In Chicago, we have a very special way of speaking English. That’s right. Da Mayor’s (pronounced “da mare”) English, with its dem [them] and dose [those]. However, in Chicago, each neighborhood also has its own dialect. In some cases, you can tell from which neighborhood, or parish in the old days, someone hails. But my favorite topic of all grammatical points in the study of Da Mayor’s English is the formation of plurals. This may vary greatly from neighborhood to neighborhood. For example, the plural of the pronoun “you” in the Queen’s English is “you.” On the Southside, however, the plural is “youse guys,” but no one knows the correct spelling because it’s only used in conversation and has the unique power to include males and/or females. My other favorite formation of a plural is derived from “man.” In certain neighborhoods, one male is a “man.” Two or three males are “men.” Four or five males are “mens.” More than five males are “menses” (two syllables), as in “Hey, all y’all. There’s ten menses on the corner.” The logic of this is just so … well, so logical. Sometimes, a plural form is made where none exists: Soldier Field becomes Soldiers Field. On the other hand, some plural words inadvertently become singular: “I’m going to the Cub game.” And of course, the plural of “police” is “polices” (three syllables), as in “The polices asked me how many feet are in a yard and I said, ‘It depends on how many peoples are in the yard!'”

Okay, all you people working on the streets of Chicago. Leave me alone!

You, selling “Ice-cold water! Ice-cold water!” Don’t tap on my window. I’m not hot and thirsty because I’m in an air-conditioned car!

Hey Homeless Man, stop asking me for money for food. At least be honest. Just say you want to buy a bottle of whiskey. The last time I gave you my sandwich, I saw you throw it away.

Squeegee guy! Please don’t squeegee my windshield clean when it’s raining out. That’s why I have the windshield wipers on!

Preacher Man, yeah you with the portable sound system standing on the corner of Washington and State. Don’t preach to me when I’m walking arm in arm with my date for a night on the town. Do I look like I’m preoccupied by Eternal Damnation?

Newspaper Dude, pay attention to your customers. When I actually want to buy a newspaper, I want service with a smile. I don’t have time to wait for you while you flirt with the crossing guard.

Mr. Street Salesman, if I’m wearing a suit and tie, I most certainly don’t want to buy white socks!

Hey Lady of the Evening standing on the corner! I really don’t want to take you out on a date! Ever!

Mr. Sax Player, no one wants to hear the same Christmas carol over and over again in July!

Hey! Bucket Boys! I have nothing against the Bucket Boys, but get a performer’s license so you won’t ever have to run away from the police again!

Well, I celebrated Independence Day with my sons in our backyard yesterday. Nothing fancy. We just shot up some bottle rockets for an hour and then went inside. I enjoy the simple things in life. I live in an integrated neighborhood and many families on the block did the same thing. That was showing the American spirit!

This morning I read Hoy, the Spanish newspaper published by the Chicago Tribune, and their front page story talked about all the Mexicans who came from all over Chicago and suburbs such as Carpentersville, Romeoville, and Bolingbrook to the Chicago lakefront to celebrate the Fourth of July. The Espinoza family came to Chicago to celebrate because they liked that other Hispanic families were there, too. But Chicago has always been friendly to immigrants. I know from personal experience because I lived in Pilsen and Back of the Yards before they became predominantly Hispanic.

We should always remember that America is a melting pot, a salad bowl, and/or the land of immigrants.

What’s in a name? Where have I heard that question before? A Rodríguez by any other name would be a Smith or a Jones in English. But I digress.

I have such a common Spanish name: David Rodríguez. So my mother always told me to use my middle name Diego to distinguish myself from all the other David Rodríguezes in the world. So I am now David Diego Rodríguez. And my oldest son is David Diego Rodríguez, Jr. I lost the naming argument with my ex-wife when she was pregnant.

At the time, I realized that this world didn’t need to add another David Rodríguez to that already extensive collection. And that’s why I wanted to name my first son Carlos. Wait a minute! That would make him Carlos Rodríguez! I know there must be hundreds of Carlos Rodríguezes in the world since Rodríguez is one of the most common Spanish last names in the world. Do you see the problem of having such a common last name?

So I began using my middle name religiously: David Diego Rodríguez. Always. Even for my telephone book listing. However, one friend didn’t call me after finding my listing because he thought it sounded too Mexican and he didn’t think of me as Mexican.

Well, thanks to the Internet, I discovered that there were two other David Diegos in the world, one in Spain and one in Israel. However absurd this may sound, we felt a certain kinship with each other! Mainly because they didn’t live on my block and we wouldn’t get each other’s mail. I’m thinking of changing my name to something very unique: DavidRodriguez.us!

There is no doubt that Ken Burns makes some fine documentaries. That would explain why there was a protest for the inclusion of Latinos. Well, the impact of the protests affected the content of the final version of “The War” by Ken Burns and now Latinos are mentioned in the documentary.

I don’t often think about Mexicans in war except in the Mexican Revolution or Vietnam. The Mexican Revolution is part of the Mexican psyche even for those who were too young to recall it.

I always recall Vietnam because I met some of these veterans when they returned from Vietnam. My Uncle Joseph died in Vietnam in 1968 and I remember going to his funeral thinking that I would someday have to go to Vietnam, too. Well, all this reminded me of my father-in-law Louis L. Chávez when he lived with us while I was still married. He was proud that his grandfather had been a general in President Porfirio Díaz’s army. However, when the Mexican Revolution began, his grandfather and family escaped to Chicago where they had family. Louis had his grandfather’s commission papers for general signed by Porfirio Díaz himself.

Well, during WWII, Louis enlisted in the army was immediately shipped to Europe where he was an MP in a prisoner of war camp. One day, one of the German prisoners, was saying something in German to Louis, which he didn’t understand. Finally, the German prisoner spoke to Louis in Spanish because the prisoner thought he looked Mexican. So Louis carried a short conversation with this prisoner in Spanish. It turns out that the German prisoner was living in Argentina, but was drafted by Hitler. The German prisoner referred to the Fuhrer as “ese maldito Hitler” [“that damn Hitler”].

Well, there were plenty of Mexicans in WWII, but not many people know about them, so Ken Burns should at least make a passing mention of them.