Juan of Words

Project Give Back

At the age of 15, working for free in a homeless shelter for an entire week was not even within my radar of things to do.  Maybe that would have been different if I could have done it in place of school.  In fact, I know it would have. 

Katie and Alice are ninth graders at the Houston British School and they were lucky enough to skip a whole week’s worth of classroom instruction by volunteering at a place of business for one week.  They don’t get counted absent or reprimanded for not being in class.  Instead they are congratulated and tested on what they have learned in their real world work experiences.  

The British teens tell me this a tradition most schools in England adhere to!  Somehow, Take Your Child to Work Day is beginning to look like a rip off!

Anyhow, I digress.  These young ladies could have spent the week at the Houston Zoo, a law firm, the Mayor’s Office, or anywhere else…more uhm fun, but they didn’t.  They chose to work with the dozens of local homeless women and children who have been displaced in the fourth largest city in the United States, and who live at The Salvation Army’s shelter, Family Residence.  Very cool!

Hear from them why they chose this assignment:

No Todo Lo Que Brilla Es Oro

Not Everything That Shines Is Gold

Picture by Jerry Rodriguez

Or as folks in my neck of the woods would say no seas pendejo! Don’t be an idiot.  It may not be my place to say this, since I’ve only lived in the neighborhood for a few years, but in the little time I’ve called this place home, I have noticed that life in Denver Harbor (a.k.a. DH) moves to a different beat.

Nestled in the northeastern corner of Houston’s Interstate 610; I-10 East running smack through the middle of it; home to the Selena Quintanilla Perez Park; Denver Harbor is like the stepchild of the city’s up and coming chic inner loop metropolis.

A five-minute drive from downtown, but decades behind the rest of the inner loop.

No upscale living high rises have crept their way into this barrio. Rumors of violence and gangs have kept most non-natives away.  Homes here are small and functional, not large and impressive.  Trains passing by, don’t.  They stall and stagger, blocking roadways for as long as they please.  Resurrection Catholic Church’s pastor regularly scolds his parishioners directly and with little regard for their feelings.  Paleteros selling hot corn in a cup and ice cones are more reliable than the elected politicos, pushing their merchandise on their little bike carts all year round regardless of the season.  Small corner stores within walking distance are the nearest locations to get most things for the home.  The closest Wal-Mart is a good 20 minute drive down Interstate 10.

Yet those who live here seem to love it.  We like the convenience of having a taco stand at almost every corner, the low mortgage and rent payments, the freedom to grow whatever assortment of plants and tropical fruits on our properties as we wish, the way everyone seems to know who you are, or at least what street you live on.  To me it feels like Little Mexico, although my wife doesn’t like that analogy.  She was born and raised here.  There is just something about waking up on a Saturday morning to the sound of norteño music coming from somewhere down the street and the smell of fajitas sizzling on the grill that makes me feel at home.

Before living in Denver Harbor I had spent my life moving from place to place.  I was born in Houston, grew up in the Rio Grande Valley, spent my summers in Mexico, and moved from one side of Houston to the other, and then the other.

My memories are fond of each place that I’ve lived, but none of them inspired in me as much comfort as DH.

People here have grown used to struggling.  When trains block your path, you find another route to get to where you are going.  To make ends meet, many a matriarchs have spent years of their lives riding the 26 and 27 bus lines.  Immigration raids surge every couple of years.  You are expected to ask for help.  Bullshit is not an accepted form of communication.  If you have something to say, you say it, without any sugarcoating, regardless of how hard it may be for the other person to hear.  And if you have to raise your voice to get your point across you do so.

You stand up for yourself.  That is the unwritten rule in Denver Harbor.

In many ways it could be considered a slum or ghetto.  Hell the government will even pay you up to $45,000 to purchase a property in Denver Harbor right now, but for all its flaws it is one of the humblest places to live.  Humble in the sense that while it is not shiny and new, it is one of the few places where what you have is not nearly as important as who you are.

Todo lo que brilla no es oro.

Pig In The City

I had a pet pig as a kid.  Not the kind you tied ribbons around.  The kind you fattened up and ate.  How we came to own these animals I don’t know, but my brothers and I each had a pig in the wooden corral my father built.  After school we’d race over to their sty everyday to prod and poke those poor animals with whatever stick or tree limb we could find.  We’d argue about whose pig was the fattest and whose pig was the fastest-growing until we grew bored of their sluggish stares and gestures.  They were never too amused by our antics, and though we argued there was no denying my younger brother Junior’s pig was the fattest.

His real name is actually Moises like my father, but we took to calling him Junior instead.  It was easier and more pronounceable for our white friends.  Actually in those days Spanish was still the main language we spoke at home – that was before we figured out that if we just spoke English our parents couldn’t understand most of what we were saying – so we really called him Lluni.

