Tag: family

Adrian Stanislovaitis


Holy Cross School, 1971

Even though Adrian and I lost touch after our eighth-grade graduation, I often remembered him whenever I went to the Museum of Science and Industry, the Chicago Loop, or walked past the Prudential Building. Because I fondly remembered him from time to time, I mentioned him in one of my blog entries, which is why I’m here today. His daughter Victoria searched for Adrian’s name on the internet and landed on one of my blog posts that mentioned Adrian Stanislovaitis. So, here I am. Thank you for giving me the opportunity to have one last encounter with Adrian and his loving family and friends.

Labas! I learned the Lithuanian greeting of “Labas!” from my Lithuanian friends in Chicago. I attended a Lithuanian church and school in Chicago’s Back of the Yards neighborhood, from kindergarten through eighth grade when I graduated.

I met Adrian at Holy Cross Grade School in the fourth grade. We were classmates from the fourth grade through the eighth grade. Unfortunately, our eighth-grade graduation in June of 1971 was the last time we saw each other.

We spent a lot of time together even though Adrian and his brother Renatas  lived more than one mile away from the school. Most of the Holy Cross  students lived only a few blocks away from the school. I lived two blocks away at 4405 S. Wood Street.

We spent a lot of time together during those years. We were also altar boys together. We had a lot in common. However, I was the oldest of six children, and I had never done much without at least one of my parents taking me somewhere. That all changed when I met Adrian. He was like the wiser older brother to me. Since he lived so far from the school, he was very independent and knew his way around Chicago.

In grade school, we had school days off for federal holidays like Columbus Day, George Washington’s Birthday, and Abraham Lincoln’s Birthday. When we were in the fifth grade, Adrian suggested that we go to downtown Chicago on our day off. I wondered who would take us there since our parents were working. Adrian said that we would take the bus downtown by ourselves! I had never heard of such a thing! Going downtown without an adult?! We were only twelve years old at the time.

Adrian met me at my house, and we took the Number 9 Ashland-Archer bus downtown. We went to the gift shops and ate at a restaurant downtown. The most memorable event for me involved going to the top of the Prudential Building downtown. We were truly impressed because it was the tallest building in Chicago at the time. Every time I go downtown and see the Prudential Building, I recall going up there with Adrian. Adrian always had great activity suggestions for us!

Once, we went to the Museum of Science and Industry by bus. He had all the logistics figured out. Since it was a school holiday, we had the day off from school. I said I couldn’t go because I had to watch my three younger brothers. Adrian said we could all go together. Since he lived on 55th and Wood Street, right off of Garfield Boulevard, he would walk to the corner of Ashland Avenue and Garfield Boulevard. My brothers and I would take the Ashland bus to Garfield Boulevard where we would transfer buses. We met Adrian on the corner and boarded the Garfield bus that took us directly to the museum. We spent the whole day there. And we spent all our money there, except for just enough bus fare for my brothers and me to be to take the Garfield bus to Wood Street where Adrian lived. And my brothers and I walked eleven blocks on Wood Street to get home. My brothers and I fondly remember that trip.

One day, Adrian was telling me how he saw a very funny movie over the weekend. He told me that on Friday and Saturday nights they showed comedies late at night. He told me I had to see The Marx Brothers in Duck Soup. He described the funny parts to me, and I was hooked. I would stay up late on weekends watching comedies. Duck Soup is still my favorite Marx Brothers movie.

Once when Adrian was at my house, my father took us to visit my uncle in Pilsen. My uncle was frying tortillas and baloney when we arrived. I was kind of embarrassed that Adrian had to see my father and uncle frying and eating baloney tacos. I couldn’t stand the smell of them. I only ate one bite of my baloney taco and said I didn’t like it. My father and uncle said they were really good. I told Adrian that he shouldn’t have any. But my father convinced him to try one. I was so embarrassed by my father and uncle offering a baloney taco to Adrian. But Adrian said the baloney taco was really good! In fact, he ate two more!

