Tag: sons

Movies


Cinemex, Mexico D.F.

My twin sons and I have been talking a lot about movies lately even though they’re only twelve. They’re curious about my favorite movies and about classic movies in general. We try to watch some classic films together occasionally. The last one we saw was Pride of the Yankees, the Lou Gehrig story with Gary Cooper and Babe Ruth himself. I picked this movie for my sons since they love baseball, and it was one of my favorite movies when I was a kid. Well, we all loved the movie. It was much better than I remembered it.

Last summer, we watched all the Star Wars movies together, one per day, and we really enjoyed them. They wanted to know which one was my favorite. I told them that Episode IV was my favorite because it was the first one I saw. I still remember all the excitement and the hype that preceded the premier. I saw it at the show with my friends Vito and Jim.

Of course, everyone was amazed by the special effects right from the beginning when the words floated in outer space across the silver screen. However, we were all dumbfounded to read, “Episode IV.” When I told my sons about this, they wanted to know why Star Wars didn’t begin with Episode I. Well, I explained my theory to them. Novels, epics, plays, and movies are always more interesting if they start in the middle of the action. If the Star Wars series had started with Episode I, Star Wars wouldn’t have been as popular. I told them how movies usually start in the middle of the story and then flashback to fill in the missing information. This is called starting the story in media res, in the middle of things, and it creates suspense and keeps the viewer watching the movie with great interest. Aristotle explained all this about two-thousand years ago in Poetics, but I didn’t tell that to my sons so I wouldn’t lose their interest. But I did get my point across to them. I was so proud that they understood my point. So now we analyze movies together.

They want to see the new Chronicles of Narnia movie, but I hadn’t see the first one yet. Not that I would deprive them of a movie even if I didn’t see the first one, but I would prefer to see the first one before seeing the sequel. So we were at home, watching the DVD of the first movie. Both Adam and Alex loved watching the movie and seemed to know the plot from watching it so much. Adam had to read the book for school, so he’s really into the movie. So, we were watching it, and my sons are concerned that I didn’t get the movie. They asked me if I wanted them to explain it to me. What I didn’t know about the plot was the intentional effect of the director. But my sons insisted that they explain the plot to me, and they were so excited that they understood the movie better than me that I paused the movie and listened to their explanation. (Spoiler alert! There is no plot spoiling here in case you haven’t seen the movie yet. I’m always impressed when someone writes “Spoilier Alert” when describing movies.) They explained the prophecy to me that would eventually be revealed at the correct time in the movie. But I loved hearing their explanation of the movie. Now, I can’t wait to see the sequel!

DDR

Going to Mexico


Some of my home cooking.

Okay, I’ve been preparing my sons to go to Mexico. They’re still excited about going even though I told them that everyone in Mexico speaks Spanish. My oldest son used to speak Spanish when he was little because I always talked to him in Spanish, and he went to Cordi Marian and was taught by Mexican nuns. The twins are learning Spanish in school now.

For the past few years, I’ve tried to get them to speak Spanish at home, but they won’t. If they sneezed, I said, “Salud” and they were supposed to respond, “Gracias.” But they wouldn’t. Ever since I told them that we were going to Mexico, they speak a little Spanish with me. I’m glad their attitude has changed a little bit. If I’m writing something in Spanish, Adam will read it aloud and ask me if he pronounced it correctly. I’m happy that they’re trying because now I know they really want to go to Mexico.

I’ve also tried to explain some of the cultural differences between our two countries. They shouldn’t have any problems, but I want them to know in advance that they shoul expect some differences. They probably won’t play any video games while we’re in Mexico. But my sons are very adaptable. They’ll manage somehow. We’ve taken driving vacations before, and we always adapt to every situation. I’m really not worried about much. Well, except maybe Montezuma’s Revenge. If they get it, I hope they get it right away and they won’t get too ill. After that, they’ll build up their immune system.

I warned them about how the food will be different, too. We won’t be going to McDonald’s or Burger King once we cross the border. They won’t see a burger or chicken nugget until we get back to the U.S. And all the food will be spicy. In Mexico, even the candy is spicy.

On Sunday mornings, I make huevos con chorizo and tell them to eat them with tortillas because that’s how Mexicans eat–without silverware. So far, they’re still excited about going to Mexico.

DDR

Speed Racer


Great movie theater snack!

