Author: David Diego Rodríguez, Ph.D.

I teach Spanish and I am a standup comedian.

Driving lessons


My father’s camioneta

When I recall that I learned to drive from my father, I consider myself incredibly lucky to still be alive. I took driver’s ed at Divine Heart Seminary in Donaldson, Indiana, but I only got to drive the minimum required hours. My father loved teaching everyone how to drive, so he took me out driving. The only one who ever refused to take lessons from him was my mother. She didn’t like him telling her what to do. Especially, since she knew his every bad–and dangerous–bad driving habits. My father had some extremely dangerous driving habits that he tried to teach everyone he taught. Including me! Since I was only sixteen, I had to follow his instructions carefully or risk never driving again. I had a permit and I wanted to drive!  

I was an extremely poor driver in driver’s ed. The first car I drove was a 1971 Pontiac Firebird with a manual transmission. We were all excited about driving a sports car! I stalled the engine every time I drove. The instructor told me I would be fine once we started driving the Chevy Caprice with an automatic transmission. Everyone was happy about the automatic transmission because the engine stalling stopped. Until I got behind the wheel. Somehow, I still managed to stall the engine! But that was the least of my worries. I didn’t know how to yield at yield signs, and from years of watching my father drive, I didn’t come to a complete stop at stop signs. I thought stopping was optional because my father never came to a complete stop at a stop sign. Now that I think of it, he never completely stopped at red lights either! Whenever the light turned red, he would slowly stop a couple car lengths from the intersection and slowly creep forward until the light turned green.  

I was surprised that my father allowed me to drive his brand-new lime green 1971 Ford Maverick. He was so proud that he was teaching his oldest son how to drive!  I was even more surprised at some of the driving maneuvers de demanded of me! For example, he would tell me to take short cuts through alleys. When I came out of the other end, he wanted me to lay on the horn in case any car or pedestrian was at the mouth of the alley. He taught me about lane position when making right turns. If you make a right turn, my father told me, you must get in the right lane. Then, when you get close to the intersection, you swing out wide to the left before you turn! I almost crashed the very first time I tried my father’s technique. My father always made his right turns like this. I’m surprised he didn’t have more accidents.  

He also told me to use a turn signal when changing lanes. But in Chicago, sometimes it was better not to let the other drivers know your intentions. I’m not sure why. I never really understood his explanation. If you got to and intersection without any traffic controls and the other driver signaled you to proceed before him, my father told me to never go. He just wanted to crash into you. To this day, I always give the other driver the right of way.  

My father always had trouble staying in his lane. On the expressway, in the right lane, he would exit on the right if he didn’t focus on staying in his lane. Before I started driving, I thought staying in your lane was the most difficult driving feat possible. My father would make everyone be quiet whenever we approached exit ramps. In the picture of my father’s station wagon, you can see the result of his not staying in his lane. he was driving northbound on Damen Avenue at 47th Street. That was the site of the infamous Damen overpass in Back of the Yards. The left two lanes took you over the overpass. However, the right lane allowed drivers to veer right and avoid going on the overpass. Well, my father was in the right lane when the exit lane pulled him to the right. Unfortunately, he crashed into the concrete barrier dividing the lanes despite the flashing yellow warning light and warning sign. Luckily for me , he was alone while driving.  

He parked for about ten minutes to calm down from the trauma before he came home. I was the first one to see him and his fender damaged. I was sorry I asked him what had happened. It took him about five minutes to explain this two-second traffic crash. Then, he told me to get in the car and he took me back to the scene of the accident. He did a reenactment of the accident. I was riding shotgun and not wearing a seatbelt because back then no one wore seatbelts because most cars didn’t have seatbelts. As he was showing me his path before the accident, he almost crashed into the concrete barrier again! That really shook him up and he had to pull over for a few minutes to calm down before we could drive home. I still have some of the driving habits that my father instilled in me. And that’s why I say that I’m lucky to be alive!  

DDR

Chicago flag


My uniform patch of the Chicago flag

Everyone recognizes the Chicago flag, but not all Chicagoans know what our beautiful Chicago flag represents. Once I was eating lunch with my friend Mike when some tourists from France saw the patch of the Chicago flag on our uniforms. They wanted to know what the symbols on the flag meant. I’m embarrassed to admit that I didn’t know what the three white stripes represented back then. Mike explained all the symbols to the French tourists, much to their satisfaction. They were genuinely impressed that they had finally met a Chicagoan who knew what the Chicago flag represented. The French tourists left the restaurant, and Mike and I continued eating lunch. When we asked for the check, the waitress told us that the French tourists had paid for our meal. Talk about the value of a little knowledge!

