Tuesday night....

Sky K. : Hey Guillermo, a bunch of us are going down to Rocky Point this Saturday. Do you want to come?

Me: Yes. Yes I do.

Right now...

I'm debating whether or not to try to get some sleep before we all leave early tomorrow morning. I could always nap in the car. But then I'll miss out on the inevitable highway antics. Although, considering how Sky drives, dying in my sleep doesn't sound so bad.

I would think I'd find it unsettling to wake up and realize that I'm dead. Ah, well, if that's the worst that happens...

Let's see, what to bring. Ah, here's the Mexico checklist:

-Cash
-Sunglasses
-Sandals
-Aspirin
-Sunscreen

Wait, I have to modify this list. It fails to take into account my Mexican heritage. We'll just cross off sunscreen...and replace it with lots of identification. Driver's license, birth certificate, social security card, picture of me with the Animaniacs at Six Flags...that should do it.

I have no intention of being detained at the border for longer than necessary. The border guards may already be aware of my previous record of smuggling fruit into California, along with my partner-in-crime Brian Y.

I shouldn't have much difficulty. Me English be good enough for sho to get by.

Which brings us to:

#10. Little Guillermo Discovers That He Is Different

This event also took place on the school bus. I don't even remember much about that day. There was little to distinguish it from any other trip to school (unlike the time our bus got into an accident and I got to ride in an ambulance even though I wasn't hurt).

Maybe I was just talking louder than usual.

A boy sitting in front of me peered over the back of his seat and looked at me. "Man," he said. "You talk like you're white!" He sounded surprised and disgusted, as if I'd sold out my culture.

I think I just looked at him and didn't say anything. Talk like I'm white? What does that mean?

My elementary school and middle school both had a fair mix of ethnicities, with "black", "brown", and "white" in roughly equal proportions.

"Oh!" I had realized, "This is 'ignorance'. I've read about this sort of thing." I felt bad. Not bad for me, but for him. If he thought I was "supposed" to behave a certain way, then he must have also believed that he was "supposed" to behave a certain way.

I doubted that he had ever thought about why.

After that incident, I adopted several different styles of speech. I had already had a way to speak with adults, a way to speak with my close friends (which was most like my natural speech). Then I developed a way to speak with other groups; essentially mimicking their own.

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

It was several years later that I read To Kill A Mockingbird. I was entranced by the chapter in which Calpurnia takes Scout and Jem to her church. After the service, the children ask Calpurnia why she changes the way she talks when she is around other black people.

I could certainly relate.

Hmm...not much point in going to sleep now, is there? I'm going to go find my copy of To Kill A Mockingbird.

Final Instructions

By the way, don't anticipate any exciting stories upon my return. What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.

Crossing the Mexican border back into the United States is like a baptism; the sweet air of freedom washing away the lingering, pungent odor of stale beer, street-tacos, and new shame.

Adios, space cowboy...

Oh, and if today is Monday and I'm still not back, send a search party. Or, as we say in Mexico, a search fiesta.