Tag: English

My father


José Diego Rodríguez Rosiles

My father is a very unique person who has his own way of doing things. He was a factory mechanic who could work wonders with duct tape. No matter where we were, he always had some tools in his pocket. He was proud of being mechanic. If someone had some sort of mechanical problem, my father would volunteer to fix whatever needed fixing. No problem was too small for him. A squeaky door? He carried a little oil can with him. Door knob keeps falling off? My father would attach it with his tools and extra screws that he always carried with him just in case.

I should write a novel about him: My Father, the Super Fix-It Handyman. Or maybe make him into a comic book superhero who can fix any problem no matter how small. My father was always fixing bicycles, skates, skateboards, and automobiles for everyone on the block. He had just enough mechanical aptitude, talent, and expertise to keep him trapped in the middle class the rest of his life. And, it turns out that I’m not much different than him, although I’ll never be able to make repairs just like my father.

When I was a boy, my father often embarrassed me. He always liked to attract attention to himself by telling jokes in his broken English. I was afraid to bring home friends when my father was home because then he would want to get in on the conversation with them and he didn’t speak English very well. So most of the conversation would involve a lot of repetition because he didn’t understand everything that was said, but he wanted to show that he was eager to learn English. It’s now forty years later and he still does this. He has never stopped trying to learn English. If I talk to him in Spanish, he still insists that I speak to him in English so he can learn English. In fact, if I talk to him in Spanish, he doesn’t understand a word I say.

Another thing about my father was that he was always so Mexican. He could just stand there silently and everyone would know that he was Mexican because he always stood there looking so Mexican. He was about 5’6″, thin, with black hair slicked back with vaselina, brown eyes, and a Cantinflas mustache. Plus, you could see the tools bulging from his pants pockets, along with a small jar of salsa or peppers, just in case.

Whenever we did something together, he would always preface it by saying that he used to do that activity in Mexico when he was a boy. When we played basketball in our backyard at 4405 S. Wood Street in Back of the yards, he told us that he always played basketball with his brothers in Celaya, Guanajuato, Mexico. When I was eight, I actually thought that basketball was a Mexican sport. While playing, my father told me that once I stopped dribbling the ball, I couldn’t dribble it again. I had never heard of such a rule. I told him, “I don’t want to play the Mexican way.” Of course, I didn’t know any better at the time even though there is a rule against double dribbling.

For breakfast, my father would prepare this concoction that he learned to make from his father in, you guessed it, Mexico. He would pour some Mogen David grape wine into a glass, put in a raw egg, and mix it up together.  He would drink the first glass to show me how it was done. Then, he would hand me a glass and I would force myself to drink it. At first I didn’t like it and I told him that I didn’t want a Mexican breakfast, but I eventually learned to like it. I also learned to eat raw eggs right out of the eggshell by poking to holes at either end of the egg. I learned this from my father because this is how he ate breakfast in Mexico. This was long before I had ever heard of salmonella. I guess God does protect children and idiotas. 🙂

DDR

Spam


I still enjoy watching Monty Python.

My first recollection of Spam is eating it at home. Fried. With tortillas. I was fascinated with the complete process of opening the can with the little key that was attached at the bottom. When my mother finally opened the can, I was expecting to see sardines. Not ham because the can was too small. So, my mother fried the Spam and served it to us on tortillas. We ate it occasionally just to vary our diet a little. But not too much since we always ate beans, rice, and tortillas at almost every meal.

Since I am speaking of Spam, I am reminded of a certain British Comedy troupe whose restaurant skit originated the term “spam” for all that unwanted email that we receive. But not intentionally. They had a skit in which the waiter recites the menu, most of which is comprised of Spam.

When I was in high school, one of my friends introduced me to Monty Python’s Flying Circus on PBS, Sunday nights at 10 p.m. I was so young and naive that I just didn’t get the show. Who in the troupe exactly was Monty Python? Where were the trapeze artists? Where was their tent? What strange language were they speaking?

