Love at first site can be real, and Stormy!

Love at first sight is not a myth, it happens. It's happened to me three times! And, I'm talking about loving relationships that have lasted big time. Believe it or not, this conversation began with a comment about how much it rains in Houston.

Once started, however, my claim of three intense, and instant, loves required explanation. In reverse order... the third was at the moment of my daughter's birth. Maybe I'm cheating a little here because, honestly, I loved that kid the day the stick changed colors. But seeing her for the first time, being held upside down she seemed to respond to my voice, turned and opened her eyes. (I know that's not su

pposed to happen at that age - hour, but it did.) She was so beautiful and perfect and mine - ours. Lost the last remaining chunk of my heart right there and then. Love at first sight. So, a big piece of my heart now resides in the dorms of UTSA in San Antonio. Daddy's baby no matter the aged or educational level. (Deep sigh!)

Moving on... the other huge piece of my heart is now in Austin (until the @#$% house sells!). Feb. 10, 1985. That was the day I met my wife. She was almost perfect. Almost. Beautiful. Smart. Funny (meaning she laughed at my jokes). A journalist. A great listener. Even better cook. She lacked only one thing in my opinion... me. So, I asked her to marry me on the first date and of course, she said yes. Duh! Her lack of judgement in men aside, she was, and remains, the love of my life. However, she was my second love-at-fir

st-sight.

The first time I lost a piece of my heart, I must admit it was intense, it was stormy, as scary as it was exciting. And, I was only five years old. Her name was Buelah. She was beautiful in her own way. Powerful. Deadly. She had one huge eye. She hit me at approximately 136 miles an hour, technically a category 3. Buelah was the first hurricane I remember experiencing. With the memory of a five-year-old, I remember that it cut a direct swath across the Rio Grande Valley, coming up from South Padre across Alamo, Pharr, McAllen then my house in Edinburg. When the first wave of storms hit, shrieking winds seemed to go on for hours. Darkness and rain, flying debris knocking for desperate entry on every window, every door. And then, suddenly, silence. And sunshine.

In 1967, my Mom was 19, Dad 21. Kids raising kids. Of course we went outside, leaving the safety of the home to play in the eye of the storm - literally. All around us, the round walls of the storm formed a barrier to the rest of the world. You could see the wind and the rain, see the lightning crawl across the horizon and hear the booming thunder - all contained within those dark, threatening walls. It was the coolest thing I'd ever seen. Thus, my first love-at-first-site, the last shard of my heart, albeit the first to go, eternally rides the winds of the storms.

Rain and storm, thunder and lightning have been harbingers of good throughout my life. A lightning strike signaled the time had come to ask for my wife's hand on that first fateful date. It rained the day our daughter was born, the day we bought our first house and some of the favorite times I've ever had were doing the Moose dance with my girls in the warm Texas rain. Living in Houston, too often separated from wife and daughter, I'm am often reminded of the power of the rain and the wind, and am comforted by the memories and emotions that rise with the intensity of the storms that regularly roll across the Bayou City. Really takes me back.

What's With All The Drama?

Have you ever been in a situation where you're having a typical family discussion and the cops show up because the neighbors called and reported that, "They're gonna kill each other!"? Or maybe people look at you weird at a fancy restaurant or the movies... or maybe church? Happens all the time. Why is that?

Everyone "knows" Latinos are passionate people (PochoNation-ales are the most passionate, because we get to be that way in Spanish AND English. Now, you know what being passionate means and it's not all about being sexy (but that part IS true). We're also opinionated. (Hey, I've got a right to my opinion dammit.) We're stubborn (Some might say que somos tercos, but I beg to differ.) We're intense. (Loud. That's why the cops come.) And, we won't be bested. (No queremos que nadie nos gana.) We believe we know things We believe we're right about those things. And, we're gonna make sure YOU know we know and we're right! No que no? Listen to the other side of the story. Mira! There's my side and there's your side... and your side is the side I gave you (which BTW is my side). Man, that last part really takes me home, just saying.

I've seen this in personal relationships, family relationships, even in professional relationships (Although I do work in an agency full of Latinos.) Sure, it scares some folks... non-Hispanic, the very young, the very old, librarians (occasionally clients). But nobody needs to be scared. It doesn't mean we're angry. That doesn't mean it's personal. It doesn't mean we're gonna fight. And, it certainly doesn't mean that we're NOT gonna lock arms and go have a beer (or six) right after this is over.

It's a STYLE. Is it cultural? Maybe, maybe not. I mean, it's not exclusive to Latinos, Italians wave their arms in ADDITION to being this way. OK, so maybe it is cultural. Whatever. Point is, asi somos. That's just the way we are and actually, I think it's good for us to be that way. Think of it as if we're those yuppies who pay hundreds of dollars an hour for scream therapy, but we get ours free. And our therapists are our family and friends. It keeps our blood hot and healthy. Either way, and for whatever reason, we like it. Cultural insight? Stereotype? Maybe both, but if you want to experience this "cultural phenomena" just go to any Latino family reunion (like Christmas, New Year's, Easter, World Cup Final, Superbowl, church picnic, BBQ or birthday party in the park, dinnertime, whatever... and you'll see. I'm right. I know it!

