Growing up, Dad would always tell us the story of how Mom's youngest brother almost made him go broke. When Mom and Dad were dating, it was customary for a family member to chaperone their dates. This chore usually was assigned to Mom's baby brother, Jorge. If the couple decided to watch a movie, Jorge would tag along on their date. This meant Dad had to pony up for, not two, but three movie tickets plus any snacks and drinks they had. This was not easy for someone living on a student pastor's stipend! Dad loved Mom too much and did not complain. After all, you're supposed to fight for the ultimate prize, right?
Jorge's mind starting thinking, though:
-Why should I have to go everywhere with these two losers when I could go by myself or my friends? Obviously, money is no objection!-
And so it became that Dad would pay Jorge to pretend to accompany them on their dates. The price for not having the pleasure of little junior's company increased double fold and Dad's wallet decreased three fold! But he couldn't complain or any thoughts of kissing Mom would evaporate like his dollar bills had. Every time I heard this story I would feel sorry for my parents. Can't decent people make out and not declare bankruptcy anymore?
Skip twenty years into the future, and there I was in our living room's sofa. Egon and I were on a date, watching TV. Such a romantic moment, his right hand on my left hand, my right hand on... wait a minute, this is not Egon's hand! Oh of course, my baby brother is sitting right smack in the middle. He is obviously enjoying himself. I can't complain to my parents, after all, what excuse could I make so that Egon and I are left alone and nobody to watch, right?
This has been going on every weekend Egon and I are on a date. I try to persuade little Junior to leave, but my pleas fall on deaf ears.
-Hey, I live here, too, and I want to watch TV as well. You can't make me leave! -
I can't believe this little insect has the upper hand!
-Who does he think he is? Quick, think! I am dying to make out with my boyfriend and he can't wait to get to 3rd, er, I mean, 1st base!-
Of course, the future financial consultant to Fortune 500 companies has everything planned in advance. After all, this is the guy who beat my other brother and I at Monopoly when he was only 3! Blackmail! And we're not just talking your garden-variety-give-me-money-to-buy-a-soda-blackmail. Oh no, we're talking $30.00 a date or: "Mom will hear about your boyfriend's paws on your boobs! Of course he's pawing you, but who do you think Mom will believe"?
And so it was that Egon had to request that his HR Department at work direct deposit half his salary to my little brother every month for making-out fees. I personally believe it was worth every penny, although Egon's electricity at home was cut a couple times. Hey, we're talking priorities here!
Fast forward another 20 years. My baby son comes running to the house very excited.
-Mom, mom!!!! Look, Lily gave me $1.00!-
-Why would our next door neighbor's daughter give you money for? Are you sure you didn't steal it from her?-
-No Mom, she gave it to me so that I would leave my older brother Lucas and her alone. Now I must stay inside and watch TV.-
-Lucas! Come back inside right this minute!-
Copyright 2007.
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Showing posts with label kids. Show all posts
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
La Piñata
I must describe a piñata to my Armenian friend. She is preparing her son's first birthday party, and the party coordinator asked if she wants to have a piñata at the party.
-A piñata, what is that?
-It's the Mexican toy you break to release the candy and toys, of course!
Good thing Gohar has me on speed dial and frantically called to ask if she would be committing a huge faux pas if there was no piñata at her son's party! She asked, demanded, to know what this piñata thing is, and if she must go on the Mexican Ebay to bid for one.
I sighed. Once more, I am the Mexican cultural broker trying to explain and help my friend make sense of what this Mexican cultural icon is (true, I am not Mexican, but those are just small details to my friends, we all look alike don't we?).
So ok, a piñata. Without delving into the history of the piñata, of which I know nothing about, I explain what a piñata is. It's this multicolored festooned toy that can be made into many different forms: the omnipresent star, a dog, cat, and for the discerning 5 year old, Winnie the Pooh. You fill the toy with candy and toys (if you're still in the old country, oranges and bananas will have to do) and then smack it with a stick. You hit it over and over until it breaks and all these goodies come out for the kids to enjoy.
