Alberto Gonzales, I see his round face, some vato I might see at El Camino Restaurant on Fourth Street, eating huevos rancheros. There he might be happy, light, maybe even Democrat, but up on stage, the television reporters talking over each other to ask him questions, poor señor Gonzales was like the proverbial deer. I saw his fear.
I don’t like Alberto, was happy when he resigned, but I do recognize one thing. A fish out of water.
Now that he’s gone I can wonder what it was like working with the Bushes and Cheneys. The privileged white people who know names like “Alberto” and “José” and “Juan” from their gardening help. I can imagine how Bush might have pronounced Alberto’s name. The long Al, the Bear, and the Toe. Al-Bear-Toe.
Or maybe Bush was used to his share of Albertos from the ranch in Crawford. Maybe his best laborers were brothers named Jesús and Miguel, and their cousin Alberto, and maybe Bush could get by with broken Spanish. Hell, his brother married a brown girl, for God’s sake, we love ‘em like family.
But this isn’t Alberto or Dubya or Jeb. Although I do like saying “Jeb.” This is me, I’m a fish, flopping around on the ground. Do I grow feet, do I flounder, what are my experiences?
I married a white guy, we call them “Anglos,” and his politics are good. Strong democratic family, a good family. Kind and compassionate. My husband says when he grew up he wanted to be American Indian. He catches fish with his hands. He’s a fish out of water, too, my husband, and one of the ornaments we have for our Christmas tree is a black sheep his mother knitted for him.
I went to the Albuquerque Country Club for lunch last week. It was an event my mother-in-law invited me to, something she wanted me to do. It’s complicated. I love her, really love this woman. I wanted to be there, to put on my best face. I’m beyond high school resentments, those Cleff brothers who called it Vato High. I’m grown up, a grown woman with children, for God’s sake. Nothing is as glib as when seen through the broken heart of an 18-year-old.
There, in the white linen tablecloth world of brown people taking care of white people, the club members with names like Baca and Gonzales, they’re mainstreamed now. Do they look in the eye of the thin brown vato walking past on his way to pull weeds so the sidewalk is free of debris?
Fish out of water, I grow lungs and legs and my scales get light. I attended a Hispanic Leadership Conference hosted by my company. I told a VP that I appreciated his embracing his “chicanismo,” and the guy looked at me and said he embraces his “puertoricanismo.” Take that, brown chica grown up in a white world, at least I have my own people, we eat our eses and reject all of it, especially your stale Reyes Tijerina revolution.
So adaptable. Like Alberto. We conform. Speak with zero accent. Use big words. Go to banquets, my God, I can straighten my hair in the name of a banquet. Too bad he is a Republican, and a nasty one at that. I might have felt sorrier than I did the morning I heard the news, the fish finally died.
-from Topic post, WRITING TOPIC – FISH OUT OF WATER
I don’t write, I read. I’m speechless………………both of you.
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We post our practices back-to-back, something we did with Letting Go, and now this one. Both those prompts were deep, in that they took us deep. We were emailing about it.
I did one practice (on the Fish Out Of Water prompt) that I didn’t post. I shared it with QM. It was personal and it talked about a trip I took to see the Taj Mahal in Agra. It was mostly about my traveling companion and what he wore to see this wonderous place. I was worried if he read it, he would recognize himself. So I chose not to post it.
You never know what will come out with Practice. It’s a joy to discover.
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It *is* a joy to discover. I had done another writing practice on the tea roses a day earlier, right after we picked them up. I posted it in my online writing group. Then yesterday, when I went to write on the Topic, Fish Out Of Water, I didn’t know until I started writing that the practice would also end up being about the tea roses – but planting them and love and loss and relationships. The next practice went deeper. Sometimes I am in love with writing.
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RECALL:
Alberto Gonzales
round face
El Camino Restaurant on Fourth Street
huevos rancheros
happy, light, maybe even Democrat
television reporters talking over each other to ask him questions
poor señor Gonzales
***the proverbial deer. I saw his fear***
I don’t like Alberto
happy when he resigned
A fish out of water
wonder what it was like working with the Bushes and Cheneys
***privileged white people who know names like “Alberto” and “José” and “Juan” from their gardening help***
imagine how Bush might have pronounced Alberto’s name
The long Al, the Bear, and the Toe. Al-Bear-Toe
maybe Bush was used to his share of Albertos from the ranch in Crawford
Maybe his best laborers were brothers named Jesús and Miguel, and their cousin Alberto
***maybe Bush could get by with broken Spanish. Hell, his brother married a brown girl, for God’s sake, we love ‘em like family***
But this isn’t Alberto or Dubya or Jeb. Although I do like saying “Jeb.”
This is me, a fish, flopping around on the ground
Do I grow feet, do I flounder, what are my experiences?
