Juan of Words

¡Ey! Pórtate Bien, Haz Caso, y Ya No Estés Llorando

Hey!  Behave, Pay Attention, and Stop Crying

Courtesy of El Emilio publication

From across the room, it didn’t matter how far away we were, or where we were, most of the time, all my parents had to do was give us that look.   Without any words, it meant so many things.  A warning basically, letting us know that if we didn’t stop now, we were going to get it later.  My dad was especially scary with his boisterous tone.  My mother, more calm and collected, that is until her nerves got the better of her.  Then nobody within earshot was safe!

In all honesty, they weren’t quite that bad, although I will say, all seven of us did get our fair share of cintarazos over the years – some more than others, yes – and in the end their advertencias now are what you’ll hear filling the air, from every direction, at grandma and grandpa’s whenever all of us get together for anything.  Their scolds perhaps, part of our herencia.

These are just a few of the ones I use all of the time:

• ¡Si no tienes para todos mejor ni lo saques! - If you don’t have enough for everyone, don’t even bring that out!
• ¡Si no comes lo que hay es que no tienes hambre!  – If you don’t eat what there is, then you’re not hungry!
• ¡Horita vas a ver cuando lleguemos a la casa!  – You’re going to get it when we get home!
• ¡No salgas afuera así, te acabas de bañar!  – Don’t go outside like that, you just took a bath!
• ¡Vale más que ya no estés llorando!  – You better stop crying!
• ¡Entiende!  – Understand what I’m telling you!
• ¡Te estoy viendo¡ – I’m watching you!
• ¡Haz caso!  – Pay attention!
• ¡Pórtate bien!  – Behave!
• ¡Ya párale!  – Stop it!
• ¡Ey!  – Hey!**

**My dad’s personal favorite, I think because of its short and swift delivery.  We’d feel ourselves shivering every time that ‘Ey’ would come torpedoing in our direction.

Ya Que Estamos En El Baile, Bailemos! – Guest Post

Since We Are At The Dance, Let’s Dance

Bailando, siempre, Sra. López

by Tracy López
Our first school dance –  How our already fast beating hearts beat faster once there!  Colored lights swam in the darkness, paper streamers decorated the walls of the gym in swooping scallops, limp balloons drooped from basketball hoops.  The heavy scent of too much cologne, mostly Drakkar Noir, hung in the air and the music already thumped for an empty dance floor.

The boys shoved their hands deep in their pockets, tried to look casual, checked their slicked back hair with careful fingers and stood against the wall.  The girls, squealing the way girls do, admired each other’s dresses and elaborate up-do’s at the opposite side of the gym.

We cast nervous glances in each other’s direction, afraid of being rejected, afraid of being laughed at, afraid of what might happen. It took a few songs, but eventually, slowly, most of us decided we had made it this far, we might as well dance.  This familiar feeling will come back to us many times through life – in relationships, in our work, even in the things we do for pleasure.  We start things, and then hesitate, unsure of whether we should continue. Sometimes this indecision is valuable and saves us from making big mistakes – other times, it only serves to hold us back from reaching our full potential and from enjoying all of what life has to offer us.

I remember when my husband, Carlos, was only my boyfriend – early in our very short courtship, I had doubts.  He had done nothing wrong but things had moved too quickly and his certainty about us being destined for each other made me uncomfortable.  In a deserted parking lot one night I gave him the “maybe we should just be friends” speech.  He begged me to reconsider, with tears no less.  Lágrimas?  Para mí?  Pero… ¿qué es esto? No one had ever cried for me before!

Despite my doubts, I gave him another chance.  More than 12 years later my heart hurts a little when I imagine what could have happened.  What if Carlos had decided to be macho and let me go?  Maybe I wouldn’t have known what I had lost, but I do now.

It isn’t always easy to make decisions, and though some may see it as a little reckless, I think that sometimes the right answer is ¿por qué no? Go for it, seize the day, see what happens.  We’re at the dance, so dance, pues!  You’ll never know what could have been if you don’t give it a chance.

About the Author: Tracy López is a writer living outside the DC Metro area with her husband, children and Suegra. You can visit her blog, Latina-ish.com or follow her on Twitter: @latinaish.

Cachetadas De Telenovela And Other Important Life Lessons

The classic 'Betty la Fea'

It always starts the same.  The hook always gets me.  Sooner or later I’m rushing home, driving through traffic like crazy, putting off phone calls, avoiding any and all work around the house, for one hour, every single night of the week, all for the sake of watching the onscreen drama unfolding  in my latest telenovela of choice.  Be it a comedy, a drama, a dramedy, a period piece, a satire, or anything else, once my interest is peaked there’s no turning back.

Of late, my addiction to these mockumentaries of real life has become so severe that I’m actually ‘conclusion hunting,’ whereby I watch the ending of telenovela despite never having watched another single episode of it before, simply to see ‘how everyone and everything ends up.’

