My father always loved going to the Chicago Auto Show every year. He would go several times each year and he would always take my brothers, sister, and me the first time he went. He always managed to get free tickets either through work or some promotional event. Somehow, he always found free tickets and took us every year.
When I was older, he would go with just me so we could take our time and really look at all the cars. He loved looking at the cars and we loved collecting bags and bags full of automobile literature, pamphlets, key chains, and anything else they gave away there. My father was a mechanic at Curtiss Candy, so he loved to show off his knowledge of all things mechanical while we were at the auto show. So if they had a motor displaying the internal parts, my father would explain how the internal combustion engine worked. My brothers weren’t all that interested in his explanations, but I always tried to learn something new everytime we went to the auto show.
My father always fantasized about owning all the latest expensive sports cars. He would always insist that we sit inside the car, behind the wheel. Then, he would explain all the features of the car, as if he were a car salesman. My favorite part of the show was the celebrities who made appearances. They were so accessible to everyone. Usually all the Chicago sports teams such as the White Sox, the Bulls, the Bears, the Blackhawks, and the Cubs sent a few players to represent them. I don’t really remember exactly who specifically showed up, but I do remember that if you waited long enough after their presentation, you could walk right up to them, shake their hand, and talk to them. We would always wait to meet the celebrities, but I was too shy to actually talk to them. I was content with shaking their hand and standing close enough to listen to them talk to others. The only Chicago player I really remember meeting there was Walter Payton. I also remember meeting Jesse Owens who came every year. He was always so patient just standing there waiting for everyone who wanted to greet him.
And long after the auto show was over, we still had our bags of automotive literature to entertain us well into the summer.
When you learn a foreign language, you can’t help but learn about another culture and its customs. I often remember Vito’s friend Jean-Claude von Bostal who came to visit Vito in Chicago from Belgium. Everything was so different for him. Vito asked me what we could do with Jean-Claude that would be very American. I suggested going to a baseball game. That’s about as American as you can get, if you overlook the fact that most of the players are from Latin America. So we went to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs play. It was a warm day, so everyone dressed in summer clothes.
A woman seated near us wore a tank top. When one of the Cubs hit a home run, she clapped with her hands over her head, revealing her shaved armpits. We couldn’t help but notice her because she was also whooping it up. Jean-Claude immediately noticed her shaved armpits and said, “That’s stupid!” Vito corrected him, “You mean that’s different.” Well, I know for a fact that women don’t shave their armpits in Europe. So I said, “Vito, I think he really means that it’s stupid.” Jean-Claude nodded and said, “Why do they shave their armpits?” Well, you see, there are always cultural differences even when you don’t think of them. They abound everywhere.
Physical distance between people is a common cultural topic of many Spanish textbooks. When you learn a foreign language, you also learn about the culture. The two are inseparable. When associating with someone from a Spanish-speaking country, they usually get very close to you when they speak. They are more likely to greet you by shaking your hand and/or giving you a hug and a kiss. This is something that you’ll have to learn to accept. This happens if you’re in the U.S. or in Mexico.
In the U.S. we’re accustomed to having plenty of distance between us when we speak to someone. And we hardly ever hug someone unless they’re a family member. For me, you have to be a family member on speaking terms. When I was in Mexico, I was hugging and kissing total strangers just because they were close friends to my cousin.
I’ll be perfectly honest. With certain persons of the female persuasion, I squeezed them a little harder with the hug and held the kiss a little longer than necessary. This is something I would never do here in America. I generally don’t like people touching me! Period.
In Mexico, a hug between two male friends is quite common, but in America I never even think about hugging another man. Once, I hadn’t seen a friend for about five years. When I saw him, he immediately ran to me and gave me this big overly friendly bear hug. I said, “Whoa! I wasn’t ready for that.” I needed some distance between us.
Since I grew up on the south side of Chicago, I’m uncomfortable if someone gets too close to me when speaking. I like to have ample distance between my interlocutor and me. I like to be beyond striking distance. At UIC parties, I noticed that the Spaniards used to like to talk to me by putting their face about two inches away from mine and I felt extremely uncomfortable! I usually keep backing up until I bump into the wall and have to stop back pedaling. But then I discovered that if I held my plate of food about six inches in front of me, that offered me a buffer zone that kept me well beyond the striking distance of fists and/or food ejected during conversation. Spaniards like to speak to you face to face, but they respect food and will maintain a safe distance from it in order not to knock it over.
