Well, after thinking about the first entry for the College Spanish category for a long time, I guess I should tell you a little about myself. I have been teaching college Spanish since 1995 and I still haven’t decided if I would like to do this for a living. Don’t get me wrong. I genuinely enjoy teaching Spanish. In fact, I have taught at Morton College in Cicero, Illinois, Richard J. Daley College in Chicago, Illinois, Columbia College Chicago, and now, at the University of Illinois at Chicago (UIC). I could have taught at many other institutions, but they usually offered me Spanish classes to teach well after I already had a full-teaching schedule.
I enjoy interacting with the students and I chose to teach college-level Spanish because I would rather deal with adults who take responsibility for their own actions. What I enjoy most about teaching college students is that I often find myself learning just as much, if not more, as the students. Some Spanish grammar was never clear to me until I had to explain it to a class of baffled students who had so many questions about the grammar lesson before us. Once I figure out a way to explain a grammar point, it becomes clearer to me. Occasionally, not all students will understand my explanation, but at least one student in class who did will explain in his or her own words to the other students, usually quite successfully. Well, in some roundabout way I managed to teach the lesson, and I, too, learned something about Spanish and teaching.
I really loved the movie Real Women Have Curves (2005, Directed by Patricia Cardoso) even though I’m not a woman and I’m not from Los Angeles. I laughed throughout the movie because I could identify with the Mexicans who were portrayed accurately in the movie. We could see the importance of family unity and how going to college could be perceived as a threat to this unity. Education is not viewed as a positive goal in a Mexican family that has relied on manual labor to survive. Carmen (Lupe Ontiveros) wants her daughter Ana (America Ferrera, as of late as Ugly Betty on TV) to work in her sister Estela’s dress shop instead of going away to college.
Ana finally gives in to her mother’s wishes, but you can see that Ana is not only unhappy there, but she really does not belong there because she has so much more potential than that of a laborer. But that’s how Mexicans think sometimes. Even though Carmen complains about how hard she has worked as seamstress throughout her life, she is willing to subject her daughter to the same punishment of manual labor.
Carmen also criticizes her daughter about her excessive weight, even though Carmen herself is overweight. However, beauty is in the eye of the beholder and Ana is beautiful in her own way. Her boyfriend Jimmy tells her that she’s beautiful and he seems genuinely sincere when he compliments Ana.
If she were in Mexico, many men would consider her beautiful simply because she has a nice smile, a nice personality, and is pleasingly plump. Once when I was in Mexico, my cousin saw a pleasingly plump woman and he flirted with her by saying, “Oye, esa gordita viene con atole?” Well, if you don’t know Spanish, I better explain that in this context gordita means both pleasingly plump with positive connotations and also refers to a food that is made of corn flour stuffed with chicken or beef; atole is a tasty, hot drink made from corn. I guess this sentence doesn’t translate well, so I’ll give you a similar example in English. Suppose an attractive woman, say dressed seductively in a short skirt, struts her stuff past you, jiggling all her assets, my cousin could say something like, “Does that shake come with fries?”
This difference in beauty standards reminds me of a story that Rosie O’Donnell once told on a talk show–I believe it was Johnny Carson’s–before she was really famous. She talked about how she went to Mexico with a thin, beautiful Hollywood actress, which at the time I wondered why she would go to Mexico with another actress. Well, now that she’s famous and I know a little more about her personal life, I know why she went to Mexico with a thin, beautiful Hollywood actress. Anyway, Rosie and her thin “friend” were at a bar where all the men were hovering around Rosie instead of her friend. Finally, Rosie asked one of the Mexican men why they found Rosie more attractive than the beautiful actress. One of the men said, and you must imagine Rosie saying this with a Mexican accent, “The bones are for the dogs. The meat is for the men!”
Well, this movie really got me to think about my mother again, whose name also happens to be Carmen. My mother never valued education and there was absolutely no possibility of college in my future. She always told me that I would work in a factory when I was old enough to work. But she would always complain about how factory work was wearing her down. She always came home sore and tired from working.
One day, she showed me her swollen hands and said, “Someday you’ll see what it’s like to work hard. One of these days you’ll be working in a factory just like me.” I didn’t plan to ever work in a factory, so I told her, “That’s why I’m going to college!” She said, “Why are you going to college if you’re only going to work in a factory?” She couldn’t imagine any other occupation for me.
She eventually found me a factory job–a job that would have been ideal for my mother, but not for me because I had such higher aspirations. However, since I lived under her roof, I had to live by her rules, so I began working the midnight shift in a peanut butter factory two days before my eighteenth birthday, while I was still a high school junior. I really hated this job! When I got out of work at 7:00 a.m., I immediately had to get ready to go to school even though I was ready to go to bed.
I was always tired in school and often fell asleep during my afternoon classes. I told my mother that I couldn’t work full-time and go to school full-time. She told me that if I didn’t work, I couldn’t live with her; I would have to move in with my father, which she had always described as being my worst possible destiny. So, I continued working at the factory, but when I couldn’t take the stress of working and going to school anymore, I dropped out of high school. My mother didn’t complain because I was still working, and I was contributing to the family financially.
In the movie, Ana gets accepted to Columbia University with a scholarship, but her parents are against Ana leaving the family in order to study in New York City. Her father finally gives his blessing to Ana, but Carmen doesn’t even say goodbye to Ana when she leaves for school. Carmen merely watches from her bedroom window. But you can see that not all Mexicans value education as much as most Americans who know the importance of going to college to get ahead in life.