Our pigs were light-complected; they were cream colored with white patches smeared across their round little bodies.  That’s when they weren’t covered in slimy mahogany-brown mud from head to toe.  Our darker pig came much later when we moved to the big city.  Joaquina was her name, and my mother had found her strolling through our suburban neighborhood in the north side of Houston one day.  I know many people consider Texas to be a huge countryside where farm animals roam freely, and while that may be true for some parts, in Houston owning a pet pig, especially one as large as Joaquina, is not the norm.  I’m sure our neighbors would have a lot to say about the months Joaquina spent in our backyard, even now.

We had fun with her anyway, and by that time we had learned that she was only around momentarily until she was big enough to sell or eat.  I was in high school.  My eldest sister had already gotten married and moved away.  My mother loved Joaquina and thought it was divine providence she had found her, after all how many pigs roam the streets of suburban neighborhoods.   Our earlier swine did not have names.  They were our entertainment, our toys.

That is until one day we awoke to find Lluni’s pig hanging upside down from the tree in our yard, her belly slit open, and her intestines lying beside her in a common gardening wagon.  We didn’t understand what was going on, why she had been punished.  Maybe my brothers did, but I was horrified at the sight of that poor animal hanging there, lifeless, being butchered into pieces.  Shortly after that, the two remaining pigs were loaded in the back of a pick up and taken into town.

We never saw them again, but my parents explained to us that the animals were serving a purpose.  Because of them we were getting to eat all assortments of fine meats prepared in different chili sauces, accompanied by homemade rice and pot boiled fresh beans.  More importantly, my parent’s had a few extra dollars in their pockets to see us through.

When Joaquina made her departure in the same way Junior’s pig had, there was no sadness in my heart.  I felt happy to have met her, to have made so many memories with her, and to be witnessing the end of her time with our family.

Todo Lo Que Vale Cuesta

Everything That’s Worth It Will Cost You

Someone recently asked my opinion of a long-term goal of theirs.  As usual, the words I wanted to say did not come out.  Instead, the response to escape my lips was the generic kind: of course you can, if you really put your mind to it.  Pondering the question more carefully, there are plenty more things to be said.

You know who you are.

My mother once told me that nothing in life is easy.  Unconvinced and full of ideas, at the ripe age of sixteen, my mind rejected this opinion.  I was the one who began working at the age of 12 selling newspapers outside of grocery stores, later perfumes to my brother in law and cousins.  I knew English.  I had just signed for my own used car lease.  I was the one that was graduating from high school that next year.  I was the one having adult sex as a teenager.  Who was she to tell me what I could not do in life?

For as long as I can remember my long term goal after high school was to find a job inside an office, away from the sun, with air conditioning, not at a restaurant or cleaning offices, that would pay me $10 an hour.  If I could achieve that goal I would have it made, or so I thought.  In my mind I was almost there.  The co-ed class I was taking allowed me to attend school in half-day intervals.  When everyone else was heading to lunch (suckers), I was heading out the door to make out with my girlfriend at her house or her parent’s warehouse, where we both worked.  I know now you can’t really call it work unless you’re actually working for longer than 40 minutes at a time.

I’d seen how my sisters struggled to get office jobs.  How my mother basically forced the eldest to apply everywhere, while she constantly reminded her she had a high school diploma and didn’t need to be cleaning offices or working at a restaurant.      She finally made her volunteer for the county for about a month before they hired her.  I’d been to Mr. Roof with my dad and felt the burn of the scorching sun on my skin.  Usually he’d feel sorry for me, though, and just leave me behind at the warehouse organizing tools and cleaning.  There was no air conditioning, but it beat working on roofs in the Texas sun.

Once when I woke up late and my dad had to drive me to school, he yelled at me the entire way there.  That was the first and only time I remember him cursing directly at me.  I can’t attest for the accuracy of my memory, but these are the words engraved in my mind:  What the hell is wrong with you?  Are you fucking stupid?  Stop fucking crying and get off the car.  I don’t want you fucking working in the sun.  You are not going to work in the fucking sun.  Leave that to people like me who didn’t have the chance to study! You think working in the sun is fun?  No.  It’s fucking hot.  That is where you are going to end up if you don’t get an education.  Get out of the car and go inside.  Now!!

Tears racing down my face, I jumped out of the car and made my way inside.

Four months before the end of my senior year, I achieved my career goal!  The local phone company hired me as a customer service representative to work in an air conditioned office making $11.45 an hour.  My excitement could not be contained.  I felt so accomplished and validated.  I had made it, and high school wasn’t even over yet!

That fall semester I signed up for a few college classes just because everyone else was, but in the back of my mind I knew my phone company job was paying me more than I would ever need.  I stopped going to class and didn’t even bother to drop my classes.  Waking up at eight in the morning was unnecessary for a professional.