Pocho Next Gens: Evolving Empowerment

Growing up Pocho was a disadvantage. At least that's how I saw it. Not quite fitting in, not truly accepted by either non-Hispanics or "real Mexicans", i.e. immigrants. That's how I felt it. And, I've learned that I wasn't alone. Many US-born LatinoBoomers (and/or their children) felt that way. When cultural "conflicts" occurred, you just felt embarrassed and removed yourself from the scene. Problem solved, no? Not really. We segregated ourselves.

I've written about this before but I'm not just rehashing old ideas. Now that my daughter's in a public university, I'm seeing familiar themes, but with a very interesting (and uplifting) twist. Brought up in a slightly Spanglish, but definitely Hispanic home, she's was also raised a good Catholic school girl, her peers were fairly conservative, culturally homogeneous. (Lotta white bread.) Now among students of much greater diversity, she's confronted with a different mix of all kind of folk: White, Black, Asian, etc... and tons more raza. This last part makes sense because the University is in San Antonio and pulls a lot of commuter students from throughout Central Texas. The San Anto area is majority Hispanic. Not quite the density of the Valley (forever my home), but still.. S.A. = ese!

Anyway, back to the point: wide variety of Latino(a). In the stories that she's told me, and in my own observations of the way these kids interact, I've learned many of the same dynamics exist between Hispanics of varying backgrounds. In fact, she admitted that among her non-Hispanic White friends she feels very Hispanic, but among some (but not all) of her Hispanic friends, she feels more "White". Been there done that baby. "I feel your pain," I say in comfort and to show I understand. But, really, I don't understand. She doesn't need comforting.

Instead of dissing each other and separating, they accept, support and embrace. They're curious. They discuss. They share. The Hispanic kids that are more acculturated, or "Americanized", help those that are from Latin America or less acculturated to navigate the system here. And, they reciprocate by describing how some of the traditional customs are celebrated "back home". Authentic style. (And maybe correcting a Spanish word or two.) That's a little simplistic because there's more complex interaction, but you get the point. For them, it's all good.

Many of us grew up with prejudice and a bad habit of people, in general, building fences wherever differences were perceived. White vs. Black. Rich vs.

Poor. North of the tracks vs. South. Light skinned Hispanic vs. dark. We've seen a cultural evolution. We've seen the change and we're empowered by it. But we remember and I think it colors your POV on a lot of things.

This PochoNation generation doesn't carry the same baggage. They hear our stories and I think they appreciate where we've been. And, they still care about their culture, proud to be Hispanic. They are neither emasculated nor diminished by their differences. They are empowered. They have more options. They can do more because they are more. Encouraging, no?. Si!

Reality Check: Joy And Sorrow Are Often Inseparable

Another lesson. Everyday seems to bring more learning. Deeper understanding. Those 'aha!' moments, full of insight, understanding. Sometimes they are shining lights of illumination and, on rare special occasions, inspiration. Yes! Today's lesson is about the reality that life is full of paradoxes (is that a word?) and contradictions. Sometimes the things that bring you great joy also harbor melancholy, sadness. Often, these occur at multiple levels.

This week our beautiful, talented, wise-beyond-her-years, daughter leaves for university. As with all parents, this has been a lifelong dream for us... for the entire family. My Mom, my Dad, Grandma, Grandpa, aunts, uncles... the list goes on. (We are Hispanic after all - everyone's related.) And, as the oldest grandchilden, first-born of all the cousins there is a special anticipation in seeing the first launch into the next phase of her life. So, are we all beaming with pride? Yes! Are we exicted for her? Of course. But while my heart is so swollen with pride that it's bigger than the sun, it's also spreading with tiny, cracks of sadness that are rapidly expanding as the "moving day" approaches. We will miss her sooo much.

For 18 1/2 years we've looked forward to this day. She's fullfilled all our expectations and shattered them. I know I'm her dad, but there has been no more perfect child (although for the record, until the age of 5, I was pretty damned good!). And now, this week feels like the Apocalypse, the last days of the Mayan calendar, Nostradamus probably wrote about this in one of the quatrains! As she follows her own heart, her own dreams, her own path... she moves a step away from ours. It's a little step, a baby step. But it feels like a step across the Grand Canyon, a Neil Armstrong's "one small step for man" kinda monumental, BIG step to me.

