I wish I were a Mexican. If I were a Mexican, I’d have more friends. I would be able to take all my family to WalMart, even my mother-in-law, because she wouldn’t be a driver or even have her license. We would stay together in the store and not scatter into our different departments of interest.
If I were a Mexican, I’d have tons of uncles and aunts. If I didn’t have enough, I’d just name a new one impromptu from someone who had gathered at my front porch. I would call every boy “mijo” (my son) and every girl “mija” (my daughter) because in a larger sense, every Mexican child would be my kid, and of course, I would be their uncle.
If I were a Mexican, I would ride in a work-truck with my fellow-workers, and when the truck broke down, I’d have my head under the hood with all their heads and we’d be good ole friends trying to solve the problem.
If I were a Mexican, I’d have more skills. I could lay carpet and brick, mix and pour mortar, and shingle a roof. I’d have a cousin or a brother or an uncle who could cover every manual skill imaginable, and so I’d never have to pay an outsider to do any fix-up work.
If I were a Mexican, I’d never loose my hair and no one would call me “pelon.” My hair would be brown like all my buddies, and like my mustache. If I were a Mexican, I’d never have to explain my love for Mexican food. I’d have a bigger waistline, a thicker trunk, and shorter legs.
I’d go home with my buddies after work and we’d sit on the porch and drink cerveza. We’d crumple up the cans and throw them in a white five-gallon bucket. And when it got full, a few would tumble off the sides.
If I were a Mexican, I could whistle at the chicas and get away with it. I could even say “mamacita” without it sounding like a cussword. I could bellow out “aaaaa!” in a chorus with all my friends to express our disbelief or disapproval, and yell out “aayyy!” when I slipped or hit my thumb with a hammer. I could laugh when a “gringo” turned the radio station to 94.1 or played a Tejano music CD. I could call the fat guys “gordo” without hurting their feelings, or I could disapprove of or laugh at a “joto” without being labeled a bigot.
If I were a Mexican I would pose more often in front of a camera, anyone’s camera, even if I didn’t know the photographer, and I could join any group for a group photo, even if they didn’t know me.
I I were a Mexican, I wouldn’t have to remember everybody’s name, either on a job or in a soccer game. Everyone would be “guey” (fool) and everyone would call me “fool” too. I would even call my kids that when I didn’t want to think of their real names.
Maybe I am a Mexican, deep inside this “bolillo” skin. If I were not a Mexican, I wouldn’t think like this. Would I?
Jonas Lomar Jauel
Have we lost our togetherness in this sterile, politically uptight, DAR snobbery, trying not to be ‘white trash’ world? What happened to Saturday night going to town to be with friends & neighbors? What happened to ice cream socials? family reunions? kids chasing kids and dogs chasing the kids? lying in the grass and looking for faces in the clouds? driving with the windows down and letting our hair blow? wearing the same pair of jeans two, three, even five days in a row? and don’t forget about the comfy shirt ’cause we only wash clothes once a week. What happened to enjoying this earth God created? What we have now…do the Mexican’s or any immigrant really want that?
I really enjoyed reading this (even though Guero was misspelled). It struck a deep chord in me, and reflects some of why my feelings about immigration are so different from the average American’s.
Political correctness is a funny thing. Forty-five years ago, my dad was a young missionary traveling in southern Colombia. At a roadside restaurant, a drunk man kept calling the dark-skinned waitress “negrita” whenever he addressed her. My dad, being a respectable Northerner, finally lost his temper and blurted, “Don’t call her negrita!” The drunk man stared at him in surprise and said, “What, do you want me to tell a lie?”
Good satire, Lamar.
Bonnie
I dont wish you were a mexican. You are great just how you are–my pops.
Hey that’s a pretty good essay. Had me chuckling for sure. Coincidently, there’s a song on my new album called “I Wish I Was A Mexican”! Check it out! It’s along the same lines as your satire:
myspace.com/thequeersdangerousdave
Thanks!
Dave
Cool