Es difícil describir a los mexicanos que viven en Estados Unidos porque no son ni de México ni de Estados Unidos. Si son indocumentados, siempre viven con el temor de ser deportados. Si son ciudadanos estadounidenses, viven con el temor de perder su cultura mexicana. Cuando vuelven a México para visitar a la familia, todo mundo los reconoce como familia, pero ya no los consideran completamente mexicanos por su contacto con la cultura norteamericana. Así es la vida de alguien como yo que vive entre dos países.
Nadie llamaba de México a menos que fuera una emergencia. No entendía mucho entre los sollozos de su mamá. Sólo sabía que su papá se enfermó la semana pasada, pero sólo lo supo por una carta que apenas llegó esa mañana. Por fin, su mamá dejó de llorar y le explicó a Carmen que tenía que ver a su papá ahora mismo. Sería la última oportunidad. Toda la familia estaba al lado de su cama donde agonizaba. En el fondo, oyó una voz débil, “¡Tienes que venir! ¡Tu papá pregunta por ti! También quiere ver a su nuevo nieto.”
Inmediatamente consiguió boletos para volar a México y su esposo la llevó al aeropuerto. Tenían que despegar de Newark, pero cuando pidieron direcciones al aeropuerto, el vecino puertorriqueño se equivocó y les dio direcciones para el aeropuerto en New York. Nunca oía la diferencia entre Newark y New York.
Cuando llegaron a la puerta de embarque, el agente les dijo que estaban en el aeropuerto equivocado. Corrieron al coche y se fueron para el aeropuerto en Newark. Llegaron justo cuando se despegó su vuelo. Carmen empezó a llorar. Ahora no vería a su papá por última vez. Su esposo trataba de calmarla, pero lloraba aún más. Un hombre la vio y le preguntó que pasaba. Le explicó que perdió su vuelo para ver a su papá que estaba a punto de morir. Por casualidad, el hombre volaba a Texas por avión privado. Le ofreció llevarla hasta Texas y de allí le arreglaría cómo llegar a México.
Cuando llegó a Celaya, ya era de noche y vio la luz por las ventanas de la recámara de sus padres. Miró adentro y vio velas por todas partes. Tocó a la puerta y el perro ladró. Pero nadie le abría la puerta. Se acercó a la ventana de la recámara encendida y lo vio rodeado de su esposa y sus hijas. Tenía una foto de Carmen en sus manos. Todos rezaban.
Carmen fue a tocar a la puerta de nuevo. Esta vez, la puerta abrió y vio a su hermana Laura con una charola con tazas de café para todos. Cuando Laura vio a Carmen con su hijo, gritó “¡Ay!” y dejó caer la charola de café. El perro le ladraba a Carmen que ahora tenía miedo de entrar. Laura corrió a la recámara donde todos estaban, pero no regresó por el susto que sufrió. Volvió la mamá a la puerta y empezó a llorar. Abrazó a Carmen y a su hijo. Les dijo a los demás que vinieran a la puerta para saludar a Carmen y a su hijo. Todos la abrazaban y lloraban.
Por fin, Carmen les preguntó, “Pero ¿por qué lloran? ¿Ya falleció mi papá? Es que llegué demasiado tarde, ¿verdad?”
“No, todavía no,” dijo su mamá. “Lloramos de alegría. ¡Creíamos que estabas muerta!”
Laura dijo, “Me asusté porque creía que vi tu fantasma.”
Carmen les dijo que no entendía lo que pasaba, pero estaba contenta de ver a todos.
Finalmente, su mamá le dijo que cuando fueron por ella al aeropuerto, les dijeron que se estrelló su avión y que todos los pasajeros murieron. Creían que Carmen y su hijo habían muerto. Pero no era así. Y Carmen pudo despedirse de su papá antes de que falleciera.
Before I drove to México earlier this month, I searched online to see if I would be able to listen to Sirius XM in México. I guess few people with satellite radio travel to México and then post whether Sirius XM will work in México because I found exactly zero results. Well, I am now posting that I went to México, and I was able to listen to Sirius XM in México while I drove all the way to México City. There were some bad reception areas, but overall, the quality was incredibly good. This certainly made my driving experience much more enjoyable. So, now you know, in case you ever want to drive to México City and want to listen to Sirius XM down México way.
On the door of St. Petronille Church, Glen Ellyn, Illinois
Guadalupe is a common first name in Mexico. In Chicago, I have met both males and females who have this name. My sister’s middle name is Guadalupe. The adult nickname for Guadalupe is Lupe for both genders. Small children are called Lupito or Lupita, depending on their gender.
In Chicago, I knew a male Lupe who hated his name because non-Mexicans had trouble accepting his non-American name. They also mispronounced Lupe as “Loopy.” He hated this. But his name was Guadalupe Gonzalez, so he remained Lupe because he wanted to honor the name his parents had given him. He learned to not only accept his name, but also flaunt it, much to the annoyance of all non-Mexicans within earshot.
When I bought my house in Bridgeport, one of my tenants was named Guadalupe. she was a single mother with three children. As I later learned, only her youngest son was a U.S. citizen. I bought a four-flat because Derby foods was about to close down and move to Sylvester, Georgia. My plan was to rent out three apartments that would pay the mortgage while I was unemployed. All the tenants came with the building. Guadalupe lived in the second-floor rear apartment.
