HispanicVista Columnists
Where is the country club?
-
By
Raoul Lowery Contreras/HispanicVista.com - April 2, 2007
- Where is the country club?
- By Raoul Lowery Contreras
March 19, 2007 - You see, in Mexico one would rarely find such a mix of people under one roof, on the same dance floor, or sharing the same food. Only in America…
- Contreras' books, THE ILLEGAL ALIEN: A DAGGER INTO THE HEART OF AMERICA and A HISPANIC VIEW OF AMERICAN POLITICS AND THE POLITICS OF IMMIGRATION are available at www.amazon.com and www.barnesandnoble.com
It has been 50 years since I attended an event that is a Mexican cultural mega-event, a quinceniera, a celebration of a girl’s 15th birthday.
Then, I was the formal escort for a celebrant girl named Yolanda. In the traditional Mexican way my great-grandmother made all the arrangements with Yolanda’s grandmother. 13 Years later Yolanda would be the office secretary in my downtown office. It was a small world back in the 50s and 60s.
This quinceniera was interesting for several reasons. Number one, I hadn’t been to one for 50 years. Another was the mix of attendees. There were many Mexicans, some Filipinos, some Americans, some blonde Americans, some African Americans and lots of kids who were a mixture of all. In total, the event was not a clash of cultures but an educational one for the non-Mexicans in attendance, including the African American Godfather to one of the celebrant girls.
The Mexican attendees themselves ranged from Norteńo (Mexican Northerner) cowboy dressed men with Stetson hats to house-cleaning professional women wearing designer dresses, to one punk Mexican teenaged boy dressed hip hop style complete with crooked baseball hat to a sprinkling of university graduates.
The phrase “Only in America” escaped my lips because what we had was a Mexican cultural event in an Iraqi-owned hall, in El Cajon, California, a city once famous as the “meth” and redneck capitol of America, all the while some miles from the Mexican border.
The question as to whether or not I was comfortable was answered early as there seemed to be no schedule, there was a charge for Diet Coke but not for regular cola and no one knew where anyone was supposed to sit. The grandmother in charge arrived two hours after we did. The food wandered in because several of the girls’ relatives shared the cooking duties that resulted in barbacoa, tamales, rice, beans, chicken and carnitas, aka deep-fried pork.
Besides the lack of schedule and information I noticed a distinct social-economic and educational chasm between my party and most of those in attendance. There appeared to be several degrees of separation between us that was remarkable. In fact, I can recall no formal non-political event that I have attended in the United States or in California that has been attended by people with such social and economic gaps between them.
I politely applauded the long-winded ceremonies regaling the entrance to womanhood for the silly girls who giggled most of the time even as they were dressed in expensive wide-flowing formal dresses and their escorts dressed in white tuxedos. I politely applauded when all celebrants and their escorts waltzed around a dance floor designed for rock and rollers. I politely applauded the proud parents who verbalized how wonderful their daughters were and I applauded when one of the escorts was introduced as a Marine on his way to Iraq in a few days.
The Marine brought the event back to reality for me. So did the enthusiasm of most in attendance that brought some of Mexico with them to this Arab-owned party ballroom in a large California and American city. I was taken back to 50-years ago when I wore a white tuxedo and waltzed with a beautiful young girl that giggled during the entire evening.
I wondered how many more quincenieras were in progress across the country as I sat among people who I didn’t know. Except for this event I would never know them except as a patron who hired them to build things, to care for crops, to care for magnificent landscaping in the homes I have owned or in companies where I could hire and fire.
Some indicated they had seen me on television and greeted me with kind words. It was then that I realized that, as some said, I speak for them. To do so, I have to maintain contact with tradition and that is what I did for the rest of the evening. I realized that though we inhabit different universes in many regards, there were some basics we shared—hundreds of years of traditions and history, ethnicity, language and the phrase, “Only in America.”