Every Sunday morning, I listen to 105.1 La Que Buena Spanish radio station because they play the old songs that I remember from when I was growing up.

I always wax nostalgic, as I am wont to do, when I recall my mother playing that Mexican music every Saturday morning. I’m not exactly sure why I keep listening every Sunday because that music always depresses me.

One sunny Sunday morning, I thought to myself, “Let me analyze myself to see why old Mexican music depresses me.” Well, unfortunately, I have a very good memory that doesn’t gloss over the negative aspects of my past.

Suddenly, I remembered that my mother hated to see me sleeping in on a Saturday morning all the way to 8:00 a.m.! She would try to wake me by shaking me and calling me lazy: “¡No seas flojo!” Of course, I didn’t get up, so my mother would play Mexican music on her portable 8-track player full-blast right by head! And why would I have to get up? To help my mother with the housework. But no matter what room I swept, she would sweep it again because I didn’t sweep it just right. Ditto with the mopping.

I think she just hated to see me sleeping comfortably.

My friend Jim and I have always loved exploring Chicago. But he would always research places for us to explore and I would drive us there. No place was too remote or too dangerous for us to visit. In fact, the more people told us we were crazy for visiting one of our announced new destinations, the more determined we were to go there. We once went to an Irish bar in Bridgeport, on Emerald Street of course, because Jim had heard they had a picture of Mayor Richard J. Daley on the wall. I figured this would be a safe trip since Jim is Irish and I could pass for Irish after a few drinks. Finding parking in Bridgeport was an adventure in itself. And then walking from the car to the bar was just as adventurous because the local residents who saw us watched us warily because obviously, we weren’t of the Bridgeport nobility. As we approached the bar, we could hear the music playing and the patrons talking boisterously from the outside. When we opened the front door to walk in, everyone stopped talking and stared at us. Even the picture of Mayor Daley was looking at us! Well, I must admit that we felt uncomfortable for a moment or two, but then we walked up to the bar and ordered two beers. Everyone then resumed talking to each other again. However, we felt uncomfortable because we were continually watched while we drank our beer. We left as soon as we finished drinking it and we felt relieved when we safely passed the self-appointed residents who watched for foreigners, i.e. someone not from Bridgeport. Once we were driving away, we decided never to return to that bar again. We were lucky to escape Bridgeport alive!