Hijo de la vida.

I’m going to tell you like my parents told me, ponte a estudiar para que no te toque trabajar como burro como nosotros! Even when the dreams seem long and far away, unattainable, silly, too damn high to ever come within reach, keep pushing, keep pulling, keep moving.  In baby steps, peleando, arrastrándote a ti mismo si es necesario. Not looking for the easy way out. There is none.

If you don’t believe me, go out there, make your mistakes, fall flat, get up, do it again, and again, and again.  Keep fooling yourself, believing your day will come one day.  If it does, count your blessings y ponte las pilas.   Sino, be humble enough to find another way.

Circumstances, bad luck, misfortune, tragedia.  Mijo, sadly, these are challenges and obstacles we don’t control.  Yo que más quisiera, quebrarme la espalda con tal de que tú no sufrieras ni un poquito. Pero la vida es así, cruel e injusta.

Nevertheless, my thoughts and prayers you will always have.  Always!

Del amor, what can I say?  No te apresures.  Nothing you can’t wait for.  All pain and heartache when it’s not right.  So hard to figure out when it is.  El amor por ti mismo, mucho más importante. Créeme.

When you finally make it, and I know you will, to that place in life set out for no one else but you, no dejes que tu orgullo te ciege.  Extiende la mano. Pull up the ones that follow.  Find solace in these words, wisdom in your journey, and compassion in your heart. Do for others what no one did for you.

O como yo, sigue el ejemplo de tus padres.

Forgot the website www.JuanofWords.com

As in T-shirts asking the question What Would Juan Say? (WWJS)

Sort of a play on words on the traditional What Would Jesus Do? (WWJD), not that in any way, shape or form I consider myself anywhere near as important as the almighty, but it did put a smile on my face when my wife told me about her idea – in a very non-sacrilegious way of course.  Also because I know she thinks I have a big mouth, as do a lot of other people, and that in itself makes the T-shirt amusing and appropriate to me.  And no, the actual prototype was not this lime green.  Something went wrong when I was editing the image in Photoshop.

The only true question then becomes would you, dear readers, actually care to receive a shirt such as this from me to you?  I really, really like it!  But then again, that is my name silk-screened all over it, albeit without the obligatory website mention, which we ironically forgot to include.  I’m thinking coupled with a batch of “Dicho Cookies” (thanks again Crafty Chica for the intro to these delightful little treats) this might make an excellent first giveaway gift package.  What do you think?

I really do want to know so leave me a comment below.

Papelitos for the heart.

Out back on every idle limb, both natural and manmade, a token of decoration, al estilo mexicano.  Longnecks of beer and soda, the occasional Topo Chico, turned upside down, mounted on iron rods and vacant branches, sequenced in order of color and size, one after the next until every bit of space has been utilized, put to work – pa no desaprovechar.

CDs, knickknacks and other shiny things hanging from the trees, nothing but a single strand of string or wire holding them in place, sparkling and twirling at every breathe of wind.  Just for décor, nothing more.  The obligatory gallo de a mentiritas sitting in the yard, proud and strong!

Plantas: sávila, magueys, nopales, chiles, hierbabuena, cilantro, romero, naranjas, and much more.

My little slice of heaven – un pedacito de mi corazón.

A little bith of English and Spanish 2gether.

Last night Latinos in Social Media, the largest organization of social media professionals of Hispanic origin – it’s a mouthful I know, but the hashtag on Twitter is much shorter, #latism – hosted one of the most interesting conversations about Spanglish and the Spanish language that I’d ever taken part in.  Latinos from across the nation chimed in and shared their own, very diverse, personal experiences with both languages, yes I’m categorizing Spanglish as a language, through the weekly, Thursday #latism fiesta on Twitter (8 p.m. CST if you’re interested).

The discussion was so much fun that I wanted to share a few of the most outstanding and entertaining comments:

@nuevavoz: “Portuguese movies drive me crazy-so close but not quite.  Feel like I should understand but not quite.”

