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

Language barrier


Back of the Yards, Chicago, Illinois.

When I was growing up, my parents always spoke Spanish at home. Once I began attending school, I was supposed to speak English at home. This way my parents would be forced to learn to speak English. This was a promising idea in theory, but the reality resulted in bilingual conversations in which I would speak English and my parents would speak Spanish. To this day, I still speak to my father in English; whenever I speak to him in Spanish, he doesn’t understand me.

When I was a boy, my mother sent me to the store to buy pork chops. She specifically told me to buy pork chops, but she told me in Spanish. As I’m walking to the store, I realize that I don’t remember how to say pork chops in English. I kept trying to remember as I walked to the store.

Luckily, there were two customers ahead of me. That gave me more time to think about what I had to buy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t remember the English name for pork chops. The best I could produce was “pig chops.” But I was too embarrassed to ask for “pig chops” because I knew that wasn’t the right term. So, I walked home empty-handed, and my mother asked me why I didn’t buy the pork chops. When I told her what happened, she said that I should have asked for “pig chops.” She didn’t know how to say pork chops in English, either.

That night, we ate chicken.

DDR

Stereotypes


Chevy Astro Minivan.

There are postive and negative stereotypes, but some stereotypes originate from the truth. I hope no one hates me for this, but in Chicago, I have noticed that we have a lot of Chevy Astro minivans on the streets. If the Chevy Astro is not a commercial vehicle, I automatically assume that the driver is a Mexican!

I often catch myself making this assumption and scold myself. Of course, when I pull up alongside the minivan, I then observe that the driver is in fact Mexican! I have yet to see a Chevy Astro minivan in Chicago driven by someone other than a Mexican. Maybe this goes beyond stereotypes.

DDR