I married a white guy, we call them “Anglos,”
his politics are good
Strong democratic family
a good family. Kind and compassionate
he wanted to be American Indian. He catches fish with his hands. He’s a fish out of water, too
one of the ornaments we have for our Christmas tree
***a black sheep his mother knitted for him***
the Albuquerque Country Club
my mother-in-law invited me
something she wanted me to do
***It’s complicated. I love her, really love this woman. I wanted to be there, to put on my best face***
beyond high school resentments
Cleff brothers
Vato High
I’m grown up, a grown woman with children, for God’s sake
***Nothing is as glib as when seen through the broken heart of an 18-year-old***
white linen tablecloth world
brown people taking care of white people
club members with names like Baca and Gonzales
mainstreamed now
***Do they look in the eye of the thin brown vato walking past on his way to pull weeds so the sidewalk is free of debris?***
grow lungs and legs and my scales get light
Hispanic Leadership Conference
told a VP that I appreciated his embracing his “chicanismo,”
the guy looked at me and said he embraces his “puertoricanismo.”
Take that, brown chica grown up in a white world
at least I have my own people
we eat our eses and reject all of it
especially your stale Reyes Tijerina revolution
So adaptable. Like Alberto. We conform.
Speak with zero accent
Use big words
Go to banquets
***my God, I can straighten my hair in the name of a banquet***
***Too bad he is a Republican, and a nasty one at that. I might have felt sorrier than I did the morning I heard the news, the fish finally died.***
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ybonesy,
You hit the nail on the head describing Jim. I remember I immediately liked him when I first met him many years ago. That must be part of it…we are both fish out water, but riding our bikes, we were in our element.
My visit home this past summer, particularly the week I was in Albuquerque and Corrales, I felt I was back in my element. I ate carne adovada burritos at Mac’s La Sierra Inn something 3 times while I was there. I love that place because it is a vato hang-out. Its one of the old places on that end of town.
I need write what I feel about living here in Venezuela. I like it here, but also hate it too. Its always alien. I am a white face in a dark brown country. Though I still get a kick out of the place, but there are days where you just want to surround yourself with comforting things like chomping down on a spicey burrito and washing it down with a Coors beer.
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This reminds of something I “fail” at, I think, in my husbands eyes. He reminds me that I should “put family first”, especially when I am trying to give things away like when cleaning out the attic or closets. He’ll stop me on my way to Goodwill to look through the boxes. “Couldn’t the kids use that lamp?”
He was angry when I was sharing leftovers with a homeless man on our block. The man has lived there longer than us; he’s a fixture and a good neighbor, really. He watches our house. He’s a mathmetician and reads a lot of science fiction. He told me what he missed the most was hot meals. I gave him an old microwave oven. Sometimes he drives over to the Walmart parking lot and plugs it in to warm up food.
But he’s not family, and maybe I should have offered that microwave to family first.
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ybonesy, a write for the jugular. Yet personal, too. I wanted to write a separate comment from the Recall I did above.
You touched on a deep nerve about the internal conflict of walking around as “Other” in this world. There is anger. And there is compassion. And, like you wrote, even within our own families, it is complicated. And never as simple as us and them. Looking inside at my own views has taught me the most about how to make change for the better. It can be outwardly political. Or in the awareness with which I live my life. You have written of both.
On NPR in the car yesterday, I was listening to a program on the indecision about whether to use the term Latino or Hispanic. The piece started by talking about advertisers and the use of language in target groups. And ended in discussion between dissenting sides within the community. It reminded me of a comment you made to me once about heritage and the Conquistadores. It’s something I had not understood until you wrote about it.
Are we privileged, other, and what if we are both?
I’m glad you wrote this practice. I was listening to the news about Burma this morning and feeling a mix of anger (at the situation) and strong compassion for the monks. And then I started to wonder – what can I do at the individual level? Burma was a democracy for a short time in the 50’s. And I perceive a lot of what’s going on against the people as a matter of power & greed. I mentioned to a colleague at work that this is not unique to Burma. She said, “I’m not greedy. I’m just here to get a paycheck and go home.”
Let’s keep writing.
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Another great piece of stream of consciousness writing… you are both very talented. I think I would like to take on this challenge, this writing practice, later today. I’ll post what I come up with on my blog.
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pmousse – I loved reading your practice. Thanks for letting us know that you did it. Here’s the link: http://pmousse.wordpress.com/2007/09/27/practice-fish-out-of-water-15-minutes/
QM, on that debate, I am on the side of “Latino.” I deplore the term “Hispanic.” When I thanked that one vice-president for embracing his inner Chicano, he essentially deflected *that* term. It’s loaded, and not many self-identify as such. I made that comment to him at a microphone in front of about 200 people, and one participant came up to me later on and apologized for not standing up after I spoke and saying something to the effect that what that VP did was a slap in the face. But, I didn’t take it personally. I didn’t intend to put him on the spot. I forget that my viewpoint is my viewpoint. It’s a good example of how complex the so-called “Latino” identity is.
bloomgal, not that I want to insert myself into a debate between you and your husband, but between you, me, and the internet, I think you gave the microwave to the right person.
mm — gotta get that little place in abq, dude. I bet if you knew you had a home back in NM, you’d be better able to aguantar your home away from home. (Do you know what “aguantar” means? You better, after six years!!)
