After dinner my older brother liked to play the guitar. He preferred
the music he heard on the radio, but he played the traditional
songs for Mama. She enjoyed things that reminded her of home.
Her eyes hurt and her fingers would get sore from long hours of
work as a seamstress. I remember washing dishes while Pedrito sang:
“And seeing myself so lonely and sad like a leaf in the wind, I want
to cry . . . from this feeling.”
He sang in Spanish, which is how the lyrics were written. That
song is more than 100 years old now. Mama learned it when she was
a girl.
Papa tried to nudge Mama out of her nostalgia sometimes. He
would answer her in English when she spoke to him in Spanish. His
English was not very good at first, but he worked at it until it got
better.
Mama usually answered him in Spanish. They would go back
and forth in either language, talking about work or homesickness
or family. Pedrito or I would occasionally correct them or help them
finish their sentences in English. Papa would thank us. Mama would
just smile and shake her head. But she always repeated the words we
had helped her with. In time her English got better too, but she was
far more at ease in her native tongue.
I was seven years old when we came to the United States. Pedrito
was 11. Papa was a carpenter who also knew a little about plumbing
and electricity. From an early age, my brother and I learned how to
take care of ourselves in our new home. Our parents worked long
hours, and they counted on us to be independent.
At first we were almost like guides for Mama and Papa. In big
busy places, like the mall or the registry of motor vehicles, they felt
uncomfortable, if not overwhelmed. It was easier for us to adjust
to environments that were fast-paced and not always friendly. I felt
protective of my parents and also proud of how quickly I learned my
way around.
It would hurt my feelings to see the way some people looked at us.
For a while, on Sundays and holidays we would wear our best clothes
from home. Before long, we learned to wear casual clothes almost all
the time, like most people in this country do. And after a while, our
parents became more at ease in stores or government offices. They
relaxed a little, I suppose, and we attracted less attention.
Mama and Papa live with Pedrito now, in a two-family home
outside of Houston. Pedrito is now known as Peter. He runs a
construction business that employs 14 men and women.
Papa is in his seventies now. Pedrito would like for him to
slow down a little and enjoy retirement, but Papa says that Mama
wouldn’t want him sitting around the house getting in her way.
He rises at dawn almost every day and goes to work with Pedrito,
building houses.
I am a teacher. This summer I will be taking my son, Michael, to
visit his grandparents. He is twelve. He wants to learn to play the
guitar. I want Mama and his Uncle Peter to teach him a few of the
good old songs.
