The American House Party

On Saturday, a friend who is a very cool guy, a DJ who spins trendy pop music, invited me to a house party where he would be DJing.

He said, "Ro, it's a house party." From my experience, house parties consisted of your typical red plastic cups, beer cans, a room full of sweaty people in casual attire, having random conversations about every topic imaginable.

         I invited my friend Daisey so as to not show up solo and I consider her what we call a ‘ro-dawg’ Someone who is basically your wing man or wing woman, your partner in crime. She was excited to hang out with a new group of people and decided she’d come. Before arriving, we stopped at a nearby liquor store to pick up some beer. We thought a 12 pack of Modelo Especial would be good to share with our new potential friends.

         Upon arriving, we were greeted outside by my DJ friend. He was dressed similar to us, in jeans, sneakers and a leather jacket. We walked in and soon realized the people inside were not dressed anything like us. It was a themed party and the women were dressed to the nines in ballgowns, diamonds and expensive glamorous shoes. The men were donned suits and tuxedos. It was a throwback 1920s formal attire themed party.

         Our eyes grew big and I told Daisey, “Boy, do we stand out!”

I told the DJ, “how dare you not tell us there was a dress code!” We felt out of place, embarrassed and awkward. Soon, we walked through this lavish home with our 12 pack of Modelo and made our way to the outside patio so as to hide from everyone else. We popped open 2 cans of Modelo and began to drink. We said we’d leave after maybe another beer as we couldn’t stand the stares of people.

         I felt the DJ was responsible for our embarrassment but he himself could be the one to get away with his casual look. We looked appropriate for a bar or music lounge, but not for this lavish themed party with champagne and hors d'oeuvres. Soon, more people arrived. We continued to drink our Modelos until suddenly, people approached us. They were interested in talking to us as we stood out. We felt like we were on the spot, the topic of conversation. Before you knew it, we had managed to befriend a small group of attendees. They wanted to know who were were and why we were drinking Modelos.  Most importantly, they were interesting in sharing a Modelo with us. We showed them how we hid our box of beer underneath the bar, as our beer didn’t match the bottles of expensive champagne, vodka and whiskey. They had only the best.

They thought it was silly that we would care. After all, it was “LA” and you could always show up being you, as you are, without a worry of what other’s might think. I hadn’t realized that it was a birthday party for an actress and that all these people were in the film industry as well.

         Here we were: two Latinas among nothing but non-Latinos doing our thing, drinking Mexican beer in a swanky party, and having others wanting to join in our casual laid back vibe. Needless to say, we made friends and we introduced many people to the beer they hadn’t tasted before but were completely interested in trying. The night ended and we had a good time.

Never Buy a House

A few weeks before my Papa passed, I was sitting with him in his room at home. He had been bedridden for so many months with leukemia that every conversation we had had become more and more precious to my existence. I know he was suffering and I know he was in pain. More than anything, I was aware that he was frustrated. He was frustrated with being disabled. He was frustrated with being incapable of talking for long periods of time. He was uncomfortable and sad. 

He looked at me, very deeply, and said, "Mija, never buy a house. This is probably the best way I am going to save you a lot of pain." 

I was so confused. What did the house have to do w/ my pain? 

He continued, "You're never fully going to enjoy it. You're going to work all your life for it and you're going to suffer. You're going to be chained to it and if you have to wait to retire to enjoy it, what is the point?" 

This was such a poignant conversation between me and my old man. He was so expressive in his delivery. He meant this statement. He explained to me how most of his life was spent on the dream of having a home, owning a home. He said he thought it was a good idea to not rent anymore and have something permanent. At the age of 59, he still wasn't done paying for it and most of the headaches were house-related. 

He said, "Mija, see the world. Travel. Forget about saving. You're single. You're smart. You have it all. You don't need a home. Make the world your home and live anywhere and everywhere you choose to live." 

I was so shocked. 

