“You’re Mexican aren’t you?”
“Where are ya’ll from? You don’t sound Mexican.”
“You don’t talk like Mexican.”
“Do you speak Mexican?”
Those are just a few questions that I have been asked in my lifetime. Just last week while in my local watering hole I was asked about my cousin. First the guy asked “you two are cousins, right?” As if he needed to verify this fact. He continues to ask me “How are you two related? She’s got a different last name.” I thought to myself “So what? Is that proof that we are not related or something?”
He went on “How did she get the last name of Taylor?” I think I rolled my eyes at him. I really wanted to punch him just for being stupid. The clincher was when he looked me in the face and said “If you’re Mexican how come she doesn’t look Mexican?”
For fuck sake. “Well, her mom married a WHITE dude with the last name of Taylor!!!” My cousin pops into the conversation and says “she’s 100% Mexican and I’m only half.”
Good grief. This is just one example of being Mexican.
[in the photo above starting at the left moving to the right; Dulce de Calabaza (Mexican Pumpkin Candy. It’s more like glazed soft pumpkin.
Next photo I grabbed from Huffington Post with sayings that are in Spanish that other nationalities say. I have yet to hear a Mexican say any of them.
At work there was a little old white guy who had to share that he drove by a auto shop that had this word painted on their sign and he wanted to know what it meant. (Pinche mufflers!)
Next photo is steak tacos with cilantro & onions.
All Mexican drink Tequila right?! Of course we do…not Jose either *gag* it’s PATRON Silver Baby! Try some Rum Chata with a splash of Pardon XO and that is some good shit. OR Rum Chata with a splash of Frangelico.
Middle photo is all about those Mexican candles that have a saint or Jesus on it and on the back side of the candle is a prayer to say in addition to your request. Mexicans tend to be suspicious and religious, world of counter dictations.
Tamales. Homemade. Time-consuming and always at Christmas. It’s basically marinated pork inside corn dough wrapped in a corn husk. It’s a tradition. And my childhood memories are filled with tamales at Christmas.
Olbeas con cajeta is my favorite Mexican candy. It’s goat milk caramel between two paper-thin wafers. The wafers always remind me of the catholic communion host wafers.
Another photos of Tamales ready to be eaten (by me!)
“Corn in a cup” used to be just an ear of corn on a stick, like at the carnivals. You can only get this yummy treat from a street vender. When in Mexican any time I saw the Elote Man I begged my grandfather for money to get elote! Cause I love corn. Only the Mexican version is boiled ears of corn where the kernels are plump with juice. There are different varieties to this item, but I’m used to mayonnaise, powered chili, butter, and cheese and lime. I eat mine without the mayo (yuk) and no cheese. and that’s what’s in the cup.
You can see the vendor preparing the corn.
“El Chapo” because Mexicans are all drug dealers (and lawn care workers). LOL.
More Tequila. See, we all drink Tequila (NOT!)]
When some people find out I speak Spanish they ask for translations. NO. You had an opportunity like I did to take Spanish in high school. No. I’m not translating. Pay me. I remember my father & mother would have to translate for the non-English speaking people who needed help. My dad would get calls in the middle of the night for translating. Finally they both said no, they were finished doing it. Then it came down to Union involvement and a few bucks of extra pay. I just lie and say NOPE I don’t speak Spanish. Then my boss hears me, I used Rosetta Stone! LOL. I’m a shit, I know. But I’ve experienced previous employers not wanting to pay me for my time but they have to pay a translator to come in to do it. I figure it’s not worth my aggravation.
I was raised by my father, typical Mexican male. However, he taught me that life is cruel. Twice as difficult for me because I’m a woman and a minority. I was taught to speak English first and Spanish second. I was raised that even Mexicans are discriminative to their own. There is a difference between the migrant workers to the illegals and we didn’t socialize too much. I had to attend private school as did my parents. I did teach my children, who are half Mexican to speak Spanish and about the culture as much as I could. I have one major regret…is when I traveled to Mexico with my grandparents every summer from 1973-1982 then again in 1990-1993. I regret not listening to my grandfather sharing the history of his life and the history of our culture. I just remember bits & pieces. Nowadays I often tease my mother and children with my Spanglish and Mexican humor. Now that I am older I miss the old traditions that I hated when I was younger.