Dia De Los Muertos part II

Today is the day we celebrate the dearly departed. All day long I've thought about this and what I was going to post in my blog. I have decided to remember a great man. He was not a famous inventor, nor a war hero in a major battle, nor was he a rich philanthropist. But he is a man that I want to be more like. I am talking about my grandfather, Julio.

Why is it that my grandfather was a great man? The reason is simple, but cannot be overlooked. He was the anchor of our family his entire life. He made sure his family was united and got them through anything that life put in their way. He lost his first wife when they were young, my dad being only 5 years old. He was left alone to raise 3 boys. No one would have blamed him if he had lost it, given up and left his kids to be raised by relatives. But that was not an option. He continued to fight and made sure his kids had everything they needed, if not everything they wanted. He worked hard all his life and he made sure that his children learned the value of hard work. He remarried later in life and had 4 more children by his second wife. He loved them all and loved his grandchildren and great-grandchildren just the same.

My grandfather was a very likable person. He always tried to treat everyone fairly, whether they be an adult his age or a child. You dared not mistreat anyone in front of him. Wherever he went people knew him and would talk to him. He was affectionately known as "Don Julio" by his friends and neighbors. To my brother and me he was known as "Papito Julio," the caring, loving grandfather. No matter who you were or what your background, Papito Julio always treated you the same and made sure you were welcome in his house. He never looked down on anyone. One story of his that I will never forget involves a visit he made to the US. For a time he and his three sons lived in Tijuana. One afternoon he crossed the border into the US for a visit and decided to take in a movie. Now this was a time when segregation was still a part of life and the theater was divided into a "white" and a "colored" section. Not being aware of this, my grandfather sat in the "colored" section. Now Mexicans at the time had it rough. They really didn't belong in either group but were somehow considered "white" for the purposes of segregation. An usher came by and informed him that he could not sit there. My grandfather asked the usher the reason for this. The usher informed him about the different sections and my grandfather was so appalled that he left right then and there. This had a major impact on him and it may be part of the reason that he always treated everyone with the same amount of respect.

I have many fond memories of the times I spend with Papito Julio. We were lucky enough to have him visit us from time to time. My brother and I would wake up early and fix him pancakes for breakfast. He in turn would make us a big pot of coffee, Mexican-style. (That's where you add coffee grounds to a pot directly and heat on the stove. He would also add a couple of sticks of cinnamon.) Pancakes and Mexican-style coffee, what a breakfast. I don't recall how good the pancakes we made were, but in his opinion they were the best because his grandkids had made them. That's another thing about him, he was never one to turn down food that someone offered him. He could have just finished a big meal, but if you offered him a bit he would accept so as to not hurt your feelings. Papito Julio loved to eat and he hated to waste food. Growing up poor in Mexico, he realized that food was precious and not to be thrown out. He was also never afraid to try anything new.

One year Papito Julio went with us on our family trip to Florida and Disney World. I had never seen a man his age act like such a kid! His eyes were full of joy and excitement at all there was to see. I think that my family got more joy from seeing him have such a good time than from any attraction there. On our first day at the theme parks, my mom asked him if he thought it'd be a good idea to rent a wheelchair. I'll never forget the look on her face when he said, "Why? You think you're going to need it?" There was no way he was going to be put into a wheelchair that day! He was used to walking; in Mexico City he preferred to walk everywhere, regardless of the distance.

Although Papito Julio has passed away, I have made a vow to never let his memory fade. My kids hear stories about him and how we are all a little like him. One of his favorite kind of movies were kung-fu and Bruce Lee movies. My parents would rent him a stack of movies each time he visited and we would stay up late watching them. Nowadays my sons love watching Bruce Lee movies and have been in martial arts for almost two years. I can't help but think that if he's watching us from heaven, he smiles when he sees them. We also love to eat almost as much as he did. He also had a great sense of humor and I will always remember him as a smiling, laughing, very jolly person. As my sons and I get older, I hope that we all become a little more like him.

Papito Julio in the middle, with my parents on either side.

Papito Julio with his second wife, Elena whom I grew up with as my grandmother.

Papito Julio as a young man.

One last thing. I said that I would explain the items I placed on his altar. There is the Pan de Muerto, of course. I also added a Mexican flag because he was born in Mexico. Also there is a Mexican pastry known as a concha, one of his favorites. I also placed a package of Abuelita brand Mexican chocolate, another favorite of his. (He liked to eat the chocolate right out of the package as well as mixing it with milk for hot chocolate.) There are also some logos of his favorite soccer team, the Pumas. I also added a bottle of tequila, another traditional Mexican addition to the altar. Also there are some rosary beads, a candle with La Virgen de Guadalupe and a bottle of holy water because he was a devout Catholic.

Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead) Part I

Yesterday was Halloween, but for Mexicans the next two days are also observed. November 1st is All Hallows Day, or All Saints Day. November 2nd is All Souls Day. There are many questions about this celebration and its origins. I will try my best to enlighten you about it.

The Day of the Dead celebrations are a mix of pre-Columbian and Christian influences. To the native peoples of Mexico, death was in important part of life. There was a strong belief in  the afterlife and to them death was just another step, not the end. It was common for them to keep and display the skulls of the dead as both trophies of battle and as remembrance of loved ones that had passed. This influence can still be seen today as colorful sugar skulls and painted paper mache skulls adorn the altars of homes. It is a common practice to purchase a sugar or chocolate skull and have your best friend's name written on it. Your best friend does the same and you exchange the skulls on Day of the Dead. This serves as a reminder that we are all mortal and will one day be nothing but bones ourselves. But rather than be spooked or feel somber about this, it reminds us to live life to its fullest and enjoy the time we share with each other while we are still on earth.