Guadalupe spoke hardly any English, but she understood most everything that was said. Her daughters were seven and six years old. Her son César was one. César, coincidentally, was also the name of the previous owner of my house. In fact, I bought my house from him. Well, it turns out that the previous owner was in fact César’s father, but he didn’t even worry about his son’s wellbeing at all. Guadalupe had to go to the welfare office to fill out some paperwork for her son, but she needed a ride and an interpreter. I offered to help her because she was struggling to get by. At the welfare office, I translated the social worker’s questions, which Guadalupe answered. Finally, we get to the question, “Who is César’s father?” Guadalupe has a hard time answering. The social worker turns to me and asks, “Are you César’s father?” “No,” I said. “I’m just her landlord and I was trying to help her.”
One day, she told me she couldn’t pay the rent. She was already about six months behind, but I didn’t have the heart to evict her. Eventually, I told her that I would have to evict her. I just couldn’t afford the mortgage unless all my tenants paid their rent. She was packing up one day when a nun stopped by her apartment to ask for donations. Guadalupe told the nun that she was moving out because she wasn’t working and couldn’t afford the rent. The nun said that her church could help her with the rent and find her a job. The nun talked to me and asked me not to evict Guadalupe and her children. She promised that she would pay all the back rent and find Guadalupe a job.
Well, this was a very agreeable arrangement for all of us. When Guadalupe needed repairs or rooms painted, she would make dinner for me afterwards. She didn’t like that I was always in a hurry to leave, but I was always so busy back then. Once she told me that she wanted her living room painted again even though I had just painted it about three months earlier. I wanted to know why her living room needed to be repainted so soon. She told me that her son had written on the walls with a magic marker, and she couldn’t wash the walls clean. I refused to paint again. She told me that if I didn’t paint, she would move out. I didn’t paint and she moved out.
I saw her about a year later. She had moved about two blocks away. She wasn’t feeling well. She had another baby a few months earlier and she never fully recovered from the delivery. I asked her if she had gotten married, but she said no. The father of the baby was her present landlord. She was sorry she had moved out from my building. That was the last time I saw her.
Irma Serrano at the People’s Theater, Back of the Yards, Chicago, Illinois
I never understood why my mother went to Mexico when Irma Serrano came to Back of the Yards to perform at the People’s Theater. She absolutely loved Irma Serrano. My mother had all her records. My mother saw all her movies. Yet, my mother went to Mexico the summer of 1970 when Irma Serrano came to People’s Theater.
But my mother had a plan! While she was away in Mexico, I would go for my mother to see Irma Serrano in concert! I was only fourteen at the time, so I was a little nervous when my mother explained her plan to me. I would see Irma Serrano in concert and then tell my mother all about the concert when she returned from Mexico. My mother thought her idea was absolutely brilliant. I, on the other hand, had mixed feelings. Because of my mother, I, too, loved Irma Serrano as a singer and an actress. I just couldn’t let my friends know this dirty little secret about me. What if my friends saw me going to the People’s Theater when I went to see Irma Serrano? What would I tell them? What if they wanted to tag along? That was my dilemma of the summer of 1970.
My mother arranged everything. She bought another camera just for the concert because she always took her camera to take pictures in Mexico. I was to take pictures of Irma performing on stage. I was to take pictures of every outfit she wore. She changed a few times during her performance, so I made sure I took pictures of every outfit. I must admit that this was fun, especially since Irma seemed to welcome the additional attention of an adolescent male admirer. My mother also wrote a letter to Irma that I was supposed to hand deliver to Irma Serrano personally. Those were my mother’s orders! My mother wanted me to go backstage after the performance to talk to Irma and take more pictures of her.
Irma Serrano in the dressing room.
“But how am I supposed to go backstage?” I asked my mother. “Just tell them that you’re delivering a letter to Irma Serrano from Carmen Rodriguez! They’ll let you in then!” I was always painfully shy, but now I was truly afraid to follow through with my mother’s plan. She wanted me to meet someone who was really a successful star and really, really famous. I was scared to approach Irma after the show. But I was even more afraid of how my mother would punish me if I didn’t take pictures of Irma and deliver my mother’s letter backstage.
I must admit that I thoroughly enjoyed the concert! Of course, that was also because none of my friends saw me going to the People’s Theater that afternoon. Luckily, the concert was on a Sunday afternoon when most of my friends spent the day visiting relatives. I recognized every song Irma sang because my mother always played them at home on her 8-track player. The only time I didn’t like listening to my mother’s Mexican music was on Saturday mornings. She played her music starting at sunrise. If I told her to turn it down a little, she would yell at me for being lazy and staying in bed. I would put the pillow over my head and the music didn’t sound so loud that way.
Since I was at the Irma Serrano concert of my own free will, according to my mother (under duress, if you asked me), I attempted to enjoy myself as much as possible. The audience consisted of less than about a hundred people, but they were all really into Irma. Even me! It was a really good concert! And since the audience was so small, it was also very intimate.
After the concert, I was able to get backstage by mentioning my mother’s name. I seriously doubted that would work, but I was amazed that I got to meet Irma Serrano in person. I told her that Carmen Rodriguez had written her a letter and I then handed her the letter. She smiled as she took the letter and said, “So you’re Carmen’s son? She told me about you.” I don’t know if Irma really knew my mother, but she knew how to treat fans appreciatively. I asked Irma if I could take more pictures of her, and she consented. I was thrilled to be backstage with Irma Serrano all by myself!
So that was my closest encounter with a very famous star!
Chicago USA 