Author: David Diego Rodríguez, Ph.D.

I teach Spanish and I am a standup comedian.

No manches


Ford City Mall, Chicago, Illinois

If you ever start to offend a Mexican, they will reply with a remark like, “¡No manches!” In other words, don’t smear my good name.

Well, I was at the Ford City Mall the other day with my sons when I saw this T-shirt stand right there in the middle where you can’t miss it. I immediately saw the t-shirt with the map of Mexico. Underneath the map it read, “United States of Mexico.”

The girl working at the stand immediately approached me and handed me a card saying that they had a website. I responded half in English, half in Spanish without really thinking. I assumed that she wasn’t even Mexican because Mexicans, or any Spanish speaker in Chicagolandia, are always happy to meet someone else who speaks Spanish. So, I gathered that she wasn’t a Spanish speaker, or perhaps not even Hispanic. And here she was selling these Mexican-themed T-shirts to–well, actually, to no one!

The whole time we were in the mall, I was the only one to approach the stand and read the t-shirts. I didn’t even bother to ask the price of the T-shirts. As I read these T-shirts, I was offended. I like to think of myself as very open-minded and I have a high tolerance for political incorrectness and profanity, but I wondered what kind of Mexican would buy a T-shirt that read, “got mica?” and “as seen on immigration”? Maybe I’m missing something here! They seemed more offensive than funny.

If they’re going to be that politically incorrect, they might as well should have named their business, “¡No manches, güey!” Why did they stop short? Don’t get me wrong. I’m not overly sensitive. In fact, I always smile when I see someone wearing a T-shirt that says, “I’m not late. I’m running on Mexican time!”

My favorite Mexican t-shirt.

Look closely at the T-shirt above. I was looking to buy T-shirts as souvenirs from Mexico, but they mostly sold stuff from the U.S.A. Talk about American cultural imperialism! It’s such a good parody of the actual Corona shirt that my cousin and I almost didn’t notice it. I suppose this t-shirt will only be funny for people who speak Spanish and know Mexicans.

DDR

Casa de Obama


Hyde Park, Chicago Illinois.

The other day, I had the strongest urge to visit Barack Obama’s house. I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly I had this great desire to visit a famous place in the news. I told my sons, “We’re going to President Elect Barack Obama’s house!” At first, I thought they would they would look at me as if I were crazy, which is their normal reaction when I suggest any new and exciting activity. I was wrong! They actually thought it was a great idea. Only that they somehow imagined that his house was very, very far away. I explained that he lived less than thirty minutes from us.

So off we went in search of Barack Obama’s house in Hyde Park. I knew the security would be tight because I watched the news and I saw the concrete barriers around his house. There were many, many Chicago police officers around his house–a two-block radius around his house. I told my sons before we even set out on our trip that we might not even get close to the Obama house, but we could at least visit the neighborhood of the President of the United States of America.

Surprisingly, I was able to park legally at the corner right near a police car that was guarding the closed off intersection leading to his house. As we approached the corner, the police officer exited her squad car and asked if we lived on this side of the block. I said no and she said we would have to walk across the street. Before I left our house, I had no idea where Obama lived other than in Hyde Park, but I figured I’d find his house once I saw all the police cars blocking off the streets. I really thought we would have to walk several blocks. But we were extremely lucky to park so close!

There were multiple police cars and police officers standing out in the middle of the barricaded street. I saw a group of gawkers taking pictures of a house, so I asked, “Is that his house?” and they responded in awe, “That’s his house!” Lo and behold! We had arrived at Barack Obama’s house. As seen on TV! My sons couldn’t believe I had taken them all the way to the front of Barack Obama’s house, albeit across the street. I took some pictures and then we walked away. The police officer who directed us across the street smiled at us and asked if we enjoyed our visit. We said we did and walked back to our car.

As we were getting into the car, I realized that this was exactly the kind of trip my father used to take us on when we were little. He would see something on the news and then take us there. He wouldn’t tell us where we were going. It was just like, “¡Vámonos!” and we would all pile into the car and go. Once, my father saw a chess master playing 25 boards simultaneously at a restaurant in Little Italy, so off we went to play the chess master! The next day, my friends at school told me they saw me playing chess on the news!

