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the Spanglich version
Posted each day beginning Dec. 15th

(Esa's voice in red; Ese's voice in black)

On the día de mis Krismas
My true love gave to me,
The homage of a bare tree.

"Esa, it's almost midnight. We're opening presents already. You gotta come out o' the kitchen."
"What'd your friends from work give you?"
"They pitched in and got me that ... quesadilla thing."
"What--they couldn't find a comál? Well, at least you got a white elephant for next year. Did they like the subscriptions to Chola Chichis?"
"Nah, they already subscribe. They said they'd pass it along. Speaking of white elephants, your mom wants to clean up Rinó--, I mean the Krismas tree--and needs that vacuum she gave you."
"She's just checkin' I didn't garage-sale it. Quick! Get it out of the attic and scratch off the fifty-cent tag. Come back when you're done."

"Ho, ho, ho, Esa!"
"Oh! I thought it was Santa come early. You sound just like him."
"Ho, ho, ... holy shit, what happened in here?"
"The pinche fridge went out, as if we didn't have enough bills. I'm trying to save the food, find a place outside for the frozen, clean the mess up."
"But it's Krismas! Forget it. I say we just eat--everything."
"Including my mom's chile?"
"I'll serve it to Pepe and Real Butch."
"I got a better idea. This Krismas, you work the kitchen, and I'll serve. I keep checking on you and let you know what's happening."
"But I wouldn't know what to do!"
"You watch the girls at that preppie tequila place and the chichi bar, right?"
"A little."
"As little as my nalgas. Do like them, just with more clothes on."
"Okay, I guess I could handle it."
"See you after midnight."
"Oh good, Esa--you're back. What was that crashing sound? Did Santa come?"
"No, your boracho Tío knocked over Rinócero."
"Already? Tell him to get the cuña'os' older kids to stand it up."
"Bueno ... Oh, it's okay. Real Butch put it up."
"I told you she was."
"Guess what? I got one thing I really wanted this year, besides mis uñas done. Pepito took a shower!"
"I knew there was something different 'bout that boy. I thought it was the cologne you loaned him."
"That wasn't cologne. I gave him the stuff you cover up dog pee with."
"But we don't have a dog."
"Not so loud! ... No amá, we don't have a cat, either. ... My mom says she thinks there's some animal hiding in Rinócero."
"Tell her it's probably just some rata chata."
"I gotta go; sounds like mom's vacuum's plugged up."
"So what, it doesn't suck?"
"Ese, you'll be glad to hear it wasn't un ratón, just una ardilla. And your kids finally showed up."
"My kids?"
"Yeah, you remember: the little pork butts?"
"Oh, them. How they look?"
"Daughter's fine, but your son brought one of those magazine cholas as his date. He claims she even cooks."
"How's she dressed?"
"Don't worry, she must have the day off. But we have another problem. Your daughter says somebody was naughty and already opened our presents."
"How could she tell?"
"From the lousy taping job and the beer stink. See? You shoulda let me do it."
Ring! Ring!
"I'll get it. ... Hello? … It's your mom. She wants to know if the photo's really of you. She says it makes you look real short."
"Tell her that's the way Chicanos mostly come. It's her fault for marrying my dad. If she wanted tall, she shoulda picked a gringo."
"� She says it was abuela's idea, 'cause your dad drove that chido Chevy."
"It was a Ford, and it always needed a valve job."
"I'll check on you later."
"But, Amor--"
"What was that music a while ago?"
"The doorbell."
"Nice. We should play it more often."
"Not likely; for that our gente would have to get out of their cars."
"Quién fue?"
"Old man Ramirez came to tell us the roof lights got loose and said to give you a big dedazo. So here."
"You don't have to be tan, tan ... demonstrative."
"You been reading different magazines?"
"Yeah, Playboy. And, who was honkin' so much?"
"The priest. I served him some fideo. He wants to know if he can give your seat away."
"Tell him Allah said I can go next Easter…. He say anything else?"
"Yeah, he lied and said the tree was painted real nice."
"Speaking of mentirosos, I haven't seen any of the cuña'os' older kids."
"They're out back in the work shed, smoking mota."
"Well, at least they'll have an appetite for all this food. Oh, and who's making those awful sounds?"
"Everybody! They're singing the 12 Days of Krismas."
"After this year, I think we should make up some new lyrics for it."
"There you go again, always thinkin'... Now, hurry up, or you'll miss everything."
"Híjole, that was some Krismas party, Ese!"
"So I heard. You'll be glad to hear your lottery numbers didn't come up."
"You got any other pieces of good news?"
"Uno más: here's your special present, de mí."
"Lousy tape job. Who opened it?"
"I did. Forgot who it was for."
"Oh, Cariño, just what I always wanted--for the past four years! I didn't know they still made 'em."
"I 'membered, Esa; I was thinkin'.
"You always are, Cariño. Maybe your unlucky dry spell is over."
"After everybody's asleep, wanna go lie under Rinócero and make some stars?"
"No, the pipes came loose, and we'd just get rust all over us. But we could thank our lucky stars: nobody got into chingasos today, there was plenty of comida, and we got to spend some quality time with our familia."
"Seguro que sí, Cariña. You know, I think it was even . . . a Merry Krismas!"
ALL TOGETHER NOW, from the top:

