Tag: Mexico

Melanie


Melanie

After my first divorce, I moved back home with my mother to 2509 W. Marquette Road. At first, she didn’t even know I was living with her. She lived on the second floor, and I moved back into my bedroom in the basement.

After I had separated from my wife, I lived in the basement for about two months before I finally told my mother I had moved back home. I needed to feel comfortable about telling her. Plus, I thought that the possibility of a reconciliation still existed. I didn’t want to tell everyone I was getting divorced if we got back together again! The reason she didn’t know I moved back home was that she worked the day shift, and I worked the midnight shift.

We hardly ever crossed paths, and not just physically, but also ideologically and morally. Anyway, when I told her I was getting divorced, she said I was making a big mistake and that I would never find another wife as good as her. You know, the usual speech a Mexicana gives her oldest son upon discovering that he’s getting divorced. A speech filled with sentiments that would make any Mexican son feel guilty for breaking his mother’s heart by not giving her grandchildren. I was hoping to get a reception like the prodigal son, but I got The Mexicana Mother Speech! I got over it in about two days.

Once I could freely go upstairs to my mother’s apartment on the second floor–she rented out the first floor to paying tenants–I used to see my mother staring out the window a lot. Our house faced north on Marquette Road, just west of Western Avenue, so there was always plenty of activity to observe.

One day, as I was trying to sneak downstairs behind her back–she always knew when I was in the room–she called me over to look out the window. A young Mexicana holding the hand of a little girl was was walking past our house. They lived in a basement apartment across the street. My mother had noticed her walking past our house previously. I don’t think that my mother would have taken such an interest in them if they hadn’t been Mexicanas.

The next day, my mother saw them again. “They always walk by at the same time,” my mother said to me. “She needs a babysitter. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” I told my mother to be careful because she might not trust her daughter to a complete stranger, especially one who is waiting for her on the street.

The next day, when I went to my mother’s apartment, the young Mexicana and her daughter were in the living room. The mother was a very pretty Mexicana who was completely bilingual. In fact, when I heard her speak English so fluently, I didn’t think that she could speak Spanish at all, but she was just as fluent in both languages. It turns out that Chayo, her actual name was Rosario, took her daughter Melanie to daycare every morning before going to work. Somehow, my mother talked her into dropping off Melanie at our house before going to work.

How did my mother convince Chayo to trust her with her only child? Well, my mother was waiting outside about the time that Chayo and Melanie walked back home from the daycare and my mother greeted her in Spanish. One thing led to another and they were talking on the corner for about an hour before they went into my mother’s house. Apparently, they both knew some of the same people. So that was the connection! Mexicans always try to find a common bond, whether it be friends, family, or the same place of origin in Mexico. So my mother had a babysitting job now.

So, the next day, Melanie was upstairs when I woke up in the afternoon after working the midnight shift. I love children, so it was nice to have a little girl in the house again. She was like my mother’s daughter and my little sister. We both pampered her.

Melanie looked much happier now than when she walked home from the daycare. Melanie’s first day at our house was very exciting for Melanie and us. Then Chayo, who was about my age, came to pick up her daughter.

We talked for a while and when it was time for Chayo, and Melanie to leave, Chayo asked my mother how much she charged for babysitting. I knew mother didn’t want any money, but she had to name a price, so she said, “One-hundred dollars! Cash!” Chayo’s mouth dropped open. And then my mother laughed. She said that she would babysit for free. Chayo said that she had to pay her something because she was saving so much by not taking her daughter to the daycare. Chayo tried to slip some folded dollar bills into my mother’s hand but she wouldn’t accept them. As far as I knew, my mother never charged her for babysitting.

Melanie took quite a liking to me. She had just turned four and she was at that age where she was so much fun. She had long, deep brown hair, brown eyes, and olive skin. She looked like the cutest Mexican girl ever. She would always anxiously wait for me to go upstairs when I woke up in the afternoon. We played games together and she always sat next to me at the dinner table. When I started working the day shift, she would look out the window waiting for me to come home. She was always happy to see me.

Soon, she wanted to go with me whenever I went out. At first, I didn’t want to take her with me, but my mother said it would be okay. Melanie and I walked to my car hand in hand. I was going to the store to buy some groceries for my mother. Melanie sat in the front seat with me. Actually, she kept standing up and putting her arms around my neck, holding on for dear life. This was in the early 1970s before it was mandatory to have small children in safety seats. Well, I almost got into an accident because Melanie obscured my vision, so I had to swerve and slam on the brakes. Melanie lost her grip around my neck and slid across the front seat until her head hit the passenger door. Luckily, she didn’t even get a bruise. I learned my lesson and from then on Melanie wore a seatbelt. After that, I felt more comfortable driving, too.

Then, my mother started talking to me about Chayo. She was available. I should ask her out. But what about Melanie’s father? He was in jail. I didn’t even want to know what crime he had committed to wind up in jail soon after Melanie’s birth and I didn’t want to know. Besides, he never married Chayo.

