The family car was a nice maroon and gray 1989 Mitsubishi Colt Vista. The interior of the car wasn’t clean at all, which is very usual when a family has three boys. Dad used to drive all the time: mom in the front seat, my sister Rebeca and I in the second row, and my brothers Pablo and Sami in the third row. The rides were never quiet; there was at least one fight per ride. Rebeca would get car-sick and puke, and I would always make fun of her: “she’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke! She’s gonna puke!” Mom and Dad would argue because we were lost, or other circumstances. So, the rides were not precisely quality time with the family. Or maybe they were, depending on the point of view of the family member. The worst rides were the Sunday morning rides. Everybody was late, Dad didn’t have enough time to finish his sermon, Mom was cooking breakfast, and we were running around the house instead of getting ready for church.
Childhood
A Note for Grant: Shit!
When I lived in Tacoma, WA. my friend Kris hosted me and opened his house for me. During that time I became really close to his kids, Mitch and Grant. A few months ago Kris asked me to send Grant a letter for his 13th birthday. Kris said: “it can be funny, serious, irreverent, or just a few lines.” I decided to go on the irreverent and funny side. So, here it is. Below you will find the letter I sent Grant. I hope you find it as funny as I think it is.
Dear Grant,
First of all, happy birthday. I really hope that you have a very exciting day. Turning 13 is quite a step in life. In this time of your life you will start realizing that things that were not shameful before now will make your blood go to your face. And, for that reason I am going to share with you a story,something that happened to me when I was your age. And just so you know, just a few people know these story. (And in this blog, all of my readers!)
Every summer my family and I used to go to lake Atitlan. Atitlan is a beautiful place where mayan legends become alive and where hippies fill the streets with weird hand-crafts and dances. During the summer of 1997, i had just turned 13, we went to Atitlan as we used to.
During the first night that we were in Panajachel, the town where we were staying, I went to eat out with one of my uncles. I ate 3 slices of pizza, a hot-dog, an empanada (a meet filled pastry), and 2 pieces of pie. And as you can imagine, i was very sick the next day. I woke up at 2:00 am with the runs, and i felt as if my butt was going to fall off. After a few hours with the runs i fell asleep again and was able to rest.
Around 10:00 am that morning my family was going for a walk and to do aome shopping, and of course i didn’t want to miss the adventure. Before leaving the house my mom asked me, “are you sure you feel well enough to go?” To what I answered “yes”. Little did I know that when you have had the runs, it is very likely that you will have them again during the same day. A couple hours after we started walking i felt my tummy growling. Every step i took my butt got looser and looser. But, i didn’t want to tell my mom about it because she had ask before if i was well enough for the walk, and i had said yes.
My first idea was to use the restroom at the first stop we made. The problem was that the store owner didn’t let me us the restroom because we didn’t buy anything. At this point i decided that i was going to walk back to where we were staying. I thought I would have enough time to walk back and go to the bathroom. I knew that it was going to be hard for me to get back in time, so I decided to take the back way to the place where we were staying. I knew that I was not going to find people in the back way, so I thought I was safe.
I started walking back and as soon as I gave the forst steps i felt mu tummy growling again. The more i walked the more my butt got loose. Every step of the way back felt like a mile. I started sweting cold and took a break every electricity pole on the way back. After walking for about twenty minutes I knew I was not going to make it. I felt a chilling cold down my spine. I felt my hands sweting and tingling. And then i felt an itch on my nose and seezed. And, as I sneezed, i felt my butt relaxing and letting everything inside me out. As soon as i sneezed I realized I had shat my pants all the way to my knees. O was waring shorts so i could feel it dripping down my legs. And then, I started the walk of shame back to the place we were staying. When I was going to start walking i saw that there was an old guy staring at me. He had witnessed everything, from the swet, to the sneeze, to the crap dripping down my legs. The old guy stared ate and said, “you are a nasty little prick!” And then, he walked away. But, the story is not over yet. I walked all the way back to where we were staying and realized tha I had forgotten the key to the house we rented. I had to wait in the courtyard of the property, and use a hose to wash my legs.
