Mexico City is the largest city in the Western Hemisphere. The traffic is a nightmare that I somehow managed to survive. And I did it at night.
My relatives in Celaya told me not to go to Mexico City just because of the traffic. Of course, that only served to make me even more determined to go. My aunt told me if the traffic scared me to turn around and go back to Celaya. But my cousin did give me some good advice: If you can’t find the address you’re looking for, ask a taxi driver to go there and follow him.
I was going to my cousin’s house in Mexico City, but I had no idea where in the city she lived. When I got to Mexico City, I’m driving in heavy rush hour traffic trying to read the map that didn’t really help me as other drivers were weaving all around me. Then, I see the sign for Paseo de Reforma, which I remember from my previous trip to México City 29 years earlier. So, I exit there and head to the Angel de la Independencia. There, I bought a map of the city and found her neighborhood and street address.
However, once I attempted to find her house, I couldn’t find her street. I circled the area several times before I finally gave up. I saw a taxi driver and asked him if he knew where la Calle Miguel Ocaranza was. He, a native Mexican, had never even heard of the street! I showed him the map and he said that he could find it. He led me there and I paid him 25 pesos plus tip. What an adventure it was driving in Mexico City! And I still have to drive through Mexico City to head home!!
Okay, now that I’ve spent some time in México, I realize that it’s been a little more than a short while since my last visit. My relatives who remembered my last visit asked me how long ago I came. Well, I visited them 29 years ago!
My! How everyone has changed since then! My cousins who were small children are now adults. Some of them are not only parents, but also grandparents. I should go back to México more frequently to keep up with the latest family additions.
They were also asking me about my first wife that I divorced long ago. I had to tell them about my second wife, whom I also married and divorced since my last visit to México, and my three sons. Everyone expressed genuine interest in our family in Chicago, my sons, and me.
I felt very welcome in México, especially since I have a lot of relatives here. At the border, there was a big sign that read, “Bienvenido paisano.” And there were a lot of Mexicans like me returning to visit family. I was considering moving to México after my retirement from the police department and now I have the opportunity to do it. I’ll have to think it over carefully when I return to Chicago. Of course, I’d have to live in a house with Internet access and all the amenities. I wrote my last two Blog entries from an Internet Cafe. For me, that’s roughing it!
Okay, while in Celaya, Guanajuato, México, I met another David Rodríguez! I have a cousin named David Rodríguez!
Before I met him again, I introduced myself to his brothers and sisters, also my cousins, as David Rodríguez. They all gave me that same puzzled look because the only David Rodríguez they know is their brother. Add another list to the world population of David Rodríguezes. This one plus the two that one of my Spanish students told me about. She had two, count them, two Spanish teachers who were named David Rodríguez before me!
One difference I noticed when I entered México was that EVERYONE speaks Spanish–as opposed to Chicago where only half the people speak Spanish. México is like a totally different country!
I may be Mexican, but I’m not a real Mexican who grew up in México. When I checked into a hotel in Matehuala, I realized that my name, David Diego Rodriguez, even though it sounds Spanish, is really American. My name if I were really, really a Mexican, would be David Diego Rodríguez Martínez. But so far, I’m blending in here in Mexico. Or at least, I’ve convinced myself that most people don’t really notice that I’m from America. I found this Internet Café in Celaya and it has accent marks and ñ just like a real Spanish keyboard!
Well, I must go now. My time is up at the Internet Cafe. Hasta pronto.
I spent a significant part of my coming-of-age years living in Marquette Park. But I was aware of the Marquette Park neighborhood long before my family moved there.
My mother loved taking my brothers and me to different parks in the Chicago Park District. Before she learned to drive, we only went to Davis Square Park and Cornell Square Park, mainly because they were walking distance from our home in the Back of the Yards neighborhood. We would always walk there with my Aunt Mari and my cousins.
Once she learned to drive, she took us to Marquette Park. My mother took us to play at Marquette Park a few times and I remember as we were driving west on Marquette Road once, she said that we would someday live in this neighborhood. I really thought this was just another one of her farfetched ideas that she would propose to us from time to time. I remember thinking that we could never afford to live in Marquette Park, especially after my parents divorced. I was shocked when I found myself living on Marquette Road itself: 2509 W. Marquette Road to be exact. My mother had actually bought a nice house in a beautiful neighborhood. Wow! Was I surprised when we actually moved there!
I also remember going to the Marquette Park fieldhouse in 8th grade for a wrestling tournament where I met someone whom I had met previously at Divine Heart Seminary for the sneak-preview weekend.
There were a lot of fears that the Marquette Park homes would be sold to African-Americans, so the seller told my mother when he finally saw her, “At least, you’re not black!” This is the neighborhood where Jesse Jackson marched down Marquette Road and was pelted by rocks and bricks.
Of course, I never wanted to move to Marquette Park because I was perfectly happy living in Back of the Yards. After a while, I adapted. I accepted Marquette Park as my home and Gage Park High School as my high school. But I was never genuinely happy there. However, I was happy to live in a Lithuanian neighborhood near Maria High School and the retirement home for nuns of the order of St. Casmir. I actually ran into some of my teachers / nuns from Holy Cross School in the neighborhood.
The focal point of the neighborhood became Marquette Park itself. I soon joined the Mar Par Chessmen that met on Tuesdays in the fieldhouse. The park was such a great place just to hang out. When I began driving, I would drive my ’75 Pontiac Firebird around the park at 65 miles per hour. I really loved driving that fast around the park drive. Looking back, I’m surprised that I didn’t get into an accident because I could barely control the car around those curves at that speed. When I began running seriously, I would run laps around the park. Eventually, I joined the Marquette Park Track Club–but that’s a Blog entry for another day!
When I was honorably discharged from the Marines, I found an apartment in the Marquette Park neighborhood. I felt wonderfully comfortable in the neighborhood. I lived there for six years until I bought a house in Bridgeport, but that’s another story!
Chicago USA 