In Chicago, we have a great rivalry between the south side and the north side. Such a rivalry has not existed since the American Civil War. As a boy, I often heard White Sox fans say things like, “It’s a beautiful day in Chicago. The Sox won and the Cubs lost.” Sox and Cubs fans are naturally inclined to hate each other during baseball season. Nothing causes greater family strife than having a family member who is a fan of the opposing team. It’s the classic case of brother against brother, wife against husband, and so on, all due to being the fan of the opposing Sox or Cubs. I knew of one ardent, fanatical White Sox family who ran DNA tests on their son to see if he wasn’t switched at birth all because he turned out to be a ardent, fanatical Cubs fan, the only one in the family for three generations.
Here is a joke that illustrates the rivalry among Chicago sports fans:
A group of Chicago sports fans are out hiking. One is a Blackhawks fan, one a Bulls fan, one a Bears fan, one a Sox fan, and one a Cubs fan. They get to the top of the cliff and behold a majestic sunset. It is breathtaking. Soon, though, they get to arguing about Chicago sports and who among them is the most dedicated fan.
The Hawks fan cries, “This is for Bobby Hull and the Hawks of the ’60s!” and throws himself off the cliff.”
The remaining fans are impressed by his dedication, but the Bears fan shouts, “Oh, yeah? Well, this is for Ditka and the ’85 Bears!” and throws himself off the cliff.
The Bulls fan is not about to be outdone. He shouts, “This is for Michael Jordan and the Bulls of the ’90s!” and also leaps into the abyss.
This leaves just the Cubs fan and the Sox fan. At which point, the Sox fan says, “This is for the South Side!” and pushes the Cubs fan off the cliff!
When I was a boy growing up in Chicago, I had to decide early on whether I was a Sox or Cubs fan. As Cub Scout, one of our first field trips was to a White Sox game. From then on, I was a diehard White Sox fan. However, our next-door neighbors, and I mean the entire family, were hardcore Cubs fans. In the summer of 1969 when the Cubs had a winning record in mid-summer, everyone–even Sox fans–was excited about the prospects of the Cubs going to the World Series. If I think about names of Chicago baseball players from my childhood days, I remember more Cubs players than Sox. For the White Sox I remember Wilbur Wood, Ken Berry, Luis Aparicio, and Carlos May, but that’s about it. As for the Cubs, I remember Ernie Banks, Billy Williams, Randy Hundley, Ron Santo, Glenn Beckert, Ken Holtzmann, Fergie Jenkins, Don Kessinger, and manager Leo Durocher. Now that I think of it, this is pretty sad that I, as a Sox fan, don’t remember more White Sox players from that era. But we were all excited about having such a good baseball team in Chicago despite our allegiances. Unfortunately, the Cubs soon collapsed, and they dropped out of contention for the playoffs.
One year at our Rodriguez family picnic, we played volleyball, as we always do, picking teams. We try different ways to set up teams, such as north siders versus south siders, American born versus Mexican born, the sober versus the drunk, etc. Then someone suggested, Sox fans versus Cubs fans. I thought it would be lopsided because I always stereotype Mexicans as Sox fans. Wow was I ever wrong! In fact, both teams were evenly balanced in number and talent. I was amazed. Well, we played two games, and the match was tied. We were in the middle of playing the third game, tie score, when a thunderstorm stopped our game. We immediately went home to avoid getting struck by lightning. I’m sure this was some sort of divine intervention. Otherwise, who knows how high the body count might have been.
A couple of years ago I was at my sons’ little league picnic where one of the raffle prizes was an autographed baseball by White Sox designated hitter #25 Jim Thome. Well, a young White Sox fan won one of the first raffle prizes, so he was able to choose any prize from the table. He chose the autographed baseball since he was an avid White Sox fan. Unfortunately, his parents were both avid Cubs fans. When the boy proudly showed the baseball to his father, the father began shouting at him. He wanted his son to exchange the baseball for another prize, but the raffle organizers didn’t allow any exchanges. This man was so upset with his son that he ignored him for the rest of picnic. However, the boy proudly showed the baseball to all his friends. I wonder if his parents had DNA tests performed on their son.