Growing up, all I really understood is that buying a home was something that one would show off to others as a sign of your own individual success. But now I was feeling like it was a burden. A burden my father realized took a lot of his happiness away. We lived in South Central Los Angeles. We were stuck there. We couldn't find anyone who would buy our house. The conditions of our neighborhood probably drove most buyers away. 

Needless to say, I discarded the 'buy a home' ideal. I saw my father's pain as a sign. He had struggled and even though he thought it was a waste, he did in fact pass on a lesson to me. The so-called American Dream had been redefined. It was not about coming here, settling and buying a home to call one's own. It was about freedom. It was about adventure and endless opportunities.  

The following year, after his death, I went to Spain for the first time, the place he regretted never have gone. 

Compartiendo lo Poco

    As a Latino, have you ever noticed that when you go home and visit your family, you hardly leave empty handed? Whether you're asked to indulge in a cafecito or a tesito de canela, you're always treated like royalty. Latinos love to cater to their guests and make sure they are not thirsty or hungry. When visiting my Mom, she immediately names all the items she has to offer me. She'll say, "Mija, I have a few tamales there if you'd like to warm them up." or "I made chorizo con huevo, you can have a torta. Or also, a bit of birria is left. I know how much you like it!"

    This is true of aunts and grandmothers. They always want to make you feel at home with the special delicacies they happened to prepare. If they made it a few days ago, they will tell you that it should taste even better now that a few days have passed and the condiments have reached their true flavor.

    I find that no matter how old we get, whenever we come home, we are greeted with such warmth, love and hugs and kisses. Sometimes, we leave with more than that. We might leave with a mango ready to be ripend and enjoyed. Perhaps, a piece of chocoflan left over from a fiesta the family went to. Many times, I allow my Mom to spoil me. To serve me a special dish or make me a cup of tea. I let her be my Mom and feel like she's still nurturing me. I feel good when she makes me feel like I am still entitled to her attention. If I am lucky, I will leave with a bag of aguacates (avocado) or guavas from her trees out in the yard. There have been times when I leave with a whole bag of groceries. My Mom will say, "Mija, do you need bread? I have plenty! Do you need tortillas? Take a few." And she'll begin filling up a bag of a little piece of queso, tortillas, bread, nopales, or whatever else she wants to give me.

    Most of the time I wonder to myself how my Mom, finding herself in a very poor struggling situation, can still share so much of what she has with me. I tell her, "Mom, no keep it for yourself." or "Mom, I can buy some for myself, don't worry." I see that she wants to give me things. She wants to feel like she's saved me a trip to the store, or a few dollars, or even just that she knows I am really going to enjoy whatever she gives me.

   I've never found any poor Latino family that does not do this. They are always willing to share what they barely have enough of with their loved ones, friends and families. They put out the best fruit, the freshest ingredients and tastiest of dishes for company. They go out of their way to make you feel comfortable and at home.

  

Celebrando

When my Mom turned 50, 

she wanted a traditional Mexican outfit and all she wanted to do was dance all day. Perhaps throughout most of her adult life, she dreamed of being a folkloric dancer. So, she went out and bought the perfect outfit and shoes. We threw her a big party. She danced the entire day away. I loved that she was able to have that moment to check something off the list. She wanted to be someone else for one day and she was able to do that. Mom, you're a greatest dancer. 

Sigue celebrando!

"Hablando Se Entiende La Gente"

The above is a very common phrase heard around in the Latino community. Perhaps, you’ve heard your sister tell you this when she wanted to let you know she couldn’t read your mind about something. Maybe you said this when you were frustrated about the things people don’t say and keep to themselves.

Recently, I watched a movie entitled, “The Bucket List” which stars Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson as what IMDB describes as: “Two terminally ill men escape from a cancer ward and head off on a road trip with a wish list of to-dos before they die.” The theme song of this movie is from John Mayer: “Say” This song really resonates with me. The lyrics are pretty simple and they are direct. The repeating chorus implores the listener to: “Say what you need to say.”