@ElianneRamos: “advantage of being multicultural = successful & contributing member in global society”

@mayaescobar: “When I was a little girl used 2 call my papi ‘tati’, when I got older I learned ‘tati’ is ‘papi’ in Yiddish

@raysadad: “That’s not Spanglish – watchen? how ugly. We’re talking about the creative communication in two languages”

@Lalizlatina: “This has been my first job where I use Spanish and I can’t tell you how amazing it has been!!”

@altamarina: “advantage of being bilingual: you can read Marquez and Allende directly, not a watered down translation”

@JoeRayCr8iv: “How about parrots/pericos/cotoros – bilingual? As a kid had one that said CABRON! then ‘here kitty kitty!’ Anyone else?

@Laurita86: RT @JuanofWords: “Healthy for Latin Soul! (Chicken Soup for Latin Soul)” RT @ccorrada: “nothing like a good argument in Spanish!”

@djolder: “itstrueweCubansspeakfastashell”

Con animo!

Early Saturday morning we were running.  Jumping out of bed, racing into the bathroom, scrubbing teeth with toothbrush, running combs through strands of wild hair, splashing water on our face, tying up our shoelaces, swallowing whole tacos full of huevo con chorizo.

Mijo, comete esto antes de que te vayas…va ‘tar bien caliente y ustedes pobrecitos van a estar en el solazo todo el día.  Ay, me da mucho cuidado con ustedes.  No me gusta que estén afuera tanto tiempo.

Every Saturday was the same.  Before we’d board the van waiting for us at the entrance of the Bali Hai apartments, halfway full by this time with boys, 10 to 12 years old like us, lazily struggling to keep their eyes open, my mother would insist we eat something before heading out the door.

Just me and my brother Chuy.

In transition from children to adults, man-boys is what we were.  Working made us feel responsible, proactive, self-sufficient, like we were carrying our own weight around, acarriando-ing nuestro propio granito de arena pa la casa.  In truth, I don’t even remember how we began working for the distributors of the Houston Post.  All I knew was come six in the morning my brother and I had to be ready to go, literally inside their van.  If we weren’t, they would leave without us and find some other kids to replace us at the next stop.  The one good thing about our job was that even though our ride would show up at the crack of dawn, by the time we actually made it to our store it was closer to 8 o’clock and the light of day would already be shining upon us.

First they’d take us to the distribution center.  There we’d pick up our newspapers, transfer into our box truck, which we were told would take us to our final destination for the day, with as many other kids as possible, ride another thirty minutes to an hour, gathering signs, bags and other needed materials for the job, one by one unloading our stacks of newspapers when it was our turn to get down.

Those summers at the grocery stores were actually pretty fun!  All the oohing and aahing from complete strangers confused and surprised to find kids as young as us yelling Houston Post…Houston Post…Houston Post; friendships made with working teenagers as young as 16, young adults in their early 20’s; the thrill of roaming through the stores whenever we could get one of them to watch our newspapers; and the happiness of seeing our parents drive up all the way from our apartments just to drop us off our homemade lunches.  Como estan…no se asolen tanto…tomen agua…si les da mucho calor metanse a la tienda a caminar… my parents would go on and on like this every time.  While their words annoyed me they also appeased the little boy inside me – the one not too long ago sitting in the living room of our apartment watching Saturday morning cartoons with his younger siblings, not working for a living.

Chuy wanted Nintendo games.  I wanted lunch money.  That was our motivation.

Our reality was we couldn’t bear to see our mother suffer.  As soon as we’d get home we’d proudly take whatever we had made that day, usually 15 to 20 dollars, and place it in her hands.

It wasn’t much. But it was all we could offer.