I, unfortunately, hail from the much-maligned south side. And, I have been a White Sox fan for as long as I can remember. The 2005 World Series Championship was something that I waited for all my life. But don’t get me wrong. I’m not just a White Sox fan. I’m also a Chicago fan. No matter who’s winning in Chicago, I support the team. Even now as the Chicago Cubs appear to be headed to the playoffs, I support them and cheer them on, but as a Chicago White Sox fan. Hopefully, the Cubs won’t disappoint us again!
Last Sunday, I watched the Gold Cup soccer / fútbol match between the U.S. and Mexico. Okay, I have to admit that my allegiance was divided. Not only could I not decide which team to root for, Mexico or USA, but I was also switching channels so I could watch the White Sox play the Cubs. Talk about mental anguish! No matter which team won, USA or Mexico, I would feel some sort of disappointment. On the other hand, I wanted the White Sox to win since I am a southsider. The Cubs won. 😦 Sniff!
Well, team USA won, much to the disappointment of the Mexico fans who outnumbered the USA fans at Soldier Field. Almost three million households tuned in to watch the game. However, it was broadcast only on Univision, a Spanish-language station. Not enough Americans were interested in watching a soccer game. Ironically, a female announcer interviewed a flagged-draped American from the winning team and he spoke to the announcer in fluent Spanish! Doesn’t this send mixed signals to the general public about American culture? How do we deal with the English only issue when Americans are speaking languages other than English? At least we beat someone at their own game, that is, a non-American sport.
This reminds me of the immigration debate now before President Bush, the senate, and congress. No matter how many amendments are added to the bill, someone is disappointed, particularly the illegal immigrants who seek amnesty. There are too many issues to satisfy everyone. The immigration issue will not soon be resolved.
I have always been different from everyone else around me. Even as a boy, when my friends were gaga over the bikini-clad girls, I was always attracted to the librarian-type, glasses- wearing, bookworm type of girl. I don’t know why, but I have always fallen for the intelligent girl.
In grade school, I had a crush on the smartest girl in the class, who, incidentally, was also the smartest student in the class. In high school, during study hall, we had the option to go to the library instead. I spent every study period in the library reading books of all sorts, instead of doing my homework or studying for my classes. The school librarian took a liking to me and invited me to Springfield, Illinois, for the Future Librarians of America Club field trip. I only went because I knew that I could then spend more time talking to the student librarian who was also in my Physics class. I had a really big crush on her, so I went on this librarian field trip.
Anyway, my latest crush is on Marilyn vos Savant who is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records Hall of Fame for “Highest IQ.” I read her Ask Marilyn column religiously and I’m always amazed by how well she answers her mail with a wry sense of humor. I’ve been meaning to e-mail Marilyn, but I’ve been so busy that I haven’t gotten around to it. Nevertheless, when I finish up my to-do list, I have a few questions that I would like to Ask Marilyn.
Did Microsoft make Solitaire more difficult to win so that employees become more productive?
When you turn on a light, does the light bulb gain weight?
When my toast falls, why does it always land buttered-side down?
Nonetheless, these are easy questions for Marilyn since she is so intelligent anyway. Therefore, I’m sure she could answer some of my more deeply profound and philosophical questions. I have quite a few of those questions. Below are a few examples of some of my more ontological question and is not intended as a comprehensive list.
Why do my sons stop listening to their favorite rock band when they realize that I like their music, too?
If the Chicago White Sox board the Red Line from the Southside at the same time that the Chicago Cubs board it on the north side, who arrives at the World Series first?
Why do I only receive important phone calls when I am sitting on the toilet suffering from the runs?
If Marilyn answers these questions, I will never doubt her intelligence (not that I ever did in the first place). I have always meant to e-mail these questions to her, but I’m sure she’s too busy to answer me personally. So here they are for my loyal readers to ponder.
Chicago USA 