No, I never asked Chayo out and she soon met someone else, something I have never regretted. One day, Melanie, out of the blue, started telling me, “I love you.” Somehow, she had become like my daughter. I didn’t mind, either. I like having Melanie around. Then, it all ended when I enlisted in the Marines. My mother told me to look for Chayo’s brother who was also in the Marines.

In one of those unbelievable coincidences that you’re not supposed to write about because no one would believe it anyway, I actually met Chayo’s brother at Camp Pendleton. I wrote about this accidental meeting in a previous blog entry. And in yet another one of those unbelievable coincidences, I met one of Chayo’s sisters at the University of Chicago Track Club. But wait! Here’s another coincidence. When I was a member of the Marquette Park Track Club, Joe Gregory, one of our runners, announced the he was getting married. To whom? To another one of Chayo’s sisters.

After I was honorable discharged from the Marine Corps and I had my own apartment near Marquette Park, Chayo called me. We talked awhile. My mother had previously told me that she would try to set me up with Chayo. So Chayo called me, but I wasn’t really interested. She called me a few more times, but that was the end of it.

My only regret? That I didn’t ask her about Melanie!

DDR

Cinco de Mayo


Catering to Gringolandia.

Cinco de Mayo is another Mexican holiday that our Mexican family never celebrated. I never even heard of it until I was old enough to drink alcoholic beverages. I think that it has become a beer company holiday in America, just as Hallmark converted Valentine’s Day into a lovers’ holiday in order to sell Valentine’s Day cards. Beer companies would love to see Cinco de Mayo become a Mexican St. Patrick’s Day! Lately, I’ve been seeing a lot of publicity about the celebration for it. Chicago had a Cinco de Mayo parade downtown on the same day as the Polish Constitution Day parade. Personally, I don’t understand why anyone would celebrate Cinco de Mayo. On May 5, 1862, Mexicans defeated the French at Puebla, just west of Mexico City. However, the Mexicans then went on to lose the war and were ruled by the French until 1867. Is this cause for celebration?

DDR

More salsa


Peppers and salsa are a daily part of Mexican life.

I heard on the radio that salsa is the number one condiment in America! And I was glad to do my part to help.

You see that pepper underneath this blog post? I did my part to publicize salsa over the years. So Mexico, or whoever it is who makes your salsa, can thank me whenever they have time.

I’m following in my father’s footsteps. My father, who always carried a jar of salsa with him wherever he went, always had to have his salsa on everything we ate, from Burger King to Dunkin Donuts.

This is such a happy moment in my life, even though I don’t eat that much salsa, thanks to my father. He always wanted me to put salsa on all my food. Once when I was about eight years old,  he made some salsa and wanted me to try it. At first, I refused. But then he told me to try a small cube of potato that he took from the salsa. He was happy when I did. But even the potato was spicy! It had absorbed the hotness of the salsa. It’s no wonder I don’t like to eat salsa very often.

DDR

La llorona


I couldn’t find a picture of la llorona

When I was a boy, one of the scariest people of my life was la llorona. La llorona had no children of her own because she had killed them. So she wandered around after her death looking for her children so she could rest in peace.

I never actually met her, or even saw her, but my mother always told me that la llorona was always looking for me or any boy or girl who didn’t obey their parents. She usually came out after dark looking for children who didn’t listen to their parents and stayed out too long into the night. If la llorona saw us, she would snatch us up thinking we were her children. Apparently she didn’t have very good eyesight.

Who was she? I don’t know since I never actually saw her, although I could always feel her presence. No matter where I went, in Chicago or México, la llorona was always nearby. I know this for a fact because my mother always reminded me.

When I was about six, my mother told me how she actually saw la llorona in Huatusco, Veracruz. When my mother was a girl, her mother told her to go to bed at sunset, which she did. But when my mother thought her mother was asleep, she sneaked out of the house through a window and she went to visit her friend who also went out her window to meet my mother.

They were wandering the streets of Huatusco–there were only two back then–at night and no one was out. That’s because all good boys and girls were home in bed sleeping. Suddenly, they felt a cold breeze and saw an old woman walking toward them. When they finally realized it was la llorona, it was too late to run away. La llorona grabbed my mother and her friend by the wrist and she was taking them away. Somehow, my mother managed to escape. But her friend wasn’t so lucky. She was never seen nor heard from again. My mother ran home and immediately went to bed, but she couldn’t sleep because of the fright she had just suffered.

The next day, the whole town is wondering what had happened to my mother’s friend. Finally, my mother speaks up even though she knows she’ll get in trouble. Well, everyone in the town was satisfied with my mother’s explanation and her mother didn’t punish her because she had been punished enough because she actually felt the cold hand of la llorona.

What about the missing girl? Well, she had it coming to her because she had disobeyed her parents. All the parents in the town made sure that their children knew about what la llorona had done. So, whenever I wanted to stay out late and my mother wanted to go home, she would remind me of la  llorona and how she would snatch me up.

DDR

Jenny


High school Spanish student.

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.