Journals

Friday (12/18), mi abuela invited me to the children’s Christmas party the following evening. Perfect! I gave mi abuela a couple small puzzles, gumballs, crayons, and Play-doh. She placed her hand over my heart, looked up, and spoke to the Heavens. Did she just bless me for giving her Play-doh? Family began arriving around 4:30p. I met Carlos, Fernando, Celia, Jackie, Lucia, Isabella, Sophia, and more of mi abuela’s hijos and nietos (too many names to remember).     Everyone sat outside in the courtyard on plastic stools. Analie, who lives next door, began the evening with a Bible reading.   A small platter of special Christmas cookies and plastic cups of spiced tea were passed around. I was flattered to be placed in charge of passing around the multi-colored marshmallows. A tia (aunt) requested everyone’s attention and made an announcement. I recognized my name. Huh? Everyone looked at me, cheered, and clapped. Tony was on the other side of the courtyard so I couldn’t ask him what was going on, but I shot him a puzzled look. Another tia took the floor and began asking each child one Bible question.   Each correct answer was awarded one of the aforementioned small gifts. Time for games. The whole family, young and old, participated. First game up:   Llueve, No llueve .   Sort of like Simon Says. Tia explained the rules followed by, “Antonio, explica a Stephanie en Ingles.” Tony said to pretend like I’m holding an umbrella. When tia says, “llueve” (it’s raining), I’m to move my hand in an upward motion opening the make-believe umbrella. When tia says, “no llueve” I’m to bring my hand down to the starting position closing the umbrella. Whoever fails to follow the command is eliminated from the game. Llueve, llueve, llueve, no llueve, llueve, llueve, no llueve, no llueve, llueve! The laughter and silliness were contagious. The next game was similar to musical chairs sans music. Each person in the circle was assigned one of three items found in el baño:   champu, jabon (soap), toalla. When tia called out “champu” everyone assigned champu had to switch chairs. Same for jabon and toalla. Each round, one chair was removed. I didn’t stop laughing. Next was a version of Hot Potato. A small Santa Claus doll was passed around the circle, whoever was holding Santa when the music stopped was eliminated. At the end of five rounds, everyone eliminated had to perform a silly dance in the middle of the circle as we all sang and clapped along. Four family members then performed Little Drummer Boy to the crowd’s delight. Piñata time! Tio Fernando pierced the piñata with a portion of an old metal coat hanger, twisted the coat hanger around a padlock, and closed the padlock around the clothesline.   He swung the clothesline to and fro as the family clapped and chanted each batter’s name. It takes a lot (a lot, a lot) for me to be silly. That night, I was at my silliest ever. The games ended and the family joined hands in prayer. Dinner was served on special red and green plastic plates. A chicken sandwich, potato chips with ketchup, three slices of apple, two grapes. Analie said Grace. She spoke briefly about the meaning of Christmas. Christmas is about the birth of Christ. It’s about family. It’s about what’s in your heart. It’s not about material things. She gestured toward the gifts awarded during Bible trivia and we caught eyes. Amen. The silence broke as the family began eating. Celia, who is my age, sat beside me at dinner. She asked if she could practice her English with me. Of course! She was nervous. I understood the feeling. We talked about many things. She asked me why I wanted to learn Spanish. She asked me how she sounded – if she had an accent. She asked where I work and if there are many people from Latin America in my part of the world. She asked the price of my plane ticket [ cue screeching halt ]. I thought her eyeballs were going to pop out of her head, bounce across the table and land in someone’s Christmas dinner. Later that evening, I showed Celia, or Cessie, my photos of NYC. “Wow.” “Wow.” “Wow.” “Wow.”   Each and every picture provoked a “wow”. She asked me about the Rockefeller tree and Empire State Building. Yellow cabs and the subway. The Yankees and Times Square. I extended an open invitation to visit me in the States and gave her two postcards of the city that never sleeps. She said it would take her a long, long, time to save for the flight. “Anytime,” I said. Cessie works in accounting in the national bank in Guate City (about a 4-hour drive by car one-way). She stays with family in the city during the week and returns home on the weekends. For the first time since my arrival in Guate, Saturday night I was unable to fall asleep. As I stared at the ceiling, I thought about that line that exists between helping people and batting their pride around like the Christmas piñata. I thought about Play-doh.   I thought about when   Jeff immediately corrected me during class—before the last syllable ever   had a chance to escape my mouth, “Ameri-“.   “Noooo, no, no, don’t say that here.” He explained that calling oneself American is often considered racist or, at the very least, offensive. The proper term for an American is Estadounidense.   For a blanca like me to say I’m American when the western hemisphere is comprised of America s is exclusionary; as if to say the US reigns supreme.   I thought about my identity as an American . My mind whirled.   I saw Cessie the following morning as I was waking up over my corn flakes. “Thank you for the post cards.” “De nada,” I said sort of sleepily with a smile and a shrug of my shoulders. To which she replied, “Thank you for giving me a dream.”   Wow .