While inspiring and beautiful, this isn’t always the case with Latinos. I do not know how Non-Latinos communicate and divulge things to each other. Whether they write letters, notes or emails only on certain occasions when really important things need to be expressed.

I remember growing up not feeling free to express myself. I was afraid that not only as a girl I’d be disregarded as just that, but also that I wouldn’t be heard or understood. I held my thoughts and feelings back because I didn’t want to be chastised for my opinions. I was mostly afraid of talking to my Dad. He was a strict man and he didn’t like disagreements. He once told me, “You don’t have an opinion in this home.” That statement immediately broke me. I felt incarcerated, trapped, and alone. It was strange to feel this way in such a full home, with 5 other kids and my Mom.

I wondered to myself how many other girls or boys my age felt the same way: mentally and emotionally oppressed. Luckily, for me, I had empty pages in journals I bought at the most accessible store at the time: Pic ‘N’ Save – now better known as Big Lots. The journals there were $1 each. 
If I behaved well, my Dad would give me my “Domingo” which was usually $5 to spend for the week. I would buy 2 or 3 at time. While I couldn’t talk to him, I would write a lot about him and my feelings for him, which were usually negative. It saddened me that I couldn’t open up to him about my thoughts, my dreams, and hopes and opinions about life at home. I was scared at his reaction.

As I grew up, I discovered that this rang true with my female friends and even with guys within the Latino culture. We did not feel free to talk about our feelings. We did not feel free to get upset about things that hurt. We would be taunted a chillon or chillona (crybaby) not only by our parents but perhaps even our siblings. We would be resentful with our parents or siblings about things they did and said towards us. Why?

           I find that not all Latinos communicated easily within their families. Even in my own family, there were rumors that one Tía said something about another Tía. Why couldn’t she say it to her face? Why does chisme (gossip) destroy family relationships? Simple: because people don’t communicate with each other.

Even now, it’s intimidating to have those “heart-to-hearts” with your family. You don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, even if yours are hurt. Perhaps you’re intimidated with a family member who is moody or angry a lot. The fear of confrontation or of an argument stops us from expressing ourselves to each other. There will always be differences of opinion and beliefs, even among families. If one of your siblings did something you’re not fond of, do you keep that to yourself? Do you tell him or her? Do you write a letter or an email expressing your feelings? Or do you approach him or her and say “Hablemos?”

I believe we should encourage openness between us. We put a lot of effort into ourselves, our food, our style and our home. Why not invest the same in our friendships, our families? Why not make those closest to us aware of how feel? Take it to the next level and you’ll see that it makes a difference. When we have our own children, we’d want them to come to us and tell us everything. In the meantime, “a poner el ejemplo.”

Familia and our Names

          A few nights ago, I was thinking, "Wow -- I have a BIG family." My childhood life was loud, crazy and full of "Mami! Mami!" It made me laugh to think about how my Mom used to call out all of my sisters' names until she found the one she meant to call something like this: "Andrea! I mean - Anna! no no, Lucy! Roci!" There were too many little girls in our house and she'd have to go through the list of us to call the correct one up. Que risa, no?
        Also, there can be many repeated names in your family. Kinda like in that movie "Goodfellas." There's a scene when the family is being introduced and all the wives' names are Marie. What I've noticed about most Latino families is that we are extremely proud of our kids and want to name them after a notable relative who passed or maybe after our own names.

        This is why we have Jose, Jr. or Miguel, Jr. or Francisco el Grande and Francisco el Chiquito. I remember dating one guy, Alejandro, who was named after his Dad. When I first would call his house to talk to him on the phone and his sister would ask, "Who do you want to speak to?" and I would respond, "Alejandro." Well, his Dad would come on the phone. "A-lo?" Talk about awkward, right? I had to explain that I wanted the other Alejandro. Truly funny.