The finality comforts me.  Like telling me that no matter what goes wrong in my own life sooner or later good will always triumph over evil, problems will always work themselves out, and bad people will always, always get what’s coming to them.  It’s a nice fantasy anyway, not that I’m naïve enough to believe it all – hopeful, yes.  Still, to be completely honest, the likes of Veronica Castro, Lucero, Thalia, Aracely Arambula, Edith Gonzalez, and many other luminaries of the small screen, with their personajes and historietas, have taught me so much about life.

Some of the most fanciful and amusing points: a.) one should always be weary of the mother in law, especially if her social economic status is much higher than ours, because behind all of those smiles and niceties she’s always plotting a way to separate her child from us; b.) that poor equals good and rich equals bad – Rosa Salvaje, need I say more; c.) that before the big happy wedding, which everyone else’s lives revolve around, will come a huge falling out between the bride and groom, something so huge that will make both parties take on entirely different personalities for a short while, or at the very least culminate in the ugly-to-beautiful transformation of the bride…

d.) That a jealous third party will go to the most extreme of measures to get what they want, including framing, poisoning, torturing, harassing, or murdering their opponents – nothing is off limits, although if you are their target and an overall ‘good person’ your seemingly nine lives will always spoil every single one of their attempts; e.) that the best way for two women to deal with their building hostility against each other is to engage in a good old fashioned slap fest – the slower their heads turn away from the impact the better, if they are knocked down onto the floor, way better…then they can go back to hating each other again.  f.) And finally that death is never final! Out of nowhere, all of a sudden, appears the long lost twin who no one ever knew existed, not even the mother who bore him or her…that’s if the person you just buried six feet under and cried incessantly over, just doesn’t come waltzing in the front door fresh off a comma or a severe, but temporary, case of amnesia.

I owe my love of telenovelas to my parents, because as far back as I can remember we spent many an evening glued to the television screen laughing, gasping, sometimes crying, always together, about the drama unfolding before our very eyes, one hour at a time, five days a week, always leaving us guessing what was going to happen tomorrow.  Our guesses were always right, but half the fun of the telenovela is sharing it with the people you care about.

And who can handle more than an hour of drama a day anyway?

Below a few of the best TV y Novela ‘slap-fest’ videos off the web.  Enjoy my friends, and then go slap somebody…just kidding, not really.

Sudor, Sacrificio, A Duras Penas

Sweat, Sacrifice and Heartache

An homage to the men and women out there, here, millions of them, many of them Hispanics, others not, living in the trenches, working every day, sun up to sun down, some by choice, others by destiny, misfortune perhaps, in the most ‘menial,’ undesired of jobs, often overlooked, if not completely misrepresented, both in the mainstream and in life, ‘a duras penas, con sudor y sacrificio‘, doing whatever it takes, simply to make it another day.  Not a pity party, instead a ‘hey we see you out there, you’re not invisible. ¡Animo!’

Criada, sirvienta, mucama – housekeeping!

Ellas son las reinas del hogar.

Obrero, jornalero, mano de obra – en la construction…

El Milusos

Niñeras, de Niños y de Ancianos también.

La Nana

Mantenimiento…o sea, Maintenance.

Mapear, vequear, lo que toque

Reciclador Profesional – Professional Recycler!

Haciendo la Lucha

Paleteros, Eloteros, Chicharroneros…Street Vendors really.

Corn, Paletas, the Works

Talking, Walking…Ads.  The newest trend in Guerilla Marketing.

The Human Sign

Corta Yardas – Yard Cutter, of many…many a lawns!

Helping us go Green

Piscadores de lechuga, fruta…cotton, or anything else in high demand.

Hunters turned Gatherers

‘Y muchos, muchos, muchísimos más‘.  My parents, my uncles, my aunts, my cousins, my sisters, my friends, my family, ‘y todos, somos los mismos‘ – even today, college degrees, certificates, office jobs, ‘inglish’, and all.  These people were my teachers in life from whom I learned much more than I ever did in any classroom, not the least of which were three basic ‘principios’: honor, humility and dignity.

La Muerte Es Lo Único Seguro Que Tenemos En Esta Vida

Death Is The Only Thing We Have Guaranteed InThis Life

Photo by dianasour

Or as Chente so famously said: lo importante no es llegar primero sino saber llegar, because in life there really aren’t any guarantees.  None whatsoever.  Not even the feelings inside of our hearts are guaranteed to stay the same forever.