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Ybonsey,
I come from both worlds latino and anglo. I view it from both sides. I don’t experience the “fish out of water” from the latino perspective but from the “anglo” perspective. I look anglo; I don’t even look close to being latino but my mother is full latino and both my sisters look it (how strange that everyone says I look just like my mother.) I grew up in the latino culture with light hair and green eyes and people are shocked just shocked when I say I too am latino. I love and embrace the spanish culture: the art, the music, the language, the stories. In essence, I love being apart of the latin culture but sometimes I do feel left out sometimes because I don’t look the part – but somehow I always manage to make myself jump into the water.
PS ybonsey – Clef always had a name for everybody too. I won’t go into my name but it is etched in my yearbook for all to read dammit!!
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Neece-Lorraine, how wonderful to hear from you! It’s interesting, we’ve never talked about this, have we? I never thought you might self-identify one way but given that you don’t have the physical attributes, you then have to convince others that “hey, I’m one of you!” I guess since I know you are, I never questioned it.
I hated those boys. Ugh. And to think I wanted to fit in with them at one time.
Thanks for commenting. You’re a cool gril. Hope we have Spanish together next year. 🙂
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yb: wonderful post. You really wove the national and political together with the personal very well, brilliantly. It expressed exactly what I’d felt (without enunciating it) as I watched Gonzalez — the deer in the headlights look.
Beyond that, with so many distinct Latin cultures & peoples coming into the US at so many times and gathering in different places, the questions of identity and place and belonging become even more multi-faceted and nuanced than they are for many others.
One of my early friends in SF was a law student from Colorado – he called himself Chicano and made a point of saying his people were there before the US was.
Is there more to do with the “out of his/her element” theme? Including more on finding the right place (or stream) for oneself, or even changing the habitat to accomodate?
p.s. Azahar, born in Canada, has a nice piece on feeling out of place her whole life until she traveled & crossed the border into Spain and felt at home for the first time. You can see it here:
http://azahar.wordpress.com/2007/07/15/speak-directly-into-the-microphone/
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Yes, I think there is a lot more to do with this fish-out-of-water theme. It’s rich. I mean, my first practice was about traveling in India, and then for my second practice, I landed on Alberto Gonzales.
QM and I were saying today that it’s great to keep writing on some of the same topics. You get to know yourself well that way.
Thanks for the link to azahar’s interview. That was interesting. what a life she led. To leave her home at age 15. And I do see the connection about finding a place where she felt at home.
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[…] Sep 27th, 2007 by ybonesy -Inspired by PRACTICE: Fish Out Of Water – 15mins […]
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ybonesy – this was terrific writing! I could hear Dubya saying Al-bear-toe, almost. I think i will try this practice tomorrow morning and see what happens. G
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I love all the different directions you sum up in this piece: your sensitivity to race, culture, politics, class divisions. You tell the story with an eye for detail and grace.
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G – I loved your practice. It resonated with me, having spent many days with my great-aunt in a nursing home.
mariacristina, glad you’re back from the yoga retreat. I bet you’re so relaxed. Thanks for stopping by and the comment.
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Your practices evoke so much emotion. They are so dense, condensed. I was very moved by this one Ybonesy. I like to take my time between reading them, but Quoinmonkey is right, there is a lot more here with this fist out of water theme. I’ve been terrified to do your practices. Afraid of what will come out. But I’m feeling tempted…ever so tempted. Thanks for this.
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Thanks, tiv. I hope you will do the writing practice. I’d love to hear how it goes and what came out of it.
My practices are dense, and what I find is they not only open up the writing flow for me, but also home in on a particular essay theme. Like the first practice I did on Fish Out Of Water, which I didn’t post, I want to work that into a larger narrative. It made me wonder, what am I trying to say here? If I had longer than 15 minutes, what would I make this into?
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TIV, the fear…sometimes the writing practice helps to move through the fear. It’s kind of a Catch 22. Try writing on these two Writing Topics for 10 minutes each: I’m Afraid Of for 10min. Then I’m Not Afraid Of for 10mins. Write them back to back. No editing. No thinking. No judging. You might be surprised at how brave you really are. 8)
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G and pmousse, thanks for the Writing Practices. It’s so great for us that others are sharing their practices. Can’t get enough.
For others that might want to read, here are the links again:
G – Practice: Fish out of water… – 15 minutes (LINK)
pmousse – Practice: Fish Out of Water – 15 minutes (LINK)
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