Adrian loved his planes, trains, and automobiles. When planes flew overhead, he would tell me everything he knew about the plane. He was able to identify every plane we saw and state the manufacturer of the plane and the model. I asked him why he knew so much about planes. He said that he would be a pilot someday. When I visited his house, he pulled out his Jane’s airplane books and showed me why he could recognize every plane in the sky.

I also learned about model trains from Adrian. Because of him, I started collecting N-gauge trains. Adrian also knew a lot about cars. If a car drove by us, he could tell me the year, make, and model of the car. He could identify a car just by looking at its taillights. He also like to build model cars. He got me to enter a hobby store contest for building car models.

caricature of author at end of post
DDR

The ghost of Thanksgiving past


A Turkey by Johan Teyler (1648-1709). Original from The Rijksmuseum. Digitally enhanced by rawpixel. by Rijksmuseum is licensed under CC-CC0 1.0

This Thanksgiving Day, I was reminded of how we have celebrated previous Thanksgiving Days with our family. And by our family, I mean the Rodriguez family. That’s my father’s side of the family, which is very, very big. When my Uncle Simon and Aunt Maricela bought their first house, the Rodriguez family began celebrating Thanksgiving Day, Christmas Eve, and New Year’s Eve at their home. All the family tried to come to celebrate these holidays together. We usually had between forty to fifty people in the house. That included family members, friends, and neighbors for Thanksgiving.

I have many fond memories of Thanksgiving with my family. My aunt was such a great cook. I especially loved her baked sweet potatoes. And all those desserts she baked. I used to go with my parents, my brothers, and my sister until my parents got divorced. Then, my father would take us without our mother. Eventually, just my father and I would go alone.

I especially remember the last time I went there for Thanksgiving. Just my father and I went. That was the most people who went to this Thanksgiving dinner. There were lots of cousins and their friends.

I had just finished Marine Corps boot camp that week. I flew back to Chicago from San Diego on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, which is always a very busy travel day. We flew a circling pattern all the way from St. Louis to Chicago. I was beginning to get nauseous. Luckily, we landed before I got really sick.

The next day I called my Uncle Simon’s house and asked if they were still having the annual Thanksgiving dinner. Of course, they were! I didn’t talk to my Uncle Simon. My cousin Lulu answered the phone. I don’t think their family really knew I had enlisted in the Marine Corps. When I told Lulu I just got back from boot camp, she said, “That’s great! Come on over! Wear your uniform!”

So, of course, I wore my uniform to dinner. My father was so proud to present me to the Rodriguez family in my Marine Corps uniform! Lulu was happy to see that I had listened to her. The dinner went well, but since there were so many people there, we had to eat in shifts. But everyone ate. Then, my aunt brought out the desserts. I remember my Uncle Placido, who is a Roman Catholic bishop, looking at the desserts and saying, “All this and heaven, too!”

After dinner, my cousin told me we were going to Fat City, a bar where she worked. I really didn’t want to go to a bar in uniform, but she insisted. Well, I went, against my better judgment, but people I didn’t even know were happy to see me there. In fact, several people were buying me beers, which I didn’t realize at first. When the waitress brought me the first beer, I told her, “I didn’t order a beer.” She pointed to someone across the room and said, “This beer’s on him! He was in the Marines, too!” I got a few more beers that night.

I must admit that that was my most memorable Thanksgiving dinner. And the very few times I saw someone in a military uniform after that, I bought them a drink.

La cocina


enchiladas
Enchiladas suizas

In Mexico, I was surprised when my cousin handed me a bag of potatoes and a potato peeler. She actually wanted me to peel potatoes! In the past, whenever I went to Mexico, I was never allowed in the kitchen while the women cooked. So I sat down at the kitchen table and actually peeled potatoes while my cousin and my aunt prepared the New Year’s Eve dinner. Amazingly, there were two other males in the kitchen helping with the cooking. Mexico is changing. I remember when I was a boy and my mother and aunts were making tamales, I got kicked out of the kitchen while they were preparing the tamales. Once my mother made tortillas and she let me roll one tortilla, but then she kicked me out of the kitchen. My abuelita never even let me try to cook anything when she lived with us in Chicago. Now that I think back, most Mexicanas always tried to discourage me from helping in the kitchen. But I think that it’s a conspiracy. Because then when you meet American girls, one of the first things they ask is, “What can you cook?” And if you ever go to their place for dinner, they test your culinary talents by making you help with the dinner. They’ll let you cook the entire meal if you’re able. But if you’re like me and grew up in a traditional Mexican family, you won’t be able to do much more than warm up tortillas! And they’ll settle for you washing the lettuce.

