PAGES AND CONVERSATIONS
A Reunion Around The Dinner Table
Tia Irene Visits
In the middle of a mild, and sometimes bitter Californian Winter, Tia Irene came down from her cramped studio in Los Angeles to see my mom for an extended visit. This was unbeknownst to me until New Year’s Eve rolled around and there was no sign of packing or goodbyes. I didn’t mind her presence because it brought a certain change of pace.
I’d come home from work to find them carelessly chatting away in the kitchen — my mom in her wheelchair while my aunt cooked. There was a liveliness to her that brightened my mom up. The two of them were all they really had growing up, despite having 3 brothers, 5 sisters, and at least a dozen cousins. Maybe it had a thing to do with them being twins: inseparable at conception through death.
Homecooked Nostalgia
On an ordinary Tuesday, we sat in the dining room of our small one-bedroom apartment. My aunt had prepared a hearty pozole and accompanied it with a favorite— salsa verde con aguacate.
This was one of the many days I found myself over-indulging in home-cooked meals. I’d not known it in years since my mom fell ill. Mostly my dad and I haphazardly cooked in the kitchen, but this month we fell into a new routine.
By lunchtime, I rushed home because I didn’t want to miss the smells and stories that emerged around that crowded dinner table.
Tia Irene’s meals simply invited warm conversation. During those dinner table discussions, it became obvious to me that my aunt’s presence opened up an unseen side of my dad.
I’d always known him to shrink and obscure many of the details about his life in Mexico. But on this particular morning, he divulged his many illegal crossings of the United States Border.
September 1991
My dad and his six brothers grew up as classically trained musicians. Come early adulthood, they played throughout Mexico — a legacy they continued long after their father’s premature death.
On this tour, they’d successfully landed gigs in the US and took them on even though they didn’t have green cards. The band reached a critical point and this tour would presumably catapult them into stardom. So they packed up the Astro van and set off.
There was a well-known secret among the locals about crossing the border where San Diego and Tijuana meet. During shift rotations, border patrol left the checkpoint unsupervised for about 10 minutes which gave eager migrators a chance to rush past.
My dad and the rest of the band sat at the end of the checkpoint line when officers rotated out, but only a handful of cars made it through before border patrol set up the blockade again.
“¿Que vamos hacer?”
“What are we going to do?”
They sat sandwiched between dozens of cars with no way out other than to nervously inch forward.
Once their van rolled up to the officers, they knew it was game over. All they had to warrant their entry were fake work permits. One glance at these and the officer knew, “I can’t take these,” he scoffed and tossed them behind him. “No bueno”.
In broken English, Andres, the eldest brother explained their predicament.
“Officer, we are on tour. We need to get through, there are people waiting for us.” Everyone else watched completely amiss about the exchange between Andres and the officer.
The officer peered inside at the brothers crammed in the backseats among luggage and instruments, then scanned outside of the van at the long line of cars before he said, “I appreciate what you guys do, so I’ll let you through. Just this one time.” My uncle shifted the van into drive and didn’t stop until they were 10 miles from the border.
“¿Que paso?”
“Solo sabe Dios,”; Only God knows.
Luck Meets Fate Eventually
I listened to my dad recount events of the past 25 years as if just yesterday he sat in that van with his brothers.
I was in awe at his stroke of luck.
A single interaction with a forgiving officer allowed them to make their way through the Pacific, North, and Midwest. During that time, they snagged a record deal and released two albums recorded in Los Angeles.
For a Cumbia band hailing from Puebla in the early 90s, their success in the U.S. was beyond impressive. They co-existed with the likes of Selena, Los Angeles Azules, and La Sonora Dinamita.
It seemed luck and prosperity followed my dad wherever he went. But the more he talked, the more baffled and confused I began to feel.
I looked up and around our crowded apartment. It was a stark contrast from the trajectory of fame and fortune my dad was set on.
So then why did he leave it all behind?
I mulled over it long after dishes were cleared off the table.
This story wasn’t much different from my dad’s previous, briefer ones. Something unspoken always loomed in the air right after.
Growing up it wasn’t a secret that my mom and dad’s relationship cemented his departure from music. It was an ultimatum kind of thing.
“You have children and a wife at home, and you have the audacity to be out at clubs? Partying?…”
Growing up, I had the sense my mom somehow saved my dad and indirectly saved me and my brother from the dangers of a musician’s life. It had taken my grandfather’s life after all.
I couldn’t help but wonder if he regretted his choices. Despite my curiosity, I couldn’t bring myself to ask directly. I could only piece it together from his fondness of times past.
I canned my questions when he’d share a story or two with Tia Irene. Or when he’d sit in the living room to watch regional bands play for hours. Even when I’d find him late at night in the dining room, mouthing along to a song. Especially then.
If for a moment nostalgia took away the sting, I wouldn’t dare burst it. Externally he appeared content, but I knew it haunted him in the form of his children.
We were an echo and constant reminder of what could’ve been. For that reason, our relationship bloomed like wildflowers in a desert spring before high season. Nearly razed but not quite. Hopeful but never promised. I waited for his rain, but with time understood it wouldn’t fill the loss.
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This is the first part of a multi-series where I explore my family history and the rich, sometimes heartbreaking stories weaved in time. I explore themes of existentialism, destiny, identity, death, and familial inheritance. Check out the second part here!