So, my lesson (re-learned and re-learned) is that life is a beautiful chaos (I stole this line but it's nice right?), a rollercoaster ride of emotions where great joy and deep sorrow blend and blossom. I've also learned (realized, once again) what my own parents must have gone through and likely, each and every time another of us went off. I recognize how precious those infrequent calls I made home must have been to them (and probably still are today). And how even as I succeeded (or didn't) along my path they were supportive of my choices even as they took me further and further away from them. But, I also know that the distance was physical not emotional. Even as our daughter moves to another city to begin a new chapter in her life, she'll never be one micro-meter (is THAT a term?) away from our hearts.

Thanks Mom. Thanks Dad. Bee... follow your heart and know we're always here.

Memorial Day: A Cold One's Awaiting!

Today we pause to reflect.  To remember.  To give thanks.  To celebrate.  On Memorial Day we honor the lives lost, the wounds suffered, the proud service of those in the military.  It's important to take a time out of our day-to-day to think about what it all means.  

What does it mean to build an army?  What does it mean to go to war?  What does it mean to put your cross hairs on the body of a stranger and pull a trigger, or push a button or flick a switch... and have that person cease to exist?  And, what does it mean to have that happen to someone you love?  What does it mean for an individual to volunteer for that possibility?  To raise their hand and say, "Me! Choose me.  I'll go.  I'll train.  I'll wear the colors.  I'll eat the sand.  I'll hump the hills.  I'll fight.  I'll take a chance. Choose ME!"  Why would somebody do that?  Why would ANYBODY do that?  

Who's crazy enough to leave family and friends, a perfectly safe (mostly safe) place, in a really great (well mostly great) country and put themselves in harm's way?  Who?  And for what?  So we can sit here and live our lives in peace and comfort?  So we can toss some fajitas on the grill?  Let the kids run through the sprinkler, throw back a few cold ones, watch the Astros destroy Cincinnati (hopefully) and bitch about work?  Is that it?  Is that what this is all about?  This is freedom?  Actually... Yes!  

It's really just the tip of the iceberg, but yes.  There's that and democracy.  Being able to vote in free elections is kinda cool.  Not having to wear a shroud over your head when you go out is nice.  Choosing your profession, being able to send your kids to school, marrying the woman you love (or whichever person you love but we're working on that one), worshiping the god of your choice (or not).  All of those are pretty important reasons too.  

Anyway, as I'm taking in the sun, popping the top and thinking about Memorial Day and whether or not I should buy that loveseat that's on sale, I thought I'd share what's been on my mind all day and say THANKS! It doesn't matter if you're White or Black, Latino, Hispanic, Mexican, Pocho, whatever.  You're all heroes.  So thanks to all those crazy sons of bitches (and daughters too) that made that crazy brave choice.  Just be sure you bring it on home 'cause your cold one's waiting!

The Revelations of Self-Portraits

I try to be brave.  I believe I have a story to tell.  I hope that when I write, I share lessons and emotions and laughter people can both identify with and maybe even benefit.  To tell your story is to expose yourself, to say to the world, "here I am and this is me!"  Then you wait and see what the world sends back.  Some kind of response.  A laugh.  An "Orale!".  Or a "You're wrong dude and BTW, you suck."  Either way, to tell your story is taking a chance.  Like I said, I try to be brave and true to my self and to my personal story.  In my writing, I take small chances all the time.  But cultural revelations may take less fortitude than others.   

Some people do more than "try" to be brave, take more than baby steps.  They take great leaps of faith; and, while the results can be disastrous and soul wrenching, they can also be beautiful and healing.  Even more than brave, they can be inspiring.  This is the story of one such person.  A very special person: Karrie Lee.  Read her story in The Portrait Assignment.  Experience her life, her art and her pain.  Revel in her strength and her perseverance.  I'm glad to call her my friend.   I'm sure you'll benefit from her story, her bravery.  And, there are more enlightening portraits to view and experience.  Witness for yourself.

In English or Spanish, Today is for Mamá!

In the US, we celebrate Mother's Day on the 2nd Sunday of May. In Mexico, and in many other Latin American countries, Mother's Day is always the 10th of May. If you are a florist, sell chocolate candy or work for a phone company, this is your BIG day. Being the good bicultural Pocho that I am, I try to commemorate both occasions and I'm usually pretty lucky to remember at least one. The good thing is that if I forget, I usually have another shot. Double up on the flowers and chocolates.

A lot of times, we focus on the things that divide us - Hispanics vs. Non-Hispanics, Mexicans vs. Cubans vs. Puerto Ricans, Democrats vs. Republicans, Dogs vs. Cats... whatever. On this, a rare occasion when U.S. Mother's Day and Mexican Mother's Day occurs on the same day, when phones are ringing and new bottles of perfume are spaying fresh scents of rose pedals and soft power across both sides of the Rio Grande, let me wish ALL Moms everywhere, especially my wife and my own Mom, a very Happy Mother's Day. Let us all celebrate one more thing we all share... we all came from Moms. Felicidades!