"I was, understandably, very surprised to see you at this particular service," he admitted. "You've...suddenly begun to allow music?"

"We're trying it out a bit," Elena said. "In church first, and Miguel can only play or sing for his Mamá Coco, because it helps her remember."

"But things are definitely getting better," Miguel said excitedly. "I promised that I would never, ever, ever let music become more important than family, and in return, Papá promised to help me find out more about my great-great-grandfather. We found out that he tried to come home, but he died before he could, and that's why he didn't come back. We also found out..."

"Whoa, mijo, let's not discuss the whole situation just yet," Enrique warned. "We don't know anything for certain right now. We still have to do our research."

"Sí, Papá," Miguel said. "Sorry. I'm just...really excited."

He certainly must've been, judging by the ear to ear grin he wore. Ignacio found it to be contagious, and he smiled back at the boy. He studied the family for a moment, recalling the first time each of Elena's children found their way into his confessional.

"So I take it I won't be taking similar confessions from any of the kids to the ones I got from their fathers and tía at their ages?" the padre goaded, pointing at each of the offending Riveras in turn.

Elena scowled and turned to her offspring, who all suddenly found their handmade shoes to be very fascinating. "What confessions?" she said, her voice low, sounding almost like a growl.

"Now, Mamá, you know about the sanctity of the confessional," Berto said with a nervous chuckle.

"And it was so long ago," Carmen added. "I don't even really remember what happened."

That was a lie, and Ignacio could tell. He was sure to see her in the confessional booth soon.

Enrique rubbed the back of his neck. "We were kids. We didn't know any better."

"Know any better about what?" Elena prodded, fists on her hips.

The rest of the family watched the exchange, breath collectively held, waiting for the response. The trio of siblings looked at each other nervously, but said nothing.

"Mijos?" Elena said, her voice clear that this was their last warning.

"Oh, look at the time!" Berto said suddenly, glancing at his wrist. "I need to work on repairing one of the machines today, plus there are the twins to feed and put down for their nap. I really need to get back to the shop."

With that, he turned and began jogging back toward the zapatería.

"Berto, wait!" Enrique cried, taking off after him. "You'll need help with that machine! The one you're talking about! I know exactly which one!"

"I'll get lunch ready!" Carmen volunteered, chasing after her brothers.

This did not please Elena. She swept her sandal off her foot and charged after them.

"You kids get back here right now! Mijos! None of you are too big to take over my knee! I want the truth and I want it now!"

As her voice faded into the distance, blocked largely by buildings and trees, the rest of the family and their priest let out the laughter they'd been suppressing. Even Mamá Coco chuckled. Miguel was clutching his ribs and howling with laughter, nearly doubled over from it.

"Well, padre, I think you'll need to upgrade your confessional to accommodate three people at a time," Franco said as he caught his own breath.

"I think you're right," Ignacio said, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. "In the meantime, I'll get my stole ready. And prepare a hellfire and brimstone speech that's just to their mamá's liking—sprinkled with a touch of my signature mercy."

"Please do," Franco chuckled. "They'll need all the mercy they can get."