I have met a lot of Mexicans in Chicago who talk about going back to live in Mexico someday. My mother always said she was moving back to Mexico, but never did. Because of their close proximity to the U.S., many Mexicans, even those living in Mexico, feel it’s important to learn English and know a little about their northern neighbors. How many Americans have such an attitude about Mexico and Mexicans?
When I was in Mexico, a lot of people knew several phrases in English. Many Mexicans had studied English in school at some point in their lives. Several of my relatives were fluent in English and they spoke English quite well. I was actually very surprised by this. And it’s not like they’re ever planning on moving to the U.S. Actually, they’re quite happy in Mexico. In fact, I met several Mexicans who had moved to the U.S. and didn’t like living here. So they moved back because they missed their family and Mexico. Most Mexicans want to live in Mexico.
Canas in Spanish means gray hair. My gray hair started appearing in my early thirties. In some of pictures, my hair doesn’t even look gray. Sometimes it looks dark brown or black. Most of the time it looks like I have salt and pepper hair. In some pictures my hair looks completely gray. I’ve never worried much about my appearance. What you see is what you get! No hair dyes or plastic surgery for me. Despite the gray hair, I feel more energetic now than when I was younger. There’s a saying in Spanish: Con las canas vienen las ganas. This saying is difficult to translate, but it could be interpreted as, “With (gray hair) age comes desire/energy.” Okay, I did my best, but it loses something in the translation. I have more energy than my much younger colleagues, who seem to tire much sooner than me. Well, I just accept life as it comes. Life is a boxing match, so I’ve learned to roll with the punches. When I was younger, I thought that the best defense was blocking punches and punching back. However, no matter how good a pugilist you are, you will get punched. And quite often, too. So, I learned to roll with the punches.
Anyway, gray hair runs in our family. Or so I thought. All my uncles in Chicago had salt and pepper hair since their early thirties, and I followed the family genetic suit. But when I went to Mexico, I noticed that my male relatives in their thirties, forties, and even fifties didn’t have gray hair. And they didn’t dye their hair, either. So why do we Rodríguezes have more gray hair in America than in Mexico. Well, I’ll be honest with you, Gentle Reader, I don’t know! And it doesn’t bother me either. Except when I’m in Mexico and they ask me my age. I know that they’re trying to place me in chronological order among relatives, I am the long-lost relative who finally returned to the mother country. It is only in these moments that I become self-conscious about my gray hair.
But I am thankful to have lived longer than I had ever expected I would as a boy. I remember watching all those old kung fu movies and fantasizing about becoming like the old kung fu master that is baddest warrior of all. You know the guy. The protagonist fights and defeats one combatant after another until at the end of the movie he confronts the deadliest warrior alive, who usually turns out to be a seemingly frail old man with long white hair and a long white beard. This was usually the best fight scene of the movie! Until the protagonist finally defeats him after a long and exciting battle. So, this is how I thought I would become in my old age. Other than gradually getting older and older, I really don’t have much in common with the old kung fu master. Okay, I tried growing my hair and beard long, but no one really felt comfortable around me. So, I’m back to my short gray hair happy that, Con las canas vienen las ganas.
I just finished reading the Sunday Chicago Tribune. I used to really enjoy reading the Sunday paper from morning to early afternoon. But lately, –of course, the Internet has a lot to do with it–newspapers have been annoying me. I recently re-subscribed to the Chicago Tribune, against my better judgment. The telemarketer insisted that all the problems I had in the past would remain problems of the past. This reminded me of a phone call from an ex who promises things will be different now. Promises, promises!
So, I re-subscribed to the Tribune yet again. And they failed to deliver on their promises–yet again! They told me that this time I would receive the newspaper on my doorstep before I left the house for school. It hasn’t happened yet. Today, I thought I would save my favorite sections from the paper for last. But when I went to read the paper, not all the sections were there!
I love to read all the news about Chicago, but the Metro section was missing. I’m not really into sports, but I like reading about the Olympics, especially the track and field events. However, the Sports section was also missing. The Business and Perspective sections were also missing in action. I called the Tribune to complain, but I was mechanically greeted by their automated answering system. All I wanted to do was get the missing sections so that I could read them. But if I wanted to talk to a live person, I would have to call back tomorrow. By then I will have read the missing sections on the Internet! So why am I subscribing to the Chicago Tribune if they don’t deliver?
Now that I think of it, I have also had some memorable Spanish teachers in addition to Enrico Mordini at Divine Heart Seminary. My first semester at UIC, I made sure that I registered for a Spanish class. I took a placement test on which I scored poorly. When you sort of know Spanish, as I did then, you manage to talk yourself into the wrong answer many times just because it sounds right. I had to take a second placement test in the Spanish department because I had a Spanish surname, I admitted that I came from a Spanish-speaking family, and I still actually spoke Spanish. Sort of. For the placement test, I had to write in Spanish and explain where I worked and what I planned to do at UIC. This was actually exceedingly difficult for me because I only studied Spanish for two years at Divine Heart Seminary and I didn’t really apply myself because I was just a rebellious teenager. I occasionally wrote letters in Spanish to Mexico, but they were usually truly short. So, I wrote this little essay in Spanish, and they placed me in Spanish class for heritage speakers. This class consisted of students from Spanish-speaking backgrounds who sort of knew Spanish, but not really.