Of course, I knew better than to ask anyone these questions. You know how teachers and college professors say there is no such thing as a stupid question? Well, I’m convinced that all my questions were stupid judging by the looks of the people who heard them when I occasionally voiced them. So, I never asked questions.

I discovered that Monty Python spoke English–English English, as opposed to American English. Luckily, one of my friends was an English English to American English translator and he explained the jokes that I didn’t get, which was all of them. I would have quit watching Monty Python immediately if it weren’t for my friends and the home where we watched the show.

It started quite by accident when we were at Myrna’s house one Sunday night. Her father, we called him by his first name Tom, told us we had to leave about 10 p.m. because he had to get up early on Monday morning to go to work. He had been watching PBS and then Monty Python started on the tele. One of our friends had seen the show before and explained to the rest of us that it was a British comedy. Well, this piqued Tom’s interest and we all sat around to watch it. He forgot all about sending us away until the show was over.

The next Sunday, we all watched Monty Python again at Myrna’s house. We really loved the show and I eventually laughed because I got all the jokes without the aid of an interpreter. One Sunday, Tom told us that we couldn’t come over to watch Monty Python anymore. We watched it at Cecilia’s house for a few weeks, but it just wasn’t the same. Luckily, Myrna told us that we were invited back to her house on Sunday nights to watch Monty Python with her father. He told us that he missed us while watching Monty Python. So, every Sunday night we watched Monty Python with Myrna and her father Tom.

But getting back to Spam, that was the skit we re-enacted the most. So, the Internet term spam is derived from the Monty Python skit in the restaurant where just about everything on the menu includes Spam: “Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, eggs, and Spam,” etc.

Well, I thought of all this because of all the spam that I’ve been receiving lately. The maddening thing about spam is not so much that I receive a lot of spam, but rather that I have started to receive it from myself, too! And I’m fairly sure that I didn’t send it out. I’m not sure why, but I thought I would share some of the Subject lines with you (in no particular order):

  1. You want yours bigger, all men do
  2. Iva debt consolidation
  3. I hadn’t had sex for a while
  4. Whip out your huge manhood
  5. Best offer in gambling history
  6. Huge discount watches
  7. Start seeing dollars pouring in
  8. How about a $2400 welcome bonus
  9. Best Rolex Replica
  10. Elite products for your style and reputation
  11. Enlargement of organs possible
  12. After that it’s only fun and winning
  13. Affordable luxury online in the world’s no. 1 rated replica watch store
  14. Legal software sales
  15. Gravidty (sic)
  16. Win $$$
  17. 10 inches is possible
  18. Online University Diploma degrees
  19. You have just received an e-card
  20. Penis Products Reviewed
  21. Looking for a watch? Visit Replica Classics
  22. Great sex secrets revealed
  23. Your diamond replicas
  24. Perfectly crafted luxury timepieces
  25. Suffer from short babymaker? Don’t loose (sic), the only solution is here.
  26. 15 mistakes every woman made
  27. We give out BONUSES to anyone who joins
  28. Stunning video with naked celebrity
  29. Unsecured debt consolidation loan
  30. Hey
  31. Male enhancement
  32. Small male aggregate is not trouble
  33. Convenient discreet online pharmacy
  34. Real enlargement
  35. Shaved pussies sell better
  36. Come find out
  37. Lovely present
  38. The opportunity presented itself
  39. I was “horny”
  40. Hot sexy latinas all craving for you
  41. Rejoice in your newfound girth
  42. This e-card is hilarious
  43. Do not let them mock at small weener (sic)
  44. Obtain PhD of your desire
  45. Take her longer, harder, and deeper
  46. Need a great gift idea?
  47. Drugstore which guarantees quality
  48. Size enhancement a scam?
  49. Shiny pieces of sheer beauty
  50. Want to be a hero in bed?
  51. Three inches in just weeks
DDR

Abuelita


Mi abuelita en México.