Wow! That was deep!

¡Buen provecho!


Back of the Yards, Chicago, Illinois

What I love about going to Mexico is all the attention I receive from my relatives who are genuinely happy to see me. They ask me many questions about my life, in particular, and life, in general, in America. The only problem with this is that they tend to ask me these questions while I’m eating. So I am always the last one done eating.

I’m a slow eater anyway, but answering questions slows me down even more. And they ask rather personal questions, too. But everyone is so honest when speaking that I feel compelled to answer their questions honestly. And no one judges anyone about each other’s behavior. At least not that I noticed.

So, how did I enjoy a good home-cooked Mexican meal with everyone insisting that I answer their questions? Well, I didn’t want to be rude, so I answered every question immediately. Of course, sometimes I answered with my mouth full of food because I was caught off guard by the timing of the questions. I guess I was being rude by talking with my mouth full just because I didn’t want to be rude!

DDR

El americano


Dr. D. in Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo.

So, I’m in Mexico, visiting mi familia, and the whole time, everyone keeps reminding me that I’m an americano.  Just look at me in the picture. I’m sitting on a green, white, and red bench wearing an Ixtapa-Zihuatanejo tourist t-shirt. Now, be honest with me. Do I look American or Mexican? Okay, please tell me after you finish reading this post. I think I’d rather not hear your answer right now.

It’s December 30, 2008, and I’m at my cousin house visiting because all her brothers and sisters are coming in for New Year’s Eve. She has an impromptu dinner because, unexpectedly, she is expecting about thirty guests in her house. No one complains about the fast food (fast for Mexico) that we eat buffet style on Styrofoam plates. I already have my food and I’m eating in the living room on the opposite side of the house where the food is on the table in the dining room.

Suddenly, one cousin begins to speak Spanish with a fake American accent. Then, someone else joins in the conversation with his fake American accent. Before you know it, about ten people are speaking Spanish with a fake American accent. I think it’s rather funny. Much laughter ensues until my cousin notices me. Everyone immediately stops talking in Spanish with their fake American accent and everyone looks at me. My cousin asks me if I was offended. Actually, I tell her, I thought it was very funny. I had never heard Mexicans talk in fake American accents before, so I kind of enjoyed it. I heard other people talking like Americans on my trip through Mexico, but they always stopped when they noticed I was near. Everyone thinks I’m an americano. To be honest, I’m not sure what I am!

My cousin’s husband (my cousin-in-law?) constantly reminded me that I looked American. He couldn’t explain why, but he said I didn’t look Mexican. Other people told me the same thing. I’m sure my skin color had nothing to do with it because Mexicans come in all shades, from dark to light. Perhaps, it was my gray hair? Mexicans my age, in general, don’t have as much gray hair as me. Maybe, it was my clothing. All my clothes were bought in America. Okay, I bought some of them in Wal-Mart in Evergreen Park, Illinois, but they don’t sell the same clothes at the Wal-Marts in Mexico. I just don’t get it. I have cousins in Mexico who look more American than me, but everyone immediately recognized them as Mexicans.

Conversely, when I’m in Chicago, Mexicans approach me and immediately speak to me in Spanish. How did they know I speak Spanish if I look American? Wouldn’t that make me Mexican? When I’m in Mexico, my cousins eventually concede that I am, in fact, Mexican. Unlike other Mexicans who go back to Mexico to visit their familia, I do eat all kinds of Mexican food and I do understand EVERYTHING they say, including all the colloquialisms and swear words. I always seem to blend in with my familia. Until someone points out that I don’t look mexicano!

DDR