When the plane crashed before reaching Midway Airport in 1971, my father took us to the crash site despite the fact that on the news they told everyone to stay away. We were less that a quarter-block away and we could see the actual fuselage and tail of the plane that crashed! However, no one saw us on the news that time.

Many people saw my father on the news many times over the years. He just loved the limelight. On the IRS tax deadline day one year, I was watching the news and they showed all the last-minute filers going to the downtown post office to get that coveted April 16th postmark in order to beat the IRS deadline. They interviewed several last-minute filers and all the while I thought, “What idiots! Waiting till the last minute to file their tax returns!” Suddenly, I saw a familiar face. It was my father! He was being interviewed by the news reporter. Somehow he always found a way to get on the news!

I guess by taking my sons to Obama’s house, I was keeping my father’s tradition alive. I didn’t get on the news during our visit to his house, but I realized that I did inherit my father’s thirst to go to where the news is. Ugh! I’ve become my father! ¡Ay! ¡Ay! ¡Ay!

DDR

Mexican stereotype


Mariachi Sponge Bob by Burger King

When Americans think of Mexicans, one of the most prominent images that comes to mind is the Mariachi. There’s nothing wrong with that since the Mariachi does have positive connotations and reflects favorably on Mexicans. The Mariachi has become the epitome of Mexico even though Mariachis originated in the state of Jalisco.

There are many more cultural facets to Mexico than just the Mariachis. As further proof, think of Hollywood movies that depict Mexicans. Okay, please try to block out Beverly Hills Chihuahua because it’s not representative of all Mexicans. I haven’t actually seen the entire movie, so I’m not qualified to comment on it. Okay, I did see the previews where they showed the Chihuahuas as advanced civilization similar to the Aztecs. When Steve Martin, Chevy Chase, and Martin Short made the movie The Three Amigos, they dressed like Mariachis. I once took my sons to Burger King and the toy in the Kid’s Meal was a Mariachi Sponge Bob. I often take Mariachi Sponge Bob to Spanish classes with me and the students love him so much I make I keep my eye on him so no one steals him from me.

DDR

Familia


Whenever I think of familia, I think of the difference between my Mexican family here in the U.S. and my Mexican family in Mexico. Every time I visit Mexico, I’m reminded of those differences. For example, when I return to Chicago and I relate experiences from my trip to Mexico, people are surprised that families having much closer ties and see each other more often. My brother Danny said he preferred his privacy. Of course, I only see him two or three times a year. Mexicans in Chicago become very Americanized after living here for any period of time. I, on the other hand, enjoyed spending time with mi familia. I try to go to every family event here in Chicago. But I really wish we could get together more often. So I love going to Mexico because everyone really enjoys each other’s company. And they express genuine interest in each other. When I’m in Mexico, everyone hears that I’m there visiting and mi familia makes every effort to come visit me, even if just for an hour or two. I never talk as much here as I do in Mexico because everyone is curious about me and my life in the U.S. I mean, no one pays that much attention to me here in Chicago!

DDR

Teaching


World History with Mr. Gibson, Divine Heart Seminary, Donaldson, Indiana

I’m still undecided on whether or not I like teaching. On good days, teaching doesn’t even feel like a chore and I truly enjoy interacting with the students. On bad days, I look at the bright side of things: At least no one shot at me! But I shouldn’t get so dramatic. But that’s one of the reasons I never wanted to teach in the Chicago Public Schools.

I chose to teach college and university students because I would rather deal with adults. All the students are at least eighteen years old. University students have the responsibility to study and do their homework. If they fail the course, it’s their fault for not having studied enough and doing all the required homework.

Actually, I like interacting with the students. We really have fun discussing a wide variety of topics, probably because they’re nowhere to be found on the syllabus. I do go off on a tangent sometimes in the classroom, but then I remember to somehow incorporate something from the Spanish lesson into conversation. And even though I stray from the lesson from time to time, I still manage to teach everything that’s listed on the syllabus in a way that keeps the students entertained while they learn Spanish.

What I do hate about teaching is all the bureaucracy. I hate doing all the paperwork involved. It’s bad enough I have a lot of homework to correct, but then I have to record all the grades and answer to my bureaucratic superiors.

DDR