Category: Mexicans

I discuss issues about Mexican culture in the U.S. and Mexico.

English only, please


A poorly translated sign at Mercy Hospital.

We have so many foreign words in English that it’s quite pointless to insist on “English Only” or that English be made the official language. For one thing, what do we do about all the Spanish geographical names of the American southwest? There are too many names to translate to English.

And the reason they have Spanish names is because the Spaniards gave them Spanish names when the American southwest was still part of the Spanish colony called Nueva España (New Spain). Just think of the California cities called San Diego, Los Angeles, San Francisco, and Sacramento. There is a place in California (named in Spanish by the Spaniards) called La Brea Tar Pits. In Spanish La Brea means tar pits. So if we translate the name into English, we get The Tarpits Tarpits! We could do that for all the cities with Spanish names. San Diego will become Saint James, San Francisco, Saint Francis, and Sacramento, Sacrament! Perhaps this would be an impossible task, but we will eventually translate all those Spanish names into English! Dammit!

And speaking of redundant, I am reminded of the song, “Surfin’ USA” by the Beach Boys. There is a line in the song that says, “You’d see ’em wearin’ their baggies / Huarachi sandals, too.” In Spanish, “huaraches” means sandals, so these surfers are wearing sandals sandals! And then there’s Carlos Santana with, “Yo no tengo a nadie that I can depend on.” Hey, Carlos. English only!

In “Vertigo” by U2, the song begins with some “counting” in Spanish: “Uno, dos tres, catorce.” Either Bono doesn’t know Spanish or he just doesn’t know how to count. One of my students told me that these numbers really are a tribute to U2’s producer who produced albums number 1, 2, 3, and 14. And this reminds me of the song “Woolly, Bully,” by Sam The Sham and The Pharaohs that begins, “One, two, tres, cuatro.” He counts in both English and Spanish, but at least he gets the numbers in the correct order!

DDR

New food


I’ll have the Walking Taco.

I am not the most graceful of people. I was just getting this walking and talking thing down pat, when what do you think someone invents? A walking taco! Basically, you get a bag of Fritos piled with chili, lettuce, sour cream, and hot sauce. Walking tacos are very popular at carnivals and local sporting events in the greater Chicagoland area. Personally, I think of tacos as a sit-down kind of food that demands the eater’s complete and undivided attention because they are tricky to eat even while sitting down.

Anyway, I bought a walking taco the other day at my son’s football scrimmage game and I actually tried to eat it while walking; I wanted to see if there was truth in advertising. However, I don’t recommend this at all. Well, I was also holding an umbrella open because of the rain and I was carrying a can of pop, too. The walking taco was very tasty, but difficult to enjoy because I was afraid that I would drop either the umbrella, the can of pop, or God forbid, the walking taco. I accidentally spilled some chili on my shirt and couldn’t wipe the stain off because both my hands were full. Everyone knew what I had eaten. “How was that walking taco?” “Did you get any of the walking taco in your mouth?” Etcetera. My question is, does this qualify as Mexican food or American food?

DDR

Deported


My Mexican Passport

In 1965 when I was a boy, my mother took us all the way from Chicago to Mexico City by train. We took one train to St. Louis where we spent the night sleeping on wooden benches until our next train departed for Laredo, Texas, in the morning. In Laredo, we boarded another train to Mexico City.

What I remember most about this visit to Mexico was my uncle’s fascination with American culture, particularly how important brushing one’s teeth was. He wanted to know what kind of toothpaste I used, what kind of toothbrush, how many times a day I brushed my teeth. He asked many other questions about our life in the U.S., but nothing mattered more to him than American dental hygiene!

Anyway, when we were packing to return to Chicago, my mother announced that my uncle was coming back with us. All he packed was a small handbag that was noticeably light. When the train arrived in Laredo, my uncle showed his documents to the authorities and slipped them some money. Everything was fine until we arrived in St. Louis. Some important-looking people boarded the train and questioned my uncle who presented them with his documents. The authorities then asked my uncle to go with them. I never saw my uncle in the U.S. again. I remember carrying his little handbag home and wondering what my uncle had packed since it was so light.

When we got home, my mother took the handbag for safekeeping. I was never to touch it or look in it. We would give it to my uncle when he would finally arrive in Chicago. Every now and then when I would snoop around in my mother’s bedroom closet, I would see my uncle’s handbag, but I would never open it. One day, I couldn’t resist the temptation anymore. So, I looked in the bag. All my uncle had packed for his trip to America was a toothbrush and toothpaste!

DDR

Spanish in Burger King


Burger King in Mexico City

Last night, I was in Burger King with my sons. A Mexican family was standing behind me in line. I joked around with the cashier who took my order. We spoke in fluent colloquial English, and I have a Chicago south side accent.

The father of the Mexican family then ordered his food in broken English. Later, while I was waiting for my order, the father spoke to me in Spanish about his son who had just learned to walk the week before. I was surprised! I’m always surprised when total strangers speak to me in Spanish! I told a non-Mexican friend about this, and she said, “But you don’t even look Mexican!” But to another Mexican I do!

As a boy, my father would take us to Burger King a lot. We would order our food and I dreaded waiting to hear my father’s order. After completing the order, my father would always ask, “Do you have hot peppers?” When the cashier would say no, my father would say, “That’s okay. I brought my own!” He would then pull out a jar of jalapeño peppers from his pocket.

My father had hundreds of ways of embarrassing me in public.

DDR

Appearances are deceiving


Chicago, Illinois

I am always amazed when a stranger approaches me and immediately speaks to me in Spanish! When I was in Arizona, I was pumping gas, and someone asked me for help with the gas pump in Spanish. My sons were surprised that this person knew that I spoke Spanish.

This happened again in the mall in Phoenix. A woman approached me to sell me a nail product by greeting me and introducing herself in Spanish. We spoke Spanish during the entire demonstration. My friend was surprised not only that she addressed me in Spanish, but also that I spoke Spanish so well. (I do teach college Spanish!) My non-Hispanic friends are shocked to learn that I know Spanish. I suppose that’s the only way I’ll shock anyone.

DDR