Juan of Words

Book Review: Robert Renteria’s Graphic Novel MI BARRIO

A Graphic Novel

Please Note: The author will answer any questions you leave in  the comment section on 6/30/11 only. Those who comment will automatically be entered to win a free copy of this book.

There were definitely tough times in my upbringing, as most of you already know, mainly because of what we didn’t have, not really because of violence or drugs, although some of those factors did play a role.  The truth is we never had to walk the streets where people where getting high in front of us or pulling guns out to kill each other in the middle of our barrio.  We were immigrants – the wetbacks that everybody talked about – and our main concern was how we were going to survive from one moment to the next.  Sure as things got easier temptation to “experiment” became stronger, there were gangs and gangsters, even a lot of wannabes, but it was never as severe as what author Robert Renteria depicts in his latest book Mi Barrio.

The graphic novel, based on Renteria’s self memoir From the Barrio to the Board Room, which to me was very entertaining because of its similarity to the comic book genre, was produced by Smarter Comics no less, and takes us through the author’s often difficult life from childhood to adulthood in basically one read.  The story is condensed and moves rapidly through accompanying illustrations by Shane Clester (some of the images are just very moving).

Meant for a younger audience, the book is at times a little “graphic” literally, but it does present what Renteria considers some of the most impactful moments in his life.  There is the abandonment by a drug and alcohol addicted father, the carnival accident he was involved in at six years old, the rehab and operations afterwards, doing and dealing drugs as a teenager, dropping out of school, getting shot and stabbed, learning his estranged father had died on skid-row, and then how he turned his life around and ended up in “the Board Room.”  It’s a very compelling story to be quite honest, especially for a reader like me who loves the rags to riches variety of published writings.

Author Robert Renteria

Still, while my idea had been to read the story with my eight year old, since it was sort of like a comic book layout anyway, I’m very glad I decided to read the book first myself because in all honesty I don’t think it’s something we’d want him reading right now… maybe in a couple of years.  I would, however, recommend the book for older kids, especially those that might be considered “at risk.”  Not because it’s a reflection of their reality, although it might be, but because it’s a powerful story that doesn’t sugar coat the truth or dance around the reality of what could happen to you when you decide to go down the wrong path.  And, of course, because the author himself is Latino and a reflection of what it is to be a part of our cultura and herencia.

FTC Disclosure: I received this book free from the publisher as part of a Condor Book Tour.  I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions expressed are my own.

The Deer We Almost Ate

Runaway Deer

One second we were playing, the next all of us stood frozen at attention, staring in disbelief at what it was we were witnessing.  There in the front yard, just a couple of feet away from us, well, on the other side of the barb wired fence to be exact, leaned my mother as hard as she could against her legs, pulling her body back with more force than I’d ever seen her use.  She was holding a rope in her hands and as my eyes made their way across it, there on the other side stood a full grown adult deer, pulling back as hard as she was, but apparently not as forcefully, because as we stood there in between the screen door, that by this time was creaking from my older sisters having run out of the house to witness what the rest of us were yelling about like maniacs, and the static propane tank that sat a couple of yards away from our pig pens and hen houses, my mother had managed to tie this wild beast against a wooden post from our same barb wired fence.

Before pulling up her handmade dress, just a tad in order to climb back into our yard through the barb wire, and turning back to scold us for not having even attempted to help during her more than three minute struggle with the deer in front of us, my mother let out a smile of satisfaction with herself.  She was proud of what she had just accomplished, and by the look on her face it was clear she was also imagining exactly how we would devour every last bit of meat on that rather plump deer.  We had never seen a venado this close, much less this size and height.  It must have been at least three feet high, four with its antlers, and pretty round around the stomach too.

Who knew what deer tasted like, but it was meat!

The rest of the day we all kept playing around the wild beast, talking about how it might taste in tacos, soup, barbecue, or even mixed in as ham or tosino with our regular eggs and beans.  This wasn’t like the time my uncle had tried to trick us into eating snake – we actually wanted to taste the deer in our front yard.  Bambi the movie had already been released, and we had all watched it by now, but despite that fact none of us really felt sorry for the animal in our front yard.  We were hungry… for something new.  For a feast of our own, maybe not as fancy as our closest neighbors, my cousins and uncles, would have, which for some reason our family was never invited to, but better than eggs and beans for breakfast, with spinach on the side or mixed in with our egg, and arroz y frijoles for lunch and dinner, over and over and over, again and again, everyday of the year.

All of us were practically salivating at the possibilities.

Little did we know that as soon as dad came home that night our gastronomic fantasies would all be over.  He practically leaped out of our house as soon as my mother proudly confessed her shining achievement for the day over dinner.  Yelling like a mad man he paced around the yard trying to figure out from my mother who had seen her drag the deer across the woods into our yard, if anyone had seen the animal tied up against our fence, and wondering if anybody had noticed that there was one less deer in the wilderness surrounding us tonight.  For as much as my mother argued that nobody would notice one more or less deer in all of that monte out there, or that it was only fair for us to keep and eat that animal as compensation for the little money my father earned for all of his hard work, all of fifteen dollars a day, he could not be convinced to slay that beast and stock up our refrigerator with meat for many, many weeks to come.  Instead, despite and over my mother’s yelling súplicas, he dutifully untied the deer and let it run away into the darkness.