So, the three white stripes represent the three sides of Chicago: south side, north side, and west side. Notably, there is no east side of Chicago. That’s Lake Michigan! The two blue stripes represent the two bodies that help define Chicago: the Chicago River and Lake Michigan. However, I have also heard that the two blue stripes represent the two branches of the Chicago River. Don’t you just hate it when there are two competing explanations? Each red star represents an important historical event in Chicago history: the 1812 Fort Dearborn Massacre, the 1871 Chicago Fire, the 1893 World’s Fair, and the 1933 World’s Fair.

In our era of politically correctness, the Fort Dearborn Massacre has been renamed The Battle of Fort Dearborn. It’s only a matter of time before this “encounter” gets softened even more. What’s next? The Fort Dearborn Cultural Exchange?

Now that you know the meaning of the Chicago flag, help share your knowledge of the city of Chicago and the Chicago flag to any tourist–whether from a foreign country or another state of the USA–who visits.

DDR

Nihil


Talk about potential!

Sometimes I have crazy ideas. Okay, maybe a little more often than sometimes. If you’re a regular reader, you know what I mean. Well, my latest idea–actually, I’ve thought about this one for years–involves renting an empty storefront. I would paint a simple sign in the window: NIHIL. I would set up a desk with a computer where I could write. I would also surround myself with my books in bookcases. There would be inviting desks, tables, and sofas for the curious to come in and be creative. Or, if they’re not creative, reading would also be permissible. If no one came in, I would sit there in public view writing my blog or working on my website. Anyone would be welcome to come as long as no one talks and interrupts the creative process of anyone present.

For the uninitiated who entered and asked, “What does ‘Nihil’ mean?” I would say, “Nothing.” Or perhaps, I would say nothing. And they would catch on to the fact that they were not supposed to talk. I would point to the available furniture. If they left, so much the better. This way I could keep writing. If, however, they stayed quietly, I would feel as if I had accomplished something.

This is a crazy idea for me because I do that at home right now. Whenever I’m at home I sit at my computer writing something or other without any interruptions. Or I read. Some people can’t do anything productive at home, but not me. I’ve always been at my most productive while at home! Besides, I can’t afford to rent an empty storefront.

DDR

Domestic violence


Chicago Sun-Times, Saturday, February 20, 2010.

Domestic violence is a genuine problem in many households. Law enforcement and public servants are required to report all incidents of domestic violence regardless of the victim’s wishes or fears. For example, if a man physically abuses a woman, she should report the violence to the police to prevent future abuse. If the neighbors suspect that a woman is being beaten because of loud pounding sounds and her cries for help, they should call the police. If the police arrive and suspect that there was any physical violence involved, by either party, they must act to stop the violence. If the police observe any physical injury, they must investigate and determine the cause and perpetrator, and arrest the offender for domestic violence. If the victim refuses to press charges, the police must still arrest the offender if they suspect that the victim is in fear for her safety once the police leave. The police have the authority to make an arrest based on the physical evidence they observe for the safety of the victim. In the past, such incidents of domestic violence have resulted in death when the police did not act appropriately. In fact, police very thoroughly investigate most domestic violence calls to prevent further violence. And all public servants–police officers, paramedics, teachers, social workers, etc.–are required to report domestic violence if observed.

When Tiger Woods had his “traffic accident” last Thanksgiving Day, I’m sure that police officers and paramedics across the country immediately suspected domestic violence based on their own firsthand experiences dealing with domestic violence on the job. This was a most unusual traffic accident. The timing was also suspect. On Thanksgiving Day everyone is supposed to spend time together as a family. But Tiger was driving at 2:30 AM. No one ever mentioned whether his home was his destination or his point of departure. Regardless of direction of travel, if you’re coming home or leaving home at 2:30 AM on Thanksgiving Day, you’re asking for trouble. And why was Tiger laying on the ground unconscious and barefoot. Who drives barefoot at 2:30 AM?  How fortuitous that his wife Elin was there where his Cadillac crashed and at the precise moment that he needed help. Luckily, she had the foresight to bring a golf club with her to rescue Tiger from his metallic coffin. She broke a window to get him out. But why were there two broken windows?