Yes, I told my friend the sanitized version of the piñata. The truth of the matter is, you do not want to acknowledge the fact that your ancestors' idea of fun was to blindfold and spin the kids around until they were too dizzy to walk straight. The kid then brandishes the big ole broomstick nilly willy and if the other kids are lucky, will not be hit over and over, until there is a bloodshed in your backyard.
When the biggest, toughest, meanest kid finally breaks the piñata, the candy falls to the ground followed by a downpour of kids. The smallest kids are crushed to the ground and once the older ones get their fill of candy, there are at least 5 little kids crying their eyes out because they got scrap! I've seen the look of terror in my non-latino friends when they witness the destruction of poor Spongebob. He had no chance! All that candy was more enticing than a creepy looking version of the sponge sea creature.
I sometimes wonder who in their right mind would come up with the idea of creating a game where investing in liability insurance will eventually be an option. I usually ask myself this question while in line at the local farmer's market while I wait for the vendor to bring me the biggest, meanest, fattest Yugi-oh piñata. The doubts in my head last for a minute or so. After all, I grew up going to at least 10 piñatas every year. I grew up fine. I'm sure the twitch in my eye has nothing to do with being whacked more than once on the head by some poor kid who thought the piñata was exactly where the other kids were anxiously waiting their turn in line.
Yes dear Gohar, I am quite sure that Dear Ms. Manners will probably get a letter from an offended mother complaining of a children's party that lacked a piñata. What is this world coming to where a decent kid goes to a party and his little latino spirit is crushed when there is no piñata cat mocking him from up above? Tell the party coordinator that, yes, the piñata is a must-have item at your son's party. And please, do send us an invitation! I would not miss the opportunity to see all those kids, er, piñata getting whacked in the head!
Copyright 2007.
-A piñata, what is that?
-It's the Mexican toy you break to release the candy and toys, of course!
Good thing Gohar has me on speed dial and frantically called to ask if she would be committing a huge faux pas if there was no piñata at her son's party! She asked, demanded, to know what this piñata thing is, and if she must go on the Mexican Ebay to bid for one.
I sighed. Once more, I am the Mexican cultural broker trying to explain and help my friend make sense of what this Mexican cultural icon is (true, I am not Mexican, but those are just small details to my friends, we all look alike don't we?).
So ok, a piñata. Without delving into the history of the piñata, of which I know nothing about, I explain what a piñata is. It's this multicolored festooned toy that can be made into many different forms: the omnipresent star, a dog, cat, and for the discerning 5 year old, Winnie the Pooh. You fill the toy with candy and toys (if you're still in the old country, oranges and bananas will have to do) and then smack it with a stick. You hit it over and over until it breaks and all these goodies come out for the kids to enjoy.
Yes, I told my friend the sanitized version of the piñata. The truth of the matter is, you do not want to acknowledge the fact that your ancestors' idea of fun was to blindfold and spin the kids around until they were too dizzy to walk straight. The kid then brandishes the big ole broomstick nilly willy and if the other kids are lucky, will not be hit over and over, until there is a bloodshed in your backyard.
When the biggest, toughest, meanest kid finally breaks the piñata, the candy falls to the ground followed by a downpour of kids. The smallest kids are crushed to the ground and once the older ones get their fill of candy, there are at least 5 little kids crying their eyes out because they got scrap! I've seen the look of terror in my non-latino friends when they witness the destruction of poor Spongebob. He had no chance! All that candy was more enticing than a creepy looking version of the sponge sea creature.
I sometimes wonder who in their right mind would come up with the idea of creating a game where investing in liability insurance will eventually be an option. I usually ask myself this question while in line at the local farmer's market while I wait for the vendor to bring me the biggest, meanest, fattest Yugi-oh piñata. The doubts in my head last for a minute or so. After all, I grew up going to at least 10 piñatas every year. I grew up fine. I'm sure the twitch in my eye has nothing to do with being whacked more than once on the head by some poor kid who thought the piñata was exactly where the other kids were anxiously waiting their turn in line.
Yes dear Gohar, I am quite sure that Dear Ms. Manners will probably get a letter from an offended mother complaining of a children's party that lacked a piñata. What is this world coming to where a decent kid goes to a party and his little latino spirit is crushed when there is no piñata cat mocking him from up above? Tell the party coordinator that, yes, the piñata is a must-have item at your son's party. And please, do send us an invitation! I would not miss the opportunity to see all those kids, er, piñata getting whacked in the head!