The land we lived on was the property of my uncle’s boss.  We were there de arrimados, mojados at that, so my father didn’t want to make any waves, much less be accused of stealing one of their deer, at least that’s what he’s kept as his story until now.  Again, we stood in disbelief, this time as our delectable prey disappeared from our sight.

Every once in a while my mother still sarcastically brings up the deer, and how we would have had so much meat for such a long time had my father not been so scared.  He doesn’t say anything anymore.  Just sits there quietly and let’s her tell her story.

Raising A Bilingual Kid: Quinceañera Talk

Quinceañera by Carmen Lomas Garza

The question was really meant as a joke.  Are you going to have a quinceañera when you grow up? What really caught me by surprise was his response (as you’ll hear in the video below).  In all of his eight years and eight months Edgar really believed it was normal for girls and boys to have a quinceañera:  “yeah, I am,” he said and I couldn’t help but crack up!  I know very bad demonstration of self-control on my part.

Me:        You are going to have a quinceañera?

Him:       No… only girls have quinceañeras!

After stopping myself from a full-fledged carcajada, which I thought immediately would be too traumatizing for him to bare, the next words to come out of my mouth, in a much more sensible tone: if you could have one, would you want to? He continued denying any desire to have one even though just seconds earlier he had seemed so eager about getting “his big day.”  We laughed it off and in a couple of minutes were both fast asleep.  The next morning we got up in a panic, racing to get out of the house in time because my niece was having her own fifteen that day.

During the church service I couldn’t help but to think about our earlier conversation.  If turning quince for a girl means holding a private mass in her honor and an even bigger pachanga afterwards because the birthday is really a rite of passage, shouldn’t it also be one for a boy?  When did I first learn it was not in my future to have a big quince celebration?  Was this just another reason for girls and women to be able to claim that they are more mature than us boys and men, or in some cases both?

Did I ever ask that question of my parents?  I don’t know.  I haven’t asked them because I’m afraid the response might be too embarrassing for me to hear, but for as long as I can remember it was just known that my sisters could have a quinceañera… not me, or my brothers.  They never actually had one, which I guess should be some consolation, but my mother did make my eldest sister a quinceañera dress herself, which she then wore in our back yard with my cousins and aunts, as we sang her “Happy Birthday” around an also homemade cake.  My other sister opted for a store-bought dress in Mexico, even if it wasn’t truly a quinceañera dress, which we also accompanied with cousins and aunts, only this time with a cake made out of mostly JELL-O instead of homemade bread and marmalade.

In all honesty, I don’t think I ever truly desired a celebration of my turning fifteen, or any other age for that matter.  I’ve never been much of a birthday party person, especially not when it comes to my own, but for all the thinking I was doing, there wasn’t a reason that actually made sense to me as to why we could not celebrate Edgar’s 15th birthday if we wanted to.

I’m not saying that we are, but the seed has definitely been planted.

And here’s the conversation that started it all!

This is the fourth post in the ‘Raising A Bilingual Kid’ series.  To read the first three posts in the series, just click on the links (Raising A Bilingual Kid: Ballet Folklórico), (Raising A Bilingual Kid: Skinny Jeans And Converse) and (Raising A Bilingual kid: Pozole, Frijoles and Indian Curry).

Favoritos P’al Verano

“Sigamos juegando”, decían Kiko y El Chavo anoche, después de que no pudimos hacer funcionar el Playstation para ver una película yo y Edgar, y optamos mejor por ver unos capítulos antiguos del ‘Chavo del Ocho’ a través del Internet.  Like usual, the entire cast of nutty characters, which so many of us have come to love, were having a good time from nothing more than driving each other crazy, and in this particular episode, with an imaginary toy truck made out of an old shoe box.

The innocence underneath all of the comedy, which literally had me and Edgar cracking up, brought back so many great memories, mainly of all the things I loved to do in the summers of my childhood, when me and my siblings would spend days literally lounging around the house not doing much of anything.  So for those of you lucky enough to be off this summer or at least taking a week or so off, here are a few of my favorite things about those summers.

Consider it a list of things you might want to experience yourself, if you haven’t already… and if you have, why not try them again?  Do it for me!

Bolis ice sticks... in every color and flavor

Bolis.  These ice cold treats are just too good… and affordable, to not enjoy a few this summer.  Even Wal-Mart sells them nowadays and you can get like 20 for less than five dollars.

Mexican corn on the cob

Elote.  Okay, after the Mexican corn on the cob recipe and picture I posted earlier, my mouth has been watering all day for one of these… but with extra chile, ya saben. Good thing there’s guys all over my neighborhood selling these right now.

La Huasteca, San Luis Potosi, Mexico

Agua.  You have to get in the water.  It’s just too hot not to!  And whether it’s at the beach, in a swimming pool, or even in one of those dirt cheap kiddy pools from your local retail chain, they really will make the heat less exhausting this summer.