From "My Family: Mi Familia"

It’s unspoken contract.  An honorary promise.  The strongest measure of your personal reputation.  That today, what is asked of you, or what you are asking for, will be reciprocated, in the form of an apadrinamiento.  Rarely of a simple baptism, Confirmation or first communion.  Instead, a dollar for dollar match of your investment in another’s rite of passage – usually a wedding or quinceañera.  It’s riskier than a tanda, for in matters of the heart, and teenagers igual, rarely do we have any control, and a full return is never guaranteed.  What begins today in a promise of forevermore can end tomorrow in a “¡vete al diablo!” without even so much as a warning.  Still we pride ourselves in our padrinos and compadres and even the best of mexicanos will someday ask…” today for me, tomorrow for you.”

¡Sin pena!  Seamos padrinos.

NOTE:  This post is no way, shape or form constitutes an open invitation for apadrinamiento requests to the author, either verbally or in writing.  Any such requests are made at your own risk – the author claims no responsibility for outbursts of laughter, anger or disbelief.

La Nueva Reina del Mundo

10. Because she is a Tapatia from Guadalajara, Jalisco, home to some of the best mariachi music in the world!

9. Because the very word Tapatia evokes images of courageous, passionate, feminine beauty…uninhibited, unapologetic, unsurpassed!

8. Because Jimena, sometimes spelled Ximena, accomplished by herself, what a whole team of Mexican World Cup soccer players could not – bringing home the crown!

7. Because like a winner she chose her red, flowing, single-strap, gown well in advance of the Miss Universe competition as a tribute to her country’s bicentennial independence anniversary…and she literally rocked it!

6. Because she is only the second Mexican beauty to have ever claimed the Miss Universe title, ever!! The first was Lupita Jones of Mexicali, Baja California, in 1991.

5. Because even though she is a Mexican national and will be traveling the world, Jimena still looks Illegal, but can’t be deported!!  (Sorri for you Arizona!)

4. Because all she wanted to do after winning the title of Miss Universe was “give my parents a big hug.”

3. Because her win in some way diminishes the stereotype of lazy Mexicans lying around, underneath a tree or against a cactus, in full mariachi hat and huaraches, doing nothing…although it is true we do like our siestas!

2. Because after the whole swine flu fiasco, our country will once again be known for exporting more than just mutant pandemics named after pigs…or even worse narcotics,  crime and immigrants.  Yes, we’ve heard what some gavachos say about us!

1. And finally, because after all the narco-wars, murders, kidnappings, political ploys, defaming, scandals, etc., the people of Mexico needed a win like this to once again rejoice and scream at the top of their lungs – ¡Viva México! ¡Viva México! ¡Viva México!

Garage Sale buying

Inspired by a gringa named Sra. Lopez who runs one of the most compelling Hispanic-interest blogs on the World Wide Web (www.Latinaish.com), centered on her life as a Caucasian-Latina, I had to write about our obsession as Latinos with being frugal and always finding deals wherever we go, at least in my world.  Her latest post, If they buy it, sell it, pues, explored her suegra’s overzealous joy with receiving trash bags full of used clothing and how she finds a use for everything inside, even the lingerie.

A very entertaining read like most things blogged about by Sra. Lopez.

Plus it got me thinking about my own madrecita who coincidentally has very good luck with garage sales all the time.  You could ride in the same car with her, stop and shop at all of the same houses, and spend the exact same amount of money, and she would still come back with more and better things than you, literally.  The used pairs of shoes,  50 cents each, electronics past their prime yet still in working condition, furniture, items of clothing, or whatever else, there is a science to the way she shops.  Not for herself or the luxury of shopping, but for others and for business.  Like la gringa’s suegra, she gives away whatever can be recycled within her circle of family and friends and sells the rest, here and in Mexico.  In fact, her garage sales have garnered quite the reputation in Cerritos, San Luis Potosi for offering quality items at the cost of just a few pesos.  People even place orders with her now!