I know this might not be the kind of story you wanna hear on your birthday, but this is how I realized that there are some things that aren’t funny when they happen to us. I think, however, that we need to laugh at these embarrassing things, so we can live a life with abundance. I really hope you have a great day, and enjoy this teenage years. These years to come can be the best, but can also be really difficult and hard to understand. In fact, you might never understand what happened to you through this period of your life.
Finally, I just have to say that I love you little brother. I pray and hope that you grow up to be a man of good knowing that love is all that matters, and that we cannot allow fear and shame to define who we are.
Peace,
Nostalgia
When I was a kid, my family used to live in a neighborhood in Zone 8 in Guatemala City. We were just a block away from Bolivar Avenue and about 7 blocks away from the Terminal Market. I remember my block to be quite interesting, and quite diverse too. Our next door neighbors were quite reserved so I don’t recall ever visiting their house, or even playing together. The neighbors from across the street were quite an interesting family, Doña Elva and her kids, Krishna and Jose. Jose was a nice kid, and we would play football together every now and then. I remember that we used to play with the plastic balls, which would get flat quite easily. Once the ball was flat, we would cut it in half and use it as a second layer for the new plastic ball. Then, we had “The Cat Lady” who lived across the street on the side of our house (we lived in the house on the corner of our street). I don’t remember the cat lady’s name, but I do remember that my brothers and I used to throw rocks to the cats because they would cross into our house and shit on our terrace. One more thing I remember about the cat lady is that her daughter was my first childhood crush. I don’t remember her name, but what I remember is that my brother and I would sneak to our terrace to see her making out with her boyfriend and then throw firecrackers to them. We always thought her boyfriend was an ass and that she would be better with one of us. We didn’t think the age difference mattered, her being 16 and us 10 and 8 didn’t seem to be such a big difference.
Then, there was a “tortilleria” kitty-corner from our house ( for the gringos and non Chapines who read this, a tortilleria is a place where people make and sell tortillas.) The tortilleria belonged to Doña Rosa, and she had 5 kids, if I remember well. I don’t remember their names so I won’t even try to list them. What I do remember is that they would wake up every morning at 4:30 am and start making tortillas under Doña Rosa’s direction and supervision. I know it was that early because when we had just moved into that house I would wake up at 4:30 with their laughter and the applause sound of tortilla making. After a few weeks I got used to that so I didn’t wake up that early anymore. Doña Rosa was a hardworking woman. From what my mom told me, Doña Rosa put all her kids through college while making tortillas. Doña Rosa was quite an entrepreneur. From what I know, she opened a few more tortillerias around the area.
When we moved into Zone 8 a lot of people were a little concerned about our safety. Zone 8 was not the best place to live in the City, but with my dad being a pastor, and my mom a College professor that was what we could afford. I remember, one evening while going to buy tortillas from Dona Rosa, I was standing right at the corner waiting to cross the street, when I saw a guy running really fast. Then, three other guys ran behind him and shot him three times. I don’t really know what happened because they were a block down the street and I couldn’t see past the corner. I just remember that was my first encounter with the reality of the neighborhood we lived in. You know, when you are a kid there are a lot of things that you don’t really pay attention to. However, there is a moment when your conscience is born and you become aware of your surroundings. That was the day I was born into the Guatemalan urban reality. In my neighborhood we had “Guatemala in a block.” We had a family who could trace their ancestors to the era of the Kaqchikel kingdom, a family who was so dysfunctional they could barely keep themselves together, a mono-parental family, a group of hard working women trying to give the best to their children. We had the drunken husbands who would knock on the wrong door at night, and the good and hard-working husbands too. We also had the usual homeless guy sleeping on the sidewalk, and even a pastor. Interestingly most of the people who read this won’t be able to place who is who with this description. Why? Because what differentiates us is not as important as what unites us, because social strata, race and economic status are categories and social constructs that we build. As a kid, I didn’t know who was who. I didn’t know what their family issues were. What would happen if we, Guatemalans, start looking at each other as kids see the world? What would happen if we pay attention to the things that unite us, the barrios where we grew up, the characters that we remember with such nostalgia, instead of the things that divide us, social status, the clothes we wear, the cars we drive, the ethnicity we have? I bet our understanding of each other would be based on love and understanding instead of power and division. I bet we could look at the future and dream together for the Guatemala we can be.
theurbanwonderer 