I love going to the show. And I love to spend quality time bonding with my sons. If I can do both simultaneously, I feel like I have accomplished greatness. At least in my own eyes.

When I compare myself to my twelve-year-old twins, I realize that they’re much more mature than me because emotionally I’m ten. When Horton Hears a Who came out as a movie, I wanted to see it with my sons, but they refused to see it because was a kiddy movie. I was rather disappointed to miss seeing Horton Hears a Who because I remembered really enjoying reading the Dr. Seuss book and watching the TV special as a boy. So I’ve missed out on some very good movies just because my sons thought they were childish. But I never once threw a tantrum.

Speed Racer

Anyway, last week I brought up going to see Speed Racer and my sons instantly refused. I was rather disappointed because I remembered watching Speed Racer as a cartoon show on TV when I was a kid. Today, I finally talked them into seeing it. As we drove to the show, they didn’t seem too happy. I knew I was pressuring them to see it.

Well, that got me to thinking about how I used to watch Speed Racer after school. Then, I remembered that I didn’t actually like watching Speed Racer. But my brothers and I had this policy that whoever arrived home first from school could pick the first show to be watched. After that we would all vote on the next show to be watched. If Danny arrived home first, he would watch Dark Shadows. I was the only one who didn’t like Dark Shadows. I liked comedies. After that, everyone except me voted to watch Speed Racer.

I remember now! I hated watching Speed Racer! And now I was driving with my sons to see the movie version of Speed Racer at the show.  Well, it was too late to tell them that I didn’t want to see it. However, as I drove, I realized that I liked the show, but I was just upset that my three brothers had voted against me.

But back to the movie today. My sons didn’t seem too happy about going to see Speed Racer today.  Well, I wasn’t either after I recalled all the surrounding cirmcumstances. However, I was determined to have fun with my sons. So we watched the movie with mixed feelings.

Once the movie started, we were captivated by the music, the story line, and all the color graphics. Plus, I snuck in a bag of authentic tortilla chips for us to eat during the movie. (I’m becoming more like my father with each passing day!) We talked about many of the movie details afterwards. We really enjoyed the movie! We were all surprised at how much better it was than we had expected. Plus, I think we all grew a little closer through this bonding experience!

DDR

Passport issues


My Mexican Passport

Well, since I always talk about my name, let me get back to the name of David Rodríguez. Well, actually, David Diego Rodríguez. I bring it up again because I plan on going to Mexico in July with my sons. And every American citizen needs a U.S. Passport to return to the U.S.

So, I had to apply for passports for all three of my sons who are natural citizens by virtue of having been born in Chicago, Illinois. Two of the three passports were immediately processed by U.S. Department of State.

The one for my son with my name caused a delay. They needed more documentation for him. There are just too many David Rodríguezes. He’s only eighteen, so he doesn’t have a credit history, a driver license, or a credit card. They needed more proof to verify his identity. I wasn’t sure what they wanted or what other documentation I could provide. One of the enclosures listed in the letter was a Supplemental Identification List, which they had forgotten to enclose. I sent everything I could think of, including photocopies of his state ID, his school ID, his W-2 forms, federal tax return, state tax return, a prescription label with his name and address. I was extremely relieved when they accepted the enclosed documentation. I finally received his passport yesterday. We’re all set to go to Mexico now.

I remember when I went to Mexico in 1978, things were so much different. I had forgotten how to speak Spanish. I still understood it, but I never had to speak it much in Chicago. I stayed in Mexico for about a month and so I quickly learned to speak Spanish again.

However, when I returned to Chicago, I had trouble speaking English again. I flew back on Mexicana Airlines and when I was in Customs at O’Hare Airport the agent asked me for my proof of citizenship. All I had was my driver’s license and birth certificate. I gave them to him and then I worried that they wouldn’t let me go back to Chicago.

You see, my driver’s license didn’t have a picture of me. Back then, they were printed on thin cardboard and only described the driver as 5’8″, 128 Lbs., BRN Hair, BRN Eyes. My birth certificate didn’t have much information on it either and my last name was misspelled as, “Rodriquez” with a “q” instead of “g.” (My mother never thought the mistake was important enough to correct when she received my birth certificate in the mail soon after I was born.) The agent looked at my documents carefully and asked me if I had anything to declare. I understood him perfectly, but I couldn’t form the words in English. I thought for sure that the authorities would detain me because I couldn’t make myself speak my fluent south side English. But miraculously, he let me through. I could then understand how there were so many illegal immigrants from many countries in the U.S.