Recyle and reuse

Shorts.  Buy them, or choose to make your own like my comadre y hermana Tracy did in this post.  We always turned old jeans that were flooding on us into shorts when we were kids.

Un barbecue de fajita, pollo y chorizo... pero aquí falto

Parrillada.  Even if it’s melting hot outside, you can’t not barbecue some fajitas outdoors this summer.  There’s just something about grilling your own meat outside that makes you feel extra in touch with nature… or is that just a guy thing?

Either way, it’s worth the experience.  Besides it’s as good excuse as any to throwback a couple of cheves.

Lots more in my head, but try these out y hay me avisan que les parecen!

La Vergüenza de Mi Primer Carrito: Viejo y Feo, Pero…

Okay, it wasn't nearly this bad... but it felt pretty close back then

“When the bell rings you better hurry up and make it to the car.  If you’re not there by the time I get there, I’m leaving you!”  That was the constant threat to my younger brother when we’d get to school in the mornings… that is when I wasn’t trying to get him to skip with me just to drive over to Burger King for a breakfast croissant.  I know, por eso estabamos como estabamos, but those little sandwiches of egg, melted cheese and ham were delicious.  My mouth still waters thinking about them.

I never actually had the nerve to leave him behind, however.

The bell would ring and we’d both race to the car like our lives literally depended on it.  We didn’t have time to talk to anyone, say goodbye, or take our time walking to our car like everyone else.  Whatever corner of the school we were in, we’d power walk, sometimes run, as fast as we could, which in reality was more like hobbling, with our jumbo-sized backpacks stuffed full of books – we were both a little nerdy even though neither one of us would have admitted it back then – and try to make it across the street from Eisenhower High School to the apartment complex next door where we’d park our car every morning before going to class.  They had an open parking lot that wasn’t gated and after so many months of our old beat up car being parked there the management probably just assumed it was one of the tenants.  It wasn’t, but it sure did make our lives a whole lot easier.

If we didn’t make it to the car in time, we’d stand against the railing of the nearest stairs, the ones leading to the upstairs apartments, throw our backpacks on the ground, behind the bushes on either side, and pretend we were just chilling, waiting for someone to come by, or just watching the school buses to pass by.  A few times we even waved into the air like someone in one of those yellow buses was actually acknowledging us, saying goodbye back.

Me:  “Laugh… pretend like you’re laughing!”

Him:  “For what?”

Me:  “Just do it… hurry up!”

The school buses had to pass directly in front of where our car was parked in order to exit the school campus and they were all tall enough to let their passengers, our schoolmates, peer directly over the six foot high wooden fence that shielded our vergüenza de carro from them, and the rest of the kids in their own one-solid-color-cars, when they weren’t riding so high above the ground.  What was worse was when we’d make it to the car, jump inside of it, and turn it on, just to see the first school bus driving by in front of us.  We couldn’t get out of the car and run to the stair railings anymore – there wasn’t enough time – so we’d just sink down into the seats as low as we possibly could and laugh our asses off.  All of the drama about the car was really an adrenaline rush.

The car itself was really quite the loyal little carcachita. My eldest sister had bought it for herself after high school and had fully paid it off before she gave it to me.  That’s right, gave it to me!  I didn’t pay her one single penny for the ride even though it was the first car she ever owned and I knew it was always going to be a little special to her.  The hood was a rusted dark blue, the driver’s side door an almost forest green color that looked faded and old, and the rest of the car was a creamy, very light green, almost like a lemon meringue tone that I had always admired… even when the car was not yet mine.  It was a Pontiac, four door sedan, that couldn’t have been younger than a 1991 model, but it got us where we needed to go and it left us both with so many cherished memories in that car.

I was so embarrassed and ashamed in those days that I never properly thanked my sister for the ride.  Thanks, Lola!  For letting me have your car and for giving me this story to tell. Maybe one day I can return the favor.

El Día E

Spanish is actually my first language.  Y a pesar de haber estudiado y vivido toda mi vida aquí, nunca deje de hablar el español. My parents wanted us to speak both languages and made it their job to teach us español at home.  Por eso ahora cuando la gente se sorprende y me dice “oye, ¡qué bien hablas el español!”, me da muchísimo orgullo que mis padres nos ayudaron a preservar esta parte tan linda de nuestra herencia.  No hay como pelear, amar, sentir, y gritar en español.  Porque como ustedes bien saben, nuestro vocabulario es mucho más Romántico y amplio.  A veces al traducir una palabra de español a inglés se le pierde todo, especialmente la emoción y el corazón.

Por eso cuando me invitaron a participar en “El Día E”, el día oficial para celebrar nuestro idioma alrededor del mundo, no lo tuve que pensar ni un solo instante.  Acepte con todo gusto, y aquí les presento mi palabra favorita en el idioma.  ¡Gracias a todos por las sugerencias en las redes sociales!  Espero les guste el videllito (a y nada más pa’que sepan, la cámara agrega unas cuantas libritas… pensé que debería aclarar eso, jajaja).  Compartan sus palabras en español favoritas conmigo porfis!

Ve más videos El Día E de mis amigos y amigas Aquí

También visita la página oficial de El Día E Aquí