If she only knew...
The beauty that lies within the ever so graceful, don't take shit from no one, my baby's daddy is in El Paso, mama doesn't understand I still have dreams, health insurance is more expensive than a mother fucker... and the list goes on and on... thinking woman that walks her stroller like a camera's watching.
The beauty that lies within the barely noticeable Mexican accent and straight A's in high school that amounted to one year in community college, two years waiting tables, a little boy we call Jr with no Sr to claim, a tiny pot belly, and a slight dependency on one form of escape by way of Cali buds or Mexican brew or a combination of the two.
The beauty that lies within the struggle of being a woman, a proud acculturated Chicana with a chip on her shoulder, eyes conceived by Mazatlan sunsets, hips so-called Greek Goddesses would envy, and a soul Jesus would and did die for... depending on your perspective.
The beauty that lies within a little girl that fought the boys until she fell in love with one and has the receipt to prove it, this baby. The one who watched her mom in the kitchen during Christmas to learn how to make those tamales everyone loves soo much. The same little girl that went to Dodger games with her father and cheered, jumped, yelled, and laughed as if she knew what was going on. Papa, quien es el gordo con el numero 34 en la espalda? Se parese a mi tio Chuy. The same little girl that dreamt of becoming a doctor to cure her abuelita's ailments or a lawyer to make sure her papi never went to jail for not paying his parking tickets.
The beauty that lies within the love for her family despite their short comings, living and loving life as if death was but a myth, playing the cards she was dealt like pocket Aces, dating Chicanos and nothing else because, hey if you really think about, an hecho mendigo is still better than white boys who think Cesar Chavez is just a street in East L.A.
The beauty that lies within accepting everything happens for a reason, even blessings disguised as mistakes, acknowledging the fact that we all carry baggage whether it comes with another life attached or not.
As a kid myself I secretly fell in love with these little girls, I fell in love with the idea of loving someone like them. The women I saw on television were just that, not the samples of standards of beauty we're socialized to accept. I'll gladly take a girl named Gloria from Boyle Heights with a little too much pain in her heart and a little baggage on the side that comes included like fries and a toy in a happy meal. Mistakes and bad memories help the soul grow and glow like afro sheen. So the next time you see a young girl holding a baby in one arm and a bag full of baby food, diapers, and a six pack of Coronas, don't judge... life comes in all forms of experiences. Oh yea and keep your eyes on the road, you're probably not her type anyway.
- Lucio
The beauty that lies within the barely noticeable Mexican accent and straight A's in high school that amounted to one year in community college, two years waiting tables, a little boy we call Jr with no Sr to claim, a tiny pot belly, and a slight dependency on one form of escape by way of Cali buds or Mexican brew or a combination of the two.
The beauty that lies within the struggle of being a woman, a proud acculturated Chicana with a chip on her shoulder, eyes conceived by Mazatlan sunsets, hips so-called Greek Goddesses would envy, and a soul Jesus would and did die for... depending on your perspective.
The beauty that lies within a little girl that fought the boys until she fell in love with one and has the receipt to prove it, this baby. The one who watched her mom in the kitchen during Christmas to learn how to make those tamales everyone loves soo much. The same little girl that went to Dodger games with her father and cheered, jumped, yelled, and laughed as if she knew what was going on. Papa, quien es el gordo con el numero 34 en la espalda? Se parese a mi tio Chuy. The same little girl that dreamt of becoming a doctor to cure her abuelita's ailments or a lawyer to make sure her papi never went to jail for not paying his parking tickets.
The beauty that lies within the love for her family despite their short comings, living and loving life as if death was but a myth, playing the cards she was dealt like pocket Aces, dating Chicanos and nothing else because, hey if you really think about, an hecho mendigo is still better than white boys who think Cesar Chavez is just a street in East L.A.
The beauty that lies within accepting everything happens for a reason, even blessings disguised as mistakes, acknowledging the fact that we all carry baggage whether it comes with another life attached or not.
As a kid myself I secretly fell in love with these little girls, I fell in love with the idea of loving someone like them. The women I saw on television were just that, not the samples of standards of beauty we're socialized to accept. I'll gladly take a girl named Gloria from Boyle Heights with a little too much pain in her heart and a little baggage on the side that comes included like fries and a toy in a happy meal. Mistakes and bad memories help the soul grow and glow like afro sheen. So the next time you see a young girl holding a baby in one arm and a bag full of baby food, diapers, and a six pack of Coronas, don't judge... life comes in all forms of experiences. Oh yea and keep your eyes on the road, you're probably not her type anyway.
- Lucio
posted by Lucio Rodriguez at 3:59 AM
1 Comments:
Been there, compro' la camiseta...one of the first things I noticed after I got out here and dated a couple of "daughters of Coatlicue" (from East Los to Los Feliz) is the similarity between the brown and black cultures (you say tamales, I say collards...you say Santana, I say Hendrix. Taxhcos, chitlins. chicken o' pollo, let's call the whole thing off). I'm feeling you on the "home cookin' too,yo...I was just talking to a girlfriend last week about how we, as men, rarely think about the burden that women, as a whole, have had to bear since we climbed outta the trees, knuckled our way across East African savannahs and into the Olduvai Gorge to become homo sapiens (evolutionist, here)...tia, aunties, abuelitas, grannies; if it were just left up to us I don't think we, as a species, would've gotten nearly as far as we've come (though we've still a long way to go) I think the sistas and hermanas who live with their choices (read: keep their babies even though the papis ran for the proverbial border upon learning about the pan en el horno) are soldadas verdaderas, to say the least...isn't it odd that you need a license to ride a bike but anybody can father a child...that said, waxing ironic is not the point of this exercise. I'd just like to say that this was a nice little piece and it brought back memories of experiences past and I thought I'd tell you as much...keep the posts coming...laters, CeeP.
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