When I went to Mexico last December, it was a little more difficult to enter Mexico. I handed my passport to the agent, and he entered the information on a computer. He asked me some questions and when I answered them satisfactorily, he let me back into the U.S. Then about sixty miles into the U.S. there was another checkpoint where I had to present my passport again and answer some more questions. They asked me the questions to see if I really spoke English to prove I was a U.S. citizen. The agent spoke quickly and slurred his words together as if to test my knowledge of English. Either that or he was just bored of his job and just going through the motions. He asked me where I was from. When I said Chicago, he asked, “Born and raised there?” “No. I was born in Perth Amboy, New Jersey.” I suppose that if someone didn’t speak English well, they wouldn’t have been able to answer those questions, raising suspicions. I was glad that I didn’t have trouble speaking English this time.

DDR

Restaurant


Today, my sons and I went to a restaurant for supper. I often take them out to eat when they visit me. One, I’m not a very good cook. Two, I’m too lazy to cook and then wash the dishes afterwards. And three, I want my sons to know proper restaurant etiquette and protocol. My oldest son who is eighteen hardly eats out with us anymore because he’s at that age where he prefers to be with his friends. My twelve-year-old fraternal twins and I go to a restaurant at least once a week. I always make sure they learn some new fact about restaurant dining. Today, we discussed how the restaurant pays the waitress a very low wage, so she depends on tips for most of her income. Why do I do this? Because when I was a boy, we never went to restaurants. Mexicans just didn’t go to restaurants. It was cheaper to eat at home or bring your own food to the park, to the beach, to wherever. I want to save my sons from some of the embarrassment that I endured the first few times I went to restaurant because my parents had never taken me to one. I had to learn the hard way.

I must have been about eleven or twelve years old the very first time I went to a restaurant. I had found a dollar at the park and I thought that I would like to go to a restaurant. Since my parents would never take me, I would go by myself. I knew exactly which restaurant, too. There was one on the corner right by Peoples Theater at 47th and Marshfield. This restaurant caught my attention the very first time because a car had crashed halfway into its front door. I actually saw the accident, which made it all the more exciting. The next summer, I rode my bike past the restaurant minutes after another car had crashed into it. About two months later, yet another car crashed into it. Somehow, this seemed like a restaurant where I wanted to eat. Often, I would ride by on my bike and stop to look at the menu in the window. Of course, I would always listen for cars that were about to crash into the restaurant. So when I found the dollar I knew I could afford to eat there. For sixty-five cents, I could order the cheeseburger with fries and a Coke. And still have change leftover.

Well, since I had never eaten at a restaurant, I walked in and didn’t know what to do. I was staring at everyone in the restaurant when a waitress approached me. She asked me if I was lost. I said that I came to eat there and showed her my dollar. Well, actually, I handed it to her because I didn’t think she would serve until I paid first. She put my dollar back in my pocket and asked me where I would like to sit. I said, way in the back somewhere, away from the front door and windows, lest another car come crashing through.

The waitress was very nice to me, took my order, and later brought out my food. She kept coming back to ask me if everything was fine. When I finished eating, she asked me if I wanted anything else, which I didn’t, since I couldn’t afford anything else. Later, she brought me this little piece of paper which I didn’t understand. It said check at the top, but since I didn’t speak English that well, I recalled that the only time I heard the word check was when my parents talked about getting paid for work with a check.

After the waitress left me the check, I never saw her again. I waited for her to come back so I could pay her. I looked all over for her. I went to bathroom and I didn’t see her anywhere. I didn’t understand why she would give me a check when I didn’t do any work. I waited for her patiently. I’m not sure how long I waited, but it was a very long time because I started feeling hungry again. Finally, I just left–with the check and my dollar.

To this day, I feel embarrassed about what I did that day. But, hey, I didn’t know any better. In order to atone for that faux pas, I teach my sons the proper way to eat at a restaurant and the importance of tipping. When I explained this ritual to my sons, Alex told us how his friend Jack didn’t understand tipping. Jack’s family went to restaurant eat. There were a lot of people, so Jack’s father left a hundred-dollar bill on the table for the tip. When they got home, Jack told his dad, “You forgot this on the table,” and handed his dad the hundred-dollar bill!

DDR