Independence Day lakefront festivities


Photo by Anna-Louise on Pexels.com

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.

DDR

Happy Independence Day


Stars and Stripes

Happy 231st Birthday, United States of America!

On this national holiday, everyone will celebrate by picnicking, barbecuing, watching fireworks, and of course, setting off our own fireworks. We may worry about polluting our environment all year long, but we get a special dispensation to celebrate our nation’s independence and blow things up. Try to stay out of the emergency room. Don’t get burned when barbecuing, don’t blow your fingers off with your fireworks, and most importantly, don’t overeat and raise your cholesterol level to astronomical heights.

During all these celebrations, take a moment to look around you. You will see Americans all around celebrating this special day. Some of them will be Mexicans, perhaps undocumented. I know we are always looking forward to this day. Occasionally, we would have a family picnic on the Fourth of July. We would do all the traditional American activities, but we would barbecue carne asada, elotes, and tamales and have a piñata for the kids. We even played Lotería using beans for the markers. But we always celebrated the Fourth of July!

DDR

Accents


On the road in México

Accents are a funny thing. An accent separates or distinguishes you from another person or group when you speak. For as long as I can remember, I have always had an accent. In kindergarten, I spoke broken English since I only spoke Spanish at home. So, I had a Mexican accent. But when I went to Mexico, I had a gringo accent when I spoke Spanish. Then, I met my friend Patrick McDonnell in the second grade, and I spoke with a little bit of an Irish brogue. Since I attended a Lithuanian Catholic grade school, I picked up a few Lithuanian words. In high school, classmates made fun of the way I talked, so I only talked when necessary. I remember reading books aloud to practice my pronunciation. I was trying to eliminate any trace of an accent. Unsuccessfully, I might add.

When I enlisted in the Marines, I met people from all over the United States for the first time in my life. It was the first time someone told me that I had a Chicago accent. I was surprised when I met someone new, and he said he knew I was from Chicago because I had no accent. My accent adapted unconsciously so it would fit in. And I did fit in. During my enlistment, I spoke with the accents of Brooklyn, Texas, Queens, Boston, Virginia, Oklahoma, and California. But I didn’t do this on purpose. I just somehow blended in with everyone around me.

When I began teaching Spanish, I also unconsciously adapted the accent of the people around me. So, depending on to whom I spoke, I would speak like them. I’m not sure what my authentic original voice sounds like anymore. A colleague once said, “I was trying to figure out what dialect you were. Now I know you’re Mexican because you said, “Mande.”

I suppose if I listen to myself carefully, I hear all these different accents in my voice from different places.

DDR

My unique name


Chicago telephone directory, 1983

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!

DDR

Ken Burns and the Latino protest


My Uncle Joseph Rodriguez is on this wall.

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.

DDR