Cultura, Familia

Frijolera

My excuse used to be ignorance. I simply didn’t know how to make a pot of beans. Sure, I’d seen my mom, Mamá Toni and tías make them several times, but I didn’t trust myself not to totally screw up. Then I found some simple recipes and instructions by El Chavo and La Traductora. They seemed foolproof. I could do this. I bought a bag of beans and then let them sit on the shelf. I’d found a new excuse: time. I couldn’t wait two hours for a bowl of beans.

But tonight I was craving beans and I had time. I pulled up the recipes and got to work on my first ever pot of beans. While the beans cooked I made some salsa de tomatillo and salmon enchiladas*. I made a mess in the kitchen, but my food was delicious and filling.

After cleaning up, I called Mom to share the news that I had not ruined my first pot of beans.
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Mememe

Fact or Crap: Childhood Scars

Let’s play a game. I’ll post three statements and you determine whether they’re fact or crap.

1. When I was 6 years old, I got beaned in the head with an eight ball after getting caught in the crossfire of an impromptu billiards ball fight between my brother and his friend.

2. When I was 4 years old, I was having a grand old time jumping on my mom’s bed with Danny until he bumped into me. I fell and hit my head against the corner of the dresser. I had to get a few stitches for the cut on my head.

3. I broke my wrist while roller skating when I was 12 years old.

Cuentos, Familia

Dad schools Cindy, part 4.0

Benny: Man, you think too much! I bet you get straight A’s and shit!
Smalls: No, I got a B once. Well, actually it was an A minus but it should have been a B.
Benny: Man, this is baseball, you gotta stop thinking! Just have fun. If you were having fun, you would have caught that ball!
(from The Sandlot, 1993)

I got a lot of A’s as a kid. A lot. I was, like, a genius. Gifted even. (/snark)

After hearing my classmates brag about their monetary awards for good grades ($20 an A, $10 a B and so on), I was rather annoyed. All I got for my good grades was encouragement and praise. Who wants that?

When I was 11-years old I found the courage to bring this up to mom and dad. I offhandedly suggested that they get in line with other Glenelder Elementary parents. Mom laughed. She must have done the math in her head and realized she’d be paying out over $100 each quarter just for my grades.

“No, mija,” dad replied.

Then he started with the lecture. Oh no. When we got to a certain age, we no longer were spanked. We were lectured. That was worse. While a spanking only affected the wrongdoer and was over in a few minutes, the lecture often involved all siblings and lasted half an hour. Whenever Danny got in trouble or decided to talk back, I’d have to sit through that lecture too. The time paled in comparison to the guilt. Dad was good at making us realize how much we’d disappointed him and mom. I still dread those lectures. Actually, dad didn’t lecture this time. He told a story with a lesson (close enough).
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Fotos

I am my father’s daughter

When I found the above photo of my dad, he joked that he was trying to look like Rigo Tovar. I saw something else: proof that my affinity for huge sunglasses and other weird eyewear is genetic or at the very least a learned behavior. I was born/socialized to like glasses that cover most of my face.

Now maybe Oso will stop threatening to hide my sunglasses. Hater.

Deportes

Off Season

I pay little attention to baseball during the off season. Of course, I followed the news on whether or not the Dodgers would re-sign Manny and I had a few conversations about Alex Rodriguez’s confession about using steroids when he played for the Texas Rangers. (Rodriguez was my favorite player from ’96 until he signed with Texas in 2001. After that, I stopped paying attention to his career, but still kept up a pennant from his days with the Seattle Mariners.)

These days, I’m following the World Baseball Classic and hoping Mexico advances out of pool play. Oh yeah… who knew anyone actually played baseball in the Netherlands?