Also suspicious was Tiger’s cooperation with the police investigation. Why didn’t he just meet the police investigators immediately upon being released from the hospital? Why did he avoid the police and have his attorney present Tiger’s driver’s license and vehicle documents to the police? I’m sure the police would have noticed whether or not Tiger’s injuries were consistent with a minor crash in which the air bag did not deploy. Without physical evidence, domestic violence cannot be proven. Was he protecting Elin? Was he ashamed to admit that he was a domestic battery victim? Was he protecting himself from future violence by not accusing her? Well male domestic battery victims´allegations are never taken as seriously as the allegations by a female victim.

Imagine if Elin was lying unconscious and barefoot under the same circumstances with Tiger standing over her holding a golf club. The paramedics show up and immediately suspect domestic violence. Elin appears to be the victim, so the police are called. Tiger is immediately arrested for domestic battery. All the evidence–whether circumstantial or not–points to domestic violence. The authorities would rather err on the side of safety rather than risk seeing the victim suffer more violence.

Let’s be realistic. A man can be arrested merely for an allegation of domestic battery. No physical evidence is necessary. It doesn’t matter if the offender is a high-profile celebrity or not. Charlie Sheen was arrested for domestic battery based on allegations. (Of course, Sheen also has a history of domestic violence.) In the past, when allegations of domestic violence weren’t taken seriously, physical escalated to physical abuse involving hospitalization, or even death. So, nowadays, law enforcement errs on the side of safety. The defendant will have his day in court where the burden of proof is on the prosecution to prove that a crime has been committed. But if the victim is a man, no woman’s group will ensure that he gets equal treatment under domestic violence laws. Domestic violence is not about equality.

DDR

Garbage or junk?


My own private blogosphere.

Junk is something you wish you had soon after you throw it away. Garbage deserves to be thrown away.

In Chicago, people put their garbage out to be taken away. Sometimes, they put out old furniture to save parking spaces. Sometimes people have things they no longer want in their house because this junk is just taking up space. They want to get rid of it, but it’s good junk. However, they lack the desire or time to give to a charitable organization or sell it on the Internet. So, an alternate solution is putting things out with the garbage in a highly visible place. This way, passersby will see it and salvage it. They’ll bring it into their own home for an undetermined period of time–usually until it becomes their junk, which in turn they must also be put out with their garbage. This is one of the many ways that Chicago recycles. It’s the Chicago Way!

In the past, I have put out old furniture with my garbage because I was tired of it and so I bought new furniture. Once you decide you need new furniture, the old furniture becomes junk. However, there are many other people who would love to have your junk because for them it would be a step up and they will be insulted if you call their new living room furniture junk. Nothing is more difficult than restraining yourself from calling someone’s furniture junk. Especially if you’re visiting a neighbor who offers you a seat on your old sofa. How can you say something nice about something you threw away?

Junk Bought, Antiques Sold

Of course, I have also been the beneficiary of Chicago recycling. It takes a little bit of luck and timing to profit from something that I refuse to call garbage picking. This reminds me of a sign Mark Twain once saw at a store: Junk bought, antiques sold. So, these found objects are either junk or treasures, depending on your perspective. Well, I have found some treasures that I can’t imagine why they were thrown away. Granted, they were exposed for all garbage pickers to see. And see them, I did! Once, I found some treasures of my own. I wasn’t really looking for them, but I couldn’t miss them either. In Beverly, we must put out our garbage cans out in front of our house once a week for garbage pickup. This is my first Chicago home that requires me to put my garbage cans. At all the other homes where I have lived, our garbage cans stayed in the alley where all garbage cans belong. I still haven’t gotten used to putting my garbage out in front!

Anyway, one night I’m driving home from work. I see everyone’s garbage cans out in front, and I realize that I had forgotten to put my garbage cans out. At times like these, I realize that it’s good to keep up with the Joneses. So, while I’m making a mental note to myself, I see a garbage can that is oddly shaped. Or so it seems. Then, I notice that there is something leaning against a garbage can. I slowed down and I realized that they were oil paintings. But it is dark, so I’m not sure if I believe my eyes. I stop and inspect them more closely. They are, in fact, oil paintings! I found three oil paintings of flowers. Nothing valuable like a Picasso or a finger painting by one of my sons, but they are still incredibly good paintings. I’ve always thought about buying paintings to decorate my house and suddenly I have some. For free! The wooden frames were made in México.

I keep one by my computer to inspire me whenever I write. Doesn’t that painting look beautiful? I’m thankful to whomever threw those paintings away because they were tired of them. Let’s see how long they remain my treasures!

DDR