Eventually, the honeymoon wore off.  At the age of 20, I found myself with a mortgage, a new car payment, a job that I hated, and nowhere else that I could go to earn $40K as a customer service representative.  I was stuck.  That’s when my father’s words that morning came back to me.  I was not working in the sun, but I was still in his same predicament.  I had to keep working for the sake of working.  Just to make ends meet.

My mother told me the other day that no matter how hard we try to forget our upbringing, we always find ourselves coming back to the values we were taught.  I truly believe those four years spent working full time and attending the University of Houston full time were a testament to what my parent’s taught me about hard work and dedication.  Looking back, I do not know where that energy came from that allowed me to function on four hours of sleep for so long.  But walking down that stage, wearing that cap and gown, and knowing that everything my parent’s had done for me had culminated in that moment is incomparable to anything else I’ve experienced.  The fact my sister Tina was walking in front of me was the icing on the cake.

I guess what I am saying is that life is hard, that nothing in life is easy, that todo lo que vale cuesta. But when you truly want something, you can achieve it.  Believe in what you want, and use the values and life lessons passed on to you, to make it happen.

Great Songs # 3

My first introduction to this song came by way of Nydia Rojas’ 1999 album Si Me Conocieras.  It was the only English song on the compilation, and quite frankly the best one out of all of them.  What I didn’t know was that millions of people before me had already fallen in love with this song since it was first used as an instrumental theme by Charlie Chaplin in 1936.  The first person to actually record the lyrics to this song was Nat King Cole in 1954.  Ironically, his daughter Natalie Cole also covered Smile on her 1991 album, Unforgettable…With Love.  Other major artists to have covered the song include Michael Jackson (1995), Eric Clapton (1974), Josh Groban (2006), Barbara Streisand, and Harry Conick, Jr., among many others.  In fact, Smile appeared on America’s music charts many times – #10 in 1954, #73 in 1959, #42 in 1961, #94 in 1962, and #42 in 1965.     

Smile is definitely still one of the most positive songs out there.

 Smile

Smile, though your heart is aching,
Smile, even though it’s breaking.
When there are clouds in the sky-
You’ll get by.
If you smile through your fear and sorrow,
Smile and maybe tomorrow
You’ll see the sun come shining through
For you.

Light up your face with gladness,
Hide ev’ry trace of sadness.
Although a tear may be ever so near,

That’s the time you must keep on trying,
Smile, what’s the use of crying?
You’ll find that life is still worthwhile,
If you just smile.

Amor Con Amor Se Paga

Love Is Reciprocated With Love

In matters of love there are many philosophies. 

Some believe it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.  Others prefer to be with someone that loves them more than they love them back, while many more prefer not to bother with this complicated emotion of the heart at all. 

Whatever your viewpoint on love you, can’t deny that when you are loved it feels good.

In our household, birthdays were always the greatest expression of this emotion.  My father and mother would serenade us with song, sometimes accompanied by his guitar.  Over the years, we all learned the lyrics to Las Mañanitas and we incorporated the English version, Happy Birthday, which always ended …with and many more from Channel 4 for some reason?  I think my older sisters are the culprits behind this tag on. 

As new family members have been born or added into the Alanis clan, we’ve continued the tradition of getting together, whenever possible, to celebrate every birthday.  We can’t all make it all the time, but knowing that people care enough to come together in honor of your birthday makes the day extra special.  In my own household this time honored tradition has not yet become quite the staple it was in my childhood, but I have an inkling that is getting ready to change. 

In this video we were celebrating one of my youngest sister’s birthdays -- Irma.  There was just something about watching my now gray-haired father singing this same song, listening to the deeper voices around the table, and watching the bewilderment in the eyes of our littlest ones that made me get all choked up.  We never know what tomorrow may bring or how long we’ll be able to continue this tradition, so while you can, enjoy love.  Embrace it; reciprocate it; don’t let stubbornness and pettiness rob you of it.

Great Songs # 2

Originally released in 2001 as track number five on Lila Downs’ Border/La Linea album, this poetry of song was written by Lila herself and Mr. Paul Cohen of BMI Records.  The song La Niña (The Young Girl) was dedicated to the maquiladora workers of Mexico by its authors. It went on appear as one of the title tracks for the movie Real Women Have Curves starring America Ferrera, of Ugly Betty fame, and Lupe Ontiveros, Selena the movie and Desperate Housewives, in 2002.

The lyrics are simple and poignant, and there is one scene in the movie with Lupe Ontiveros and this song that always makes me want to tear up.

I’ve translated the song from its original Spanish to English in my own words, since I did not really agree with the Label’s translated version.