De mocoso I wanted nothing more than to be like my big brother.  He sharp and fast, beady eyes, never at ease, climbing trees, running faster than me, tougher than me, cooler than me, the one everyone always wanted to play with.  Me, lanky and awkward, legs and arms not strong enough, eyes round and slow, bewildered at the world around me, not fast enough to keep up with him or my cousins.  Them, playing cowboys and Indians, bank robbers and cops, chasing after one other, roughing each other up, figuring out who could take the hardest punches.  Me, playing with my little brother in the sand, lost in our imaginary world of fantasy and make believe, awing at the tiny worms and snakes found underneath the surface of our dirt roads.  Everywhere dad went, he went, little boots and sombrero running after him – me, much happier at home, listening to my sisters’ singing, my mother’s footsteps in and out of the house, the scent and sound of her cooking, washing clothes, giving me comfort, kneeling outside in our yard just close enough to hear everything going on inside.

Still, I wanted to be like him. I wanted to be the one climbing fruit trucks, throwing cantaloupes down for everyone else to catch, sticking up for my younger brothers, following my father around and actually liking it, confident in my agility, knowing I was every bit the little man my parents said.  But I wasn’t him.

Sixth grade, we were the same.  My book smarts, his street smarts, together, everyday, standing at the corner, riding the Metro to school, our cousins, our friends, playing hooky, five finger discounts at the Galleria, baggy pants, big t-shirts, wino shoes, hair slicked back, gelled down, and we were cool – cooler than we’d ever been before.  With each other at least, not entirely sure about the rico suave part.  That was before he found me soft and nerdy – me, all his friends and the things he wanted to do stupid and pointless.  Sin querer queriendo we grew apart.

High school, one year away from graduating, infatuated.  She was pregnant, not by me, but I didn’t care.  We’d met in Catechism school of all places and I was smitten…even if she wasn’t.  You need a ride to church, home?  Want to stop for a raspa?  You want me to take you to the doctor?  I don’t mind, it’s okay.  I’ll wait.  It’s okay. Nothing would have made me happier than to be correspondido, but a big fat nothing is what she felt for me.  What she always felt for me.  Even the younger brother could see it, though he never told me anything, just looked down and away from me every time I’d beg in front of him.  Baby delivered, still nothing, not even a kiss, just a hug here and there, a smile, tears, maybe of guilt, and many, many thank-yous all the time.  Trips to the zoo just the three of us, nothing; pamper runs to the pharmacy in the middle of the night, nothing; talking to the baby daddy, it was okay, I understood.  Then one day, bam!  Married and too busy for our platonic game of cat and mouse anymore.  Nothing but anger and bitterness left.

Años later, brother and me still little boys at heart, connected by a mixture of street and book smarts, mostly what you’d call the sangre running through our veins calling out.  Me still nerdy, he still brave, little brother still wondering with me, no thirst for love, no anger, no bitterness, gray hairs filling my head, a man of my parents creation and education, sisters, not two, but four, in love with what I’ve been given, not what I would have wanted to have.  Proud, a worrier, never perfect, but happy and trying hard to hold on to what’s in front of me because if there’s one thing we learned in our home of ‘puro sudor, sacrificio  y a duras penas’, above all the tears, heartache and drama, it’s that: la muerte es lo único seguro que tenemos en esta vida.

This one goes out to all the ones coming up behind.  Que nuestros tropiezos les sirvan.

The Story Of Rodolfo: Holding Out For A DREAM Act

Original photo by German Garcia

Back in the day when I was a staff writer for a newspaper startup, circa 2004, I met Rodolfo Salazar – a local kid who wanted nothing more than to gain legal status in order to better himself and his mother’s life in this country.

They were both undocumented at that point, with little hope of any path to legalization.  He a recent high school graduate, hopeful about his future, hopeless about any degree he could eventually obtain just becoming another piece of paper to hang on the wall, and scared that at any moment he or his mother could be deported – his mother never having earned minimum wage since entering the country.  Their story really touched me.  This is how long we’ve been holding out for the DREAM Act.

Now again we’re told the Development, Relief and Education for Alien Minors (DREAM) Act is finally headed for a vote before the Senate as early as next week.  This time pushed by Senate Majority Leader Harry Reid, basically reviving an almost dead piece of legislation that for years has had thousands of undocumented undergrads and college grads sitting and waiting for something to happen so they can put their education to good use.  They can’t get a job in their professions because they don’t have legal status, and they can’t get legal status because they’re undocumented.

Quite the conundrum!

The DREAM Act would provide a means for eventual legalization for students who complete a college degree or enlist in the U.S. Military.

Even though we never stayed in touch I’ve always wondered what happened to Rodolfo and his mom.  I hope he went after his dream.  I hope he has a college degree now.  I hope his mother hasn’t lost faith. I hope these words are no longer their truth:

“Their parents left it all behind to offer them a better life here, but now these new generations of undocumented immigrants are facing the cruel reality that because they were not born in this country they cannot achieve their goals.” 
Subtitle from the original article

“We feel a part of this country.  If something bad happens here, we feel it too,”  Rodolfo Salazar

“From just making enough to pay my rent I’ve never progressed. Hopefully this law will be approved, to help him.  Since for me, there really is no more hope.”   Rodolfo’s mother