         Then, there are those of us who were named after an actor or actress in our Mom's favorite Telenovela. Or named after an American actress or actor they really liked when they first got to the United States. Perhaps even a singer or athlete. I've always wondered why my Mom chose my name. I wanted a name like my sisters' that sounded feminine, pretty and glamorous. They got Anna Lilia, Andrea Isabel and Lucía Noemi. I got stuck with 'Rocío'. Many years, I was upset about it. People to this day don't know how to pronounce it and I was embarrassed many times to be called 'Rico" or "Rocaco.' I am still surprised that no one called me 'radicchio'. I started asking people to call me Adrianna, my middle name. I wanted to feel more like a girl. I wanted to feel more Latina.

        As the years went by and I came into my own, I decided that I liked my name. My Mom had chosen it for me. I was different than my sisters in that I didn't have any a's in my name but I felt that it represented that I was unique and this was a chance to make it feminine, pretty and glamorous, make it Latin. I am part of a family of different names and a family comprised of different personalities. It wasn't so much that I got stuck with an odd name but more that it was stuck with me. 
        So, what's in a name? What's in your family name? Do you like being named after your Mom? or your Dad? or your Abuelito? or that really cool Uncle who knew how to play futbol really well? In the grand scheme of things, what does your last name matter to you? Do you have nicknames like most of us do?

           I still wonder how we get those "apodos." Why do they call your cousin "El Flaco?" or why do they call your Tio Enrique: 'El Tio Kike?' Your 'Tio Serafin' becomes 'Tio Chafin' and your Abuelito Lorenzo becomes "Abuelito Lencho?" Where did this customizing begin? I think it has to do with showing love, showing that personal connection. Just like some words like 'preciosa' turn into 'pechocha'. All of sudden, it depicts a closeness, a relationship. You feel that it's got some tenderness attached to it. We've embraced your name and therefore now made it our own. If we Latinos bring anything to our names, and our family members, it's definitely warmth.

Tómate un Té

        During the cold and flu season, you begin to see those wonderful ads for Tylenol Cold & Flu, Mucinex, Robitussin and the like. As a Latina, I grew up on Vick's Vaporub, Arnica, and teas of different kinds. My Mom always recommended tea for any physical ailment I had.

If I had a headache, she'd say, "Tomate un te. Un te de manzanilla te va a relajar." Chamolile tea will relax you. If I had digestive issues, she'd say, "Tomate un te de menta." Drink peppermint tea. Soon, I had a collection of teas for everything. I remember around the time I was 15, she'd sent me out to the front yard to bring in yerbabuena, which is spearmint. This herb is known to be much milder than peppermint, also to help with stomach issues. I always found it interesting that my Mom made it a point to plant it in her garden. She also grew chiles and cilantro. Why did she do this? It goes back to bringing a piece of home to this foreign new home that she had. She'd say, "Mija, go outside and bring me some yerbabuena." I'd run out, yank it out of the ground, and bring it back. I always stuck around to see what she was going to do with it. Sometimes, she'd put it in a caldo (stew), or in a tortilla stir-fry that she calls "sopa de tortilla" but mostly, she'd make tea.

      These days when I call her and happen to mention that my head hurts or my stomach is feeling ill, she immediately says, "Did you drink your tea?" I already know she's going to ask and usually, by then, I am already warming up a pot of hot water. She's been right every time and I've never doubted her home remedies. What I find even funnier than drinking tea for headaches and such, is that I now keep these teas around all the time. I make it a point to replace them when I am out and I don't look to the pharmacy to help me with pain if I can help it with some home remedy my Mom knows. She is our nurse, our doctor. We trust everything she instructs without a doubt. However, we go to the Doctor's office with skepticism and fear. If only he'd say,"Drink some tea. Your diabetes will go away" or "Some hot tea will quickly ease your arthritis." This is not the case. However, if your Mom said it, you'd believe it. Faith is more about trust than anything else for Latinos and how can you possibly ever doubt your Mama?