I will always remember our first Spanish instructor. She was a teaching assistant from the Dominican Republic named Juana. She insisted that we call her Jenny. I think she wanted to fit in with the rest of the Americans. As a side note, I was always, and still am, amazed by the fact that graduate students would come from Spanish-speaking countries to UIC to study Spanish. Anyway, Jenny was quite a teacher. When we took exams, she would look it over and tell us we might want to look over a certain answer. When I did, I realized that I was wrong, and she gave me a chance to correct my mistakes. She came to Chicago in September, and she was amazed at how cold it was: about 60 degrees Fahrenheit! The next week, the temperature dropped to about 50 degrees. When I saw her walking to class that 50-degree day, she wore a full-length winter coat, a hat, a scarf, and gloves. She couldn’t believe how cold it was in Chicago. Just as a warning, I told her that it would get much colder in just a few weeks. I also reminded her that it also snowed in Chicago. Once winter arrived, she would only take off her hat, scarf, and gloves, but keep her coat on. She would shiver during the whole class. When she graduated with her master’s degree, she immediately went back to the Dominican Republic.
I’ve always loved comedy in any form since I was a boy. Of course, I loved all the old TV comedies like The Dick Van Dyke Show, the Honeymooners, and Laugh In, and the variety shows like the Carol Burnett Show and the Flip Wilson Show, but I especially loved watching the standup comedians like Bill Cosby, George Carlin, Bob Newhart, Joan Rivers, and Phyllis Diller. I loved watching them so much that I wanted to be a comedian, too. For some strange reason, I would always remember every joke that I heard. Of course, I had trouble retaining my school lessons, like the multiplication tables. But I knew hundreds of jokes by the time I was a teenager. Other boys memorized baseball statistics from baseball cards or knew where all the pretty girls in the neighborhood lived. My friend Adrian could tell the year and make of any automobile just by looking at the taillights, the headlights, or the grille. When that became too easy for him, he graduated to airplanes. Anytime a plane flew overhead, he would tell us what kind of plane it was and what airlines used them. If no one stopped him, he would recite every statistic he knew about that plane. He even knew about military aircraft. But he still knew his cars as well.
Anyway, surrounded by friends like that, I wanted to find my niche, my very own specialty. Something in which I could indulge to the nth degree. In the immortal words of Tina Turner, I never do nothin’ nice ‘n’ easy! I decided that jokes would be my forte! When we went to the library, I would check out a joke book. Every Sunday, I would read the jokes religiously in the My Favorite Jokes section in the Parade Magazine that appeared in the Sunday paper. Since I didn’t speak English that well, learning all these jokes helped me improve my English. And I became one of the best spellers in the third grade even though I didn’t speak English all that well. My mother, who had the same love for jokes, and I would always tell each other the latest joke we had heard. I even read Reader’s Digest just for the jokes.
So, it’s no wonder that I became a standup comedian. However, I was always nervous on stage, even when I settled down and became comfortable. That’s one of the reasons I gave up performing. I would feel nervous for days before performing. That feeling would intensify while performing. And then, I wouldn’t get over my nervousness afterwards for days because I would think about all the mistakes I had made or things that I should have said. But that didn’t stop me in my quest to become funnier.
Funnier? I wanted to be the funniest comedian ever! That’s the way I am. When I do something, I must go all out. I don’t let my actual talent and limitations stop me. I know my limits because I cross them all the time. I wanted to become so funny as a standup comedian that I would make someone die from laughter! I fantasized about someday performing at the Chicago Theater and seeing my name on the marquis and an ambulance on standby parked in front. Yes, I thought I could be that funny!
And to that end, I watched every classic TV comedy show and every classic comedy movie ever made. But that wasn’t enough for me in my quest for killer comedy. I also read every humorous book I could find, usually by culling the bookshelves at one of the many used bookstores that we used to have in Chicago. I even bought a book autographed by Bob Hope for a dollar! I read a lot of comedy, humor, and joke books in my lifetime. Well, as usually happens to me whenever I read a book, while reading I discover at least two or three other books I must read. Especially with the comedians who are always thanking someone who positively influenced their comedic skills. So, let’s just say that I read a lot of funny books.
My favorite book of all time!
So, one day, I was invited to a party by my friend Mary McCall at her condominium at 400 E. Randolph. That’s the high-rise building with the pool covered by the glass geodesic dome that used to be located by the Lake Shore Drive S-curve until someone decided to straighten out the S-curve. The building is still there, but the S-curve is gone. Anyway, I met, just by chance, Aaron Freeman the comedian. Mary introduced me to him, but we already knew each other because we both had performed at the Clout Club, the comedy club founded by Jim Wiggins on North Lincoln Avenue in 1986. Aaron mentioned that there weren’t any funny books written. I couldn’t help it, but I had to disagree. “What about the classics?” I asked him. Aristophanes and Shakespeare wrote some very funny stuff. Cervantes was a very funny guy, too! Of course, Catch-22 and Catcher in the Rye are also hilarious. I told him he had to read anything by some of the lesser-known humor writers, but equally as funny, such as Ring Lardner, Stephen Leacock, S.J. Perelman, James Thurber, Groucho Marx, Will Cuppy, Woody Allen, Dorothy Parker, Richard Armour, and Max Shulman. He said he would read them. I really enjoyed that conversation with him because I love talking about jokes and funny things that I have read. I never met Aaron again, so I haven’t been able to ask him if he ever read any of my suggestions and read any of those funny writers. Such is life.
Chicago USA 