Copyright 2007.
Being a mother: Never a dull moment!
I just convinced my personal chiropractor (AKA, my husband) to please rub some Bengay on my back. I hope this will relieve the constant back pain and mild hunchback I have developed after years of bending down to pick up miscellaneous stuff off the floor (miscellaneous refers to living and non-living entities, and range from safe to bio hazardous material). You see, I have been a mother for the past 11 years. I have 3 sons (I'm not counting my husband, mind you, but he can technically be considered the 4th child), ranging from ages 5-11.
My brother and sister-in-law have told me time and again that I am their best birth-control system. They no longer need to worry about missed pills, broken condoms, or wrong count. All they do is have us over for dinner and remind themselves why getting a fish or bird is the right decision to make. Needless to say, they have us for dinner every obligated sex day of the year: birthdays, wedding anniversary, Valentine's Day, and President's Day (don't ask why).
The last time we had a family outing at a famous family restaurant chain, we had a family picture taken and were told never, ever to come back again! Here's the story: We waited about 45 minutes to be seated and by then, the boys were hungry and wild. While we were waiting to be served, they started screaming and breaking the cheap crayons that were supposed to keep them busy for sometime (can't these restaurants invest in crayons that actually color?). By now, the people sitting next to us were staring at us, and yes, we got the message: did you forget your kids' Ritalin doses today? Our waiter took pity on us and brought the boys some mints... cinnamon mints to be specific. My 5 year old started choking on this awful tasting mint and I had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him. He started gagging and threw up on the table! The restaurant patrons were about to riot by now! But wait, there's more (of course there is)! My precious baby was so mad at the stupid mint that he grabbed it and threw it behind his back. Needless to say, it landed on some guy's bowl of soup. When we paid our bill, the hostess kindly told us that we were banned from their establishment and that our family picture would be faxed to their entire chain, so please, do not try any funny business like moving to a different state just to eat at our restaurant! This is just a normal event in our daily routine.
I know I should bill my sister-in-law's medical insurance company for birth control services rendered, however, the truth of the matter is: I would not change a minute of my life with my 3, er, 4 boys. And you know what? My brother and sister-in-law could not agree more!! They have decided to have 3 of their own as well!!!
Copyright 2007.
My brother and sister-in-law have told me time and again that I am their best birth-control system. They no longer need to worry about missed pills, broken condoms, or wrong count. All they do is have us over for dinner and remind themselves why getting a fish or bird is the right decision to make. Needless to say, they have us for dinner every obligated sex day of the year: birthdays, wedding anniversary, Valentine's Day, and President's Day (don't ask why).
The last time we had a family outing at a famous family restaurant chain, we had a family picture taken and were told never, ever to come back again! Here's the story: We waited about 45 minutes to be seated and by then, the boys were hungry and wild. While we were waiting to be served, they started screaming and breaking the cheap crayons that were supposed to keep them busy for sometime (can't these restaurants invest in crayons that actually color?). By now, the people sitting next to us were staring at us, and yes, we got the message: did you forget your kids' Ritalin doses today? Our waiter took pity on us and brought the boys some mints... cinnamon mints to be specific. My 5 year old started choking on this awful tasting mint and I had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him. He started gagging and threw up on the table! The restaurant patrons were about to riot by now! But wait, there's more (of course there is)! My precious baby was so mad at the stupid mint that he grabbed it and threw it behind his back. Needless to say, it landed on some guy's bowl of soup. When we paid our bill, the hostess kindly told us that we were banned from their establishment and that our family picture would be faxed to their entire chain, so please, do not try any funny business like moving to a different state just to eat at our restaurant! This is just a normal event in our daily routine.
I know I should bill my sister-in-law's medical insurance company for birth control services rendered, however, the truth of the matter is: I would not change a minute of my life with my 3, er, 4 boys. And you know what? My brother and sister-in-law could not agree more!! They have decided to have 3 of their own as well!!!
Copyright 2007.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