When you consider this anti-education attitude of Mexicans in general, you can see why they have a high school drop-out rate of about 50%. At least the movie ends on a positive note with Ana going off to Columbia University and we get to see her walking the streets of NYC near Times Square.
What’s a Mexican meal without beans? I remember having beans with almost every meal, including breakfast. A meal that usually consisted of beans, rice, and tortillas, provided all the necessary proteins for a healthy diet. And so, meat wasn’t always necessary. Most Mexicans eat healthy diets until they come to America and start eating fast food. Mexicans must never forget to eat their beans, rice, and tortillas. When I say beans, I really mean frijoles. They were always frijoles to me. Even when I speak English, occasionally slip and I accidentally say frijoles instead of beans.
In Chicago’s Millenium Park, we have a sculpture by Anish Kapoor called Cloud Gate. But somehow, someway everyone started calling it the Bean. Everyone except me. To me, it’s ¡El Frijol! It’s a giant frijol to me. All the sculpture needs are the accompanying rice and tortillas. But I’m not the only one who associates Cloud Gate with something Mexican. In fact, in one of our downtown bus shelters, I saw a poster of El Frijol over the bottom half of the Aztec calendar forming a symmetrical circle. The two figures complemented each other.
Anyway, I read this book called, It’s All in the Frijoles: 100 Famous Latinos Share Real-Life Stories, Time-Tested Dichos, Favorite Folktales, and Inspiring Words of Wisdom by Yolanda Nava. I must admit that the book has a very impressive, all-encompassing title, and at first, I felt too intimidated to read it. So, I bought it as a birthday present for my father for his eightieth birthday. After he opened his presents at his party, a few people started leafing through the book. My sister thought the book was interesting after reading some of the dichos (sayings); at least she didn’t judge the book by its cover alone, which is very pretty.
So, I bought myself a copy of the book and piled it on my stack of “to read” books. When I finally read it, I suffered from an identity crisis. I wasn’t like anyone of those Latinos in the book. Whenever I’d read about a person of Mexican descent, I’d think, okay, I’ll have something in common with this Mexican. But no! When I compare her life stories with mine, I question whether or not I’m actually Mexican!
Even as a young boy, I was always taught that men don’t cry. I never really saw the men in our family cry, except at funerals. I only saw my father cry when his mother died, his father died, his younger brother died in Viet Nam, and when my mother died. No one criticized the men for crying then. And the men never cried tears of joy.
But when I was little, I was always reminded not to cry whenever I fell, I didn’t get my way, or someone hit me–even when my mother hit me with the belt. Either my mother or my abuelita would constantly say, “Los hombres no lloran” [Men don’t cry!]
Sometimes when I cried, my mother would hit me and say, “¡Para que tengas algo para llorar!” [So you have something to cry about!] Once when I was about nine, I got beat up by one of the boys on the block and I came home crying. When my mother saw me, she asked me why I was crying. I told her what had happened, and she started hitting me. She made go back out to beat up the boy who had beat me up. Well, I went back to the boy’s house, and I beat him up–and I beat him up good! He felt all the pent-up anger that I had built up inside of me from the previous two beatings–the boy’s and my mother’s. But I finally understood that men don’t cry.
So, I learned to control my emotions. I didn’t cry when my paternal grandmother died; I was too young to understand. I didn’t cry when my paternal grandfather died; he died when he was 68 and he had fathered 18 children, so it wasn’t exactly a tragic death.
However, I did cry when my uncle Joseph Rodríguez died in Viet Nam; I cried because he was only 22. And I thought that I, too, would die in Viet Nam.
When my mother died, we had a lot of unresolved issues between us. I think the main reason I didn’t cry when she died was because I constantly heard her saying, “¡Los hombres no lloran!”
In Chicago, we have newspaper Hoy that is published in Spanish by the Chicago Tribune. I enjoy reading the news in Spanish because it provides a different perspective. Sometimes Hoy has articles that wouldn’t appear in other local newspapers because they deal with local Hispanic interests. I also subscribed to the Chicago Tribune, but I read Hoy first. Some articles appear in both the Tribune and Hoy. When they do, the articles seem to have been written in English first and then translated into Spanish for Hoy; they contain the same information in the same order. There are many more typos in Hoy than in the Tribune, but I still enjoy reading Hoy.
I have Hoy delivered to my house. Would you believe that this subscription is free? I believe that if you live in the delivery area for the Chicago Tribune, you may subscribe. Here is their telephone number in case you’d like to subscribe: 312.527.8467.
Anyway, I also have the Chicago Tribune delivered to my house. When I ordered Hoy, I started having problems with my newspaper delivery. I’m not sure what happened, maybe the delivery person didn’t think I could read both English and Spanish. I would either get the Tribune or Hoy, but not both. I really couldn’t complain about not getting Hoy since I didn’t pay for the subscription. However, I was paying for the Tribune subscription, and I wanted to read the news. I called to complain and now I get both newspapers regularly. A couple of weeks ago, instead of receiving the Tribune and Hoy, I received the Korean Daily! I can’t read Korean! I wonder how the Korean Daily subscriber reacted when receiving Hoy!
Chicago USA 