The Young Girl

From early morning, the young girl prays,
So that her day won’t be so long
And with the light of dawn,
She organizes her errands,
She closes her eyes to not see,
That in the mirror she is noticing
That her work is wearing her out
And it’s because her Saint is resting
All of the days, All of the hours,
In that lather of her sadness,
Nails and meat, sweat and effort,
All of her willpower, all of her dreams,
Are being left behind in her memories,
In the memory of her desires

Oh long haired sad face, Rosa Maria
Searching you spend your days and nights for a way out
That one Sunday will change your hell for happiness.

The sweatshop will one day only be a memory
And the harvest your own fruit will be one day,
Will be one day.

That your bosses will repent one day,
And that humility will become pride one day
And that you will be the same as everyone else one day,
Will be one day.

Great Songs # 1

So I’ve always been a huge fan of great lyrics.  Notice I said great lyrics and not music or singers, although who can resist the likes of Amy Winehouse, Mariah Carey, Whitney, and yeah even some of Beyonce’s body of work.  My taste in singers has always leaned more towards feminine vocals.            There is just something about the female’s ability to harmonize that mesmerizes me.

Anyhow, I digress.  In this new series of posts I’m going to share some of the lyrics and videos (when available) of the songs that have moved me with their words.  The first is Kelly Clarkson’s latest single: Already Gone. Since I first heard this song it has just been stuck in my head…so here’s to hoping this post will cure that!

Credited to Clarkson, Kelly Brianne, Tedder and Ryan, this song speaks to the universal emotion of love gone wrong.  Great lyrics include I want you to know that it doesn’t matter/Where we take this road someone’s gotta go/ And I want you to know you couldn’t have loved me better/But I want you to move on so I’m already gone. Are you kidding me?  If you’re going through a tough breakup or reminiscing about a lost love, this is the perfect song for you.  Even better than that, the words are just so real and raw.

Here are the full lyrics and video. Enjoy!

Already Gone lyrics
Songwriters: Clarkson, Kelly Brianne; Tedder, Ryan;

Remember all the things we wanted
Now all our memories they’re haunted
We were always meant to say goodbye

Even with our fists held high
It never would’ve worked out right
We were never meant for do or die

I didn’t want us to burn out
I didn’t come here to hold you, now I can’t stop

I want you to know that it doesn’t matter
Where we take this road someone’s gotta go
And I want you to know you couldn’t have loved me better
But I want you to move on so I’m already gone

Looking at you makes it harder
But I know that you’ll find another
That doesn’t always make you want to cry

Started with a perfect kiss then we could feel the poison set in
Perfect couldn’t keep this love alive
You know that I love you so, I love you enough to let you go

I want you to know that it doesn’t matter
Where we take this road someone’s gotta go
And I want you to know you couldn’t have loved me better
But I want you to move on so I’m already gone

I’m already gone, already gone
You can’t make it feel right when you know that it’s wrong
I’m already gone, already gone
There’s no moving on so I’m already gone

Already gone, already gone, already gone
Already gone, already gone, already gone, yeah

Remember all the things we wanted
Now all our memories they’re haunted
We were always meant to say goodbye

I want you to know that it doesn’t matter
Where we take this road someone’s gotta go
And I want you to know you couldn’t have loved me better
But I want you to move on so I’m already gone

I’m already gone, already gone
You can’t make it feel right when you know that it’s wrong
I’m already gone, already gone
There’s no moving on so I’m already gone

Cada Uno Sabe Donde Le Aprieta El Zapato

Every Person Knows Where Their Own Shoe Tightens  

Alright, if you’re reading this translation and thinking “what?” allow me to elaborate.  Meeting people is a natural part of life – obviously – and, fortunately or unfortunately, you can’t really avoid the act of socializing.  Sure some of us prefer it less than others, and depending on our mood on any given day we may be better adept at different times to put up with people.  That said, another popular saying closely related to this dicho is you never get a second chance to make a first impression.

Hermano: My Brother

My earliest childhood recollection is of the sun.  It’s warmth wrapped around me like a blanket, melting down my back, caressing me tenderly, from head to toe, in a way that made me feel so comfortable and relaxed.  I couldn’t have been more than four years old because I remember lying there waiting for my older brother to come home from school.  He is one year older than me and had started kindergarten that year.         The sofa where I lay was coffee brown with caramel-colored flowers and blue or green leaves scattered throughout and it was positioned smack in front of a long, slender window in our living room for which my mother had sewn sheer yellow curtains that now only add allure to the memory of that day.  I could hear the clutter of my mother in the kitchen moving about as she took plates to water, spoons to pots, plates to plates, and yet I vividly remember being paralyzed by the euphoric state of comfort I was in, halfway between sleep and being awake.  The sound of the beat-up old yellow school bus finally awoke me and when I lazily knelt on the sofa to gaze out the window my brother was walking down the long dirt road in front of our house.  He couldn’t see me, but I could see him; slowly becoming more visible as he approached our modest little one bedroom home in the southern most corner of Texas just across the Rio Grande River in Edingburg.

Image obtained from http://www.dualbo.com/