I remember when my abuelita came to live with us in Chicago back in the 1960s. I liked having my grandmother living with us because she used to take care of me when both my parents went to work. She even protected me from my mother when she hit me a little too hard or a little too long.

I remember once for homework in the first grade I was supposed to read aloud from our reader to one of my parents. My father wasn’t home, so I went to my mother. She said she was too tired from work to help me do my homework. I told her that all she had to do was listen to me read. The reader was quite simple: “See David. See Ann.” And so on. I didn’t even know that much English at the time.

Anyway, my mother didn’t want to be bothered by me. I kept begging her to listen to me. Finally, my abuelita said that I should read to her. I wasn’t sure if she could help me to read this book. At first, I hesitated because not only did she not know English, but she was also blind. One of the reasons she came to Chicago was to get eye surgery.

DDR

Spanish in English


This not the Mexican telephone company!

Americans take English for granted. They also accept all foreign borrowings into the English language without any qualms, which is the reason that English has the largest vocabulary of any language on Earth. There are many  words of Spanish origin and actual Spanish words in our English vocabulary and everyone uses them without realizing it.

For example, on the news they’ll talk of military juntas. For years, people have been going to rodeos and watching cowboys lasso calves. Let’s not forget about the countless times we went to the plaza with gusto. Of course, many people eat tortilla chips with salsa. Let’s not forget about our famous politicians who use Spanish phrases to court the Hispanic vote. President Bush has said good-bye by saying, “¡Adiós, amigos!” and Arnold Schwarzenegger by saying, “¡Hasta la vista, baby!” In the office, we occasionally need something done ASAP! But sometimes, we need it “¡Pronto!“

Those tasty avocados come from the Aztec word for testicles. I hope I didn’t cause you to drop your tortilla chip full of guacamole! That reminds me. When we’re hungry, we often eat tacos, tamales, quesadillas, bocadas, and eat flan for dessert. When someone asks you a stupid question, you may say, “Does chili come with con carne?” Sometimes we want to be moderate and not go all the way, but other times we want the whole enchilada! If we really love something, we become an aficionado of the thing we truly love. Occasionally, we stray from the path to eternal salvation and commit pecadillos. And if anyone disagrees with me about these words of Spanish origin, I will take you on mano a mano. Because I know how to take care of número uno!

¡Sayonara!

DDR

A little misunderstanding


On a wing and a prayer.

In the late 1950s, my parents and I lived in Perth Amboy, New Jersey, where I was born. My mother told my father that she would only marry him and come to America if she could visit her family in Mexico every year. My father agreed even though he would never return to Mexico ever again.

About 1957, my mother learned that her father was dying in Mexico. She bought plane tickets to visit her father on his deathbed. My mother took me with her even though I was still a baby. My father drove us to the airport. He always had trouble driving anywhere without getting lost. When he asked for directions, he would only confuse himself even more. Well, my mother and I were supposed to fly to Mexico from Newark. My mother told me this story several times. However, I remember the story became more exciting and compelling every time she told it.

Well, my father asked for directions to the airport in Newark. At that time, neither my father or mother understood English very well and they spoke English even more poorly. So, when my father asked for directions to the airport in Newark, the man misunderstood my father and gave directions to the airport in New York, . Well, my parents and I ended up going to the wrong airport. By the time we arrived at the right airport, they told my mother that our plane had already departed. She began crying because she would not be able to see her father before he died. Someone with a private plane heard her crying and when she told them why, he arranged for us to fly on a charter flight to Texas. From there, we flew to Mexico.

When we arrived at her father’s house in Mexico, my mother saw vigil candles lighted all over the house. When her family answered the door, they started crying even more when they saw us. My mother started crying thinking that she had arrived too late to talk to her father. “Did he die already,” my mother asked. “No,” my aunt answered. “He’s still alive?” my mother asked. “Yes,” my aunt said. “Then why is everyone crying?” my mother asked. “We thought you were dead. Your plane crashed!”

DDR