That mentality of utilizing every last thing, wasting nothing, is embedded in our genes.  Until a few years ago I had rarely ever bought anything just for decoration or to have.  If it did not have a purpose, I did not need it.  Still, even though my wife has introduced the concept of decorative items, I can’t bring myself to buy a brand new pair of jeans for $60.  Instead you’ll find me at the clearance section of most stores rummaging through sizes to find a descent pair on sale for no more than $20, and that’s pushing it, or at what my own suegra refers to as Our Macys – second hand stores, which may I say are so hugely underrated, doing the same thing.  In our home, paying full price for anything is to be avoided at all costs.  And yes, maybe it is just cheap, but it always feels great to buy things below their retail value.

It’s not just me either.  Weekends in my neighborhood, mostly Mexican, are truly a free for all with garage sales opening up as early as Thursday and running through Sunday afternoon, almost always selling out of all but the least desirable items.  No deed restrictions, thank God…and one of the main reasons it’s easy to call my barrio home.  There is something about knowing that you can take a few of the things you have but don’t need and selling them for a few bucks when you are strapped for cash that makes us feel productive, savvy, smart – luchistas. And what is better than being luchista, a fighter who never gives up.  The same applies to giving away what others could use better than us.  It just feels good.

Gracias Sra. Lopez for the validation!

On growing up bilingual, bicultural

Marching!  Huaraches instead of tennis shoes.  All white pants and a long-sleeved button down collar shirt of the same color.  A simple red bandana, wrapped around the neck, slightly twisted into a single knot.  No belt.  No socks.  Just a cream colored hat, not exactly vaquero style – a child’s hat made of straw – sitting at the top of my head.  Boys dressed just like me, little girls wearing small A-line skirts in different shades of red, most of them in deep vibrant reds, evocative of passions and emotions too profound for any of us to comprehend.  In waves of movement, all at the same time, we were marching, chanting the few words we did know of the Himno Nacional.

Mexicanos al grito de querra!…something, something, something…

Past the arroyos of drinkable water, the concrete-paved cancha of so many bailes, my grandfather’s house, my grandmother’s, those of mis tios y mis tias, past the tanque de agua, the remolino of early morning corn churning, all in unison, singing all the way, families at their doorsteps, watching us, singing along, celebrating the independence of a country foreign to us.  The dirt roads full of rocks, sandy and dusty, much more inconvenient than the sidewalks and manicured lawns we were used to.  We’d only arrived a few weeks earlier, enrolled in a school where attendance was optional even for kids as young as ourselves.  If we didn’t want to go we just didn’t go.  Choosing instead to roam up small hills, down trails of dirt, running from one side of the rancho to the other, carefree, and free, truly for the first time.

En el otro lado we had rules.  If we didn’t follow them we were paddled, written up, sent home on suspension, punished more at home, then sent back for more learning.

For the marching though everyone went to school.   It was an obligation, a privilege almost, for everyone to gaze upon us, their little soldiers.  A reason for pride in a place where so little was ever easy.  Lyrics surpassed us, escaped us, especially my brothers and I, the chicanillos, more americanos than anything else, a novelty really for the rest of the kids who marveled at any of our utterances in another language.  We were anchor babies, born to parents of illegal status, naturalized only by default of our birthplace, foreigners to our family in Mexico, burdens, outcasts, novelties…but we were unaware and in our ignorance reveled in the dualism of our existence, blissful at how lucky we were to experience true freedom for a few months every summer, afterwards always heading home to the luxuries of running water and electricity.  Mexicanos.  Americanos, even if only by default.

Those years were magical – way more important than I ever realized.

My goal is to make this recipe as simple as possible for anyone to make, or at least get an idea of how to make salsa verde.  For red salsa you would basically change the color of your tomatoes – and remember folks the more chiles you add to your salsa the spicier it will be.  If it comes out too spicy people might accuse you of having been angry when you made the salsa.

Your comments are always welcome – thanks for watching!

www.youtube.com/watch?v=iyUaqtnLl7E