On the doce días de mis Krismas
My true love gave to me,
12 numbers numbing ...
11 peppers pepping ...
10 Fords a-beepin ...
9 chicas prancing ...
8 shades a-looming ...
7 bods a-lying ...
6 misas' crying ...
5 bronzen things ...
4 thawing stars ...
3 grinchy friends ...
2 mortal loves ...
And the homage of a bare tree.
© Rudy Ch. Garcia

Since this is an ongoing work of love, more than a work of art, the author would appreciate overall comments about its progress. How close to, or far from, capturing the spirit of a Chicano Christmas do you think it is?

In any event, I'd like to add to my fellow Bloguistas' Christmas felicitaciones. May your holidays be as benignly eventful as Esa and Ese's.

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Chicano families come in all colors, sizes, shapes and tendencies. My own is scattered across Texas and the West, with my one daughter finishing school in Syracuse, NY. My wife's siblings and their families are usually who I spend holidays with. In some ways they're typical of the heights and breadth of where some Chicanos have "arrived" in this society, with successful careers and the accompanying foibles of American families.

Coming from a poorer background, I'm still amazed each year by the seeming opulence in their Xmas gift giving. NFL, Nike, Nikon, Macey's, and Bratz owe much of their bottom line to what appears under this family tree; there's no evidence of economic crises or recession to be found.

I wonder how many of them have multiple credit cards and how many of those are maxed out, how many have ARMs about to reset to usury levels, how many are too few paychecks close to bankruptcy. Worse, I wonder how many would take failures of the U.S. economy personally, and blame themselves for a layoff, cutback or an employer going under. At least like in many Chicano families, they have a tradition of harboring potentially homeless family members.

And as in many families, each year a prayer is uttered at the Thanksgiving meal, inevitably thanking God, Jesus and religion for their bounty. It always bothers me--not just as an unbeliever--that they relinquish their accomplishments to an institution that's historically profited from Chicano-Mexican faith, while they likewise endure the burdensome repercussions of that faith in the form of denying girls, even women, the right of choice.

Anyway, this year I penned the piece below, to read at the family dinner. I wasn't able to include something about the Iraq War, the volunteer soldiers whose lives, minds and bodies are being ruined at the same time millions of Iraqis pay the price of the U.S. invasion. Nor did I say anything about the millions, if not billions, of people who justifiably hate us for what we've allowed loose on the world.

I don't say these words were overwhelmingly well received, although several thanked me for them. I share them here as an after-Thanksgiving thought, in the hopes it'll inspire others to come up with their own, more appropriate, messages for holiday "prayers" in these times.

When you're surrounded by delicious foods made by family and friends, it's tempting to think Thanksgiving is about stuffing your belly till it's ready to burst.

When you've got a good-paying job, it's easy to think Thanksgiving is about getting ready to spend way too much money on material things to overflow the space under the Xmas tree.

When you're sitting in a house that's warm and inviting, it's comfortable to think Thanksgiving is about being grateful for a fancy TV or new video game.

When you've got the cash to eat in restaurants and drink in bars whenever you want, it's simple to think Thanksgiving is about how special you are to deserve all of this.

And when you have a good car that gets you to work every day, it's exciting to think Thanksgiving is about wondering how soon you can get an even fancier new one.

I don't know if Thanksgiving is about being grateful we're not one of the hungry, unemployed, homeless, unlucky children or adults who have to walk the icy streets to school or work. It's probably not just about remembering those poor souls for one minute and feeling a little sorry for them.

Maybe Thanksgiving is about thanking our parents, wives, husbands and kids for giving us the sense to take care of our bodies, to keep ourselves from getting into debt and going into bankruptcy, to keep us from loving special things more than special people, to keep us from becoming addicts or drunks, and to keep ourselves safe on the road and in our daily lives. That way, we're here next year--safe, healthy, comfortable, and at peace--to give even more thanks for whatever Thanksgiving is about.

Rudy Ch. Garcia

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