Every year near the end of October, as the weather gets colder in the northern hemisphere, millions of monarch butterflies make their way south. It is an impressive sight as they all arrive in the same general area in order to spawn. This migration takes them all the way to the heart of Mexico, just a short distance from Mexico City. The natives that witnessed this were in complete awe. They interpreted this as the souls of warriors that were allowed to return once a year. It is the modern belief that the souls of our loved ones that have passed return to visit us this time of year to check on us and let us know that they will never completely leave us.

When the church arrived in Mexico it brought with it the observance of All Hallows Day on November 1st. Today that is traditionally seen as the day to remember the saints and the children that have passed. November 2nd is the day to remember adults that have passed. Families set up altars in honor of these loved ones. Items placed on the altar bear a significance to the dearly departed. These can include pan de muerto (bread of the dead), favorite food items they liked to eat in life, candles, flowers, pictures of them, tequila and anything else that might remind the family of their loved one.

Another custom is to visit the graves and clean them up, place fresh flowers and even have a picnic at the cemetery. In some towns it is not unusual to spend the entire night in the cemetery. Torches are lit and everyone joins in remembering all those that have passed. To an outsider, this might seem like a morbid custom. But to the people of Mexico and Latin America, nothing could be further from the truth. Whether or not you believe that the person's soul actually returns or not, we realize that by remembering them we keep a part of them alive and ensure that they are never truly gone. We share stories about them and reminisce about the good times we shared with them. That's not morbid, that's a wonderful thing!

These traditions vary from town to town and region to region, but the core is there. These are days to remember our loved ones and to make sure that the younger generations never forget them. We celebrate their lives and also celebrate life itself. Though we may cry because we miss them, we realize that they will never be gone forever as long as we keep their memory alive. We also realize that we will be reunited one day when our time is up. I leave you with a couple of pictures of the altar I set up for my grandpa who passed away 2 years ago. Tomorrow I will talk about the items on the altar and about my grandpa.

Halloween

I've been trying to find some more scary stories to tell but then someone pointed out the fact that if I blogged all the good stories I know I would not have anything for the blog next October. Instead I'm going to talk about some of my Halloween memories.

Now, in case you don't know, Halloween happens to be my favorite holiday. I like everything about it: the costumes, the scary stories, the decorations, the free candy, you name it. Growing up I enjoyed all the Halloween crafts we did in school. I also enjoyed hearing and retelling ghost stories. Many a time my friends would gather around me and hear a ghost story or a legend. The apartment complex I lived in would organize a big Halloween bash for everyone, complete with a haunted house. (Yes, this is the same apartment complex with the haunted apartment from my earlier post.) That haunted house provided one of my favorite memories, especially since I would usually volunteer to be one of the monsters inside scaring people. I loved jumping out at people as they walked by, making them scream.

Another memory from my childhood was dressing up and going trick-or-treating. My cousins would come over in their costumes. Now, we didn't trick-or-treat in our neighborhood. No, our neighborhood was poor and gave out cheap candy. (I grew up Mexican, remember?) So what do Mexicans do on Halloween? We drove to the "white" neighborhoods that gave out the good candy! That's right, we would pile into one car and drive to one of the nicer neighborhoods around town in order to score some good candy. We figured we were in costume and they wouldn't recognize us anyway. We would come home with bags full of the "good" candy.

I love decorating the house for Halloween. My parents house would have a graveyard or some other spooky scene on the front lawn. I would put fake tombstones and mulch to make it look like fresh graves. Then I would make zombie hands out of wire hangers, tape and spray paint and place them on the graves as if the dead were trying to climb out. My favorite though was the year that I added a dummy in a chair. I dressed it up in some of my old clothes, added a cape and a mask, and set it out front overlooking my graveyard. It sat there all month long and people got used to seeing it. But the twist came on Halloween night when I removed the dummy, dressed up like it and sat on its chair. I placed the candy bowl on my lap and waited for the trick-or-treaters to arrive. Now, everyone had seen the figure in the chair all month long and didn't realize that I had taken its place. As people approached me I would grab at them or jump out and yell "Boo!" HA HA!!

This is it for this post. As I'm writing this my boys are getting ready to go trick-or-treating and I'm going to take them. My next post will be about Dia de los Muertos. Happy Halloween!

Spirits of Tombstone, AZ

OK everyone, sorry for the absence but I was in Arizona all last week. On my last day there I got the chance to visit Tombstone, the town too tough to die. When it came to visiting haunted locations, Tombstone was definitely on the list. I went specifically to take one of the ghost tours that are offered in town. I also visited the Boothill Graveyard, where the Clantons and McLaury's are buried. (In case you need a history refresher, those are the guys that were killed by the Earps and Doc Holliday in the shoot-out at the OK Corral.) I walked around in the building where one of the Earps died and then walked the very streets where Wyatt Earp and his brothers walked back in the 1880s. During the ghost tour I didn't experience anything out of the ordinary, but I took plenty of pictures in hopes of capturing a spirit or two on film. After looking over my pictures, I was not disappointed! But before I show you what I found, I want you all to watch this video. This is from a show called "Ghost Lab" where two brothers from San Antonio went around to haunted places. In this clip they feature what is perhaps one of the most famous ghost pictures around, taken at the Boothill Graveyard in Tombstone. (Unfortunately the show is no longer in production, which is a shame because it quickly became one of my favorites.)

Spooky, huh? Well, let's continue with some of my own pictures taken at the graveyard. I don't think the spirits were willing to have their pictures taken that day, but if you spot something that I missed let me know.

 Here is the sign at the entrance:

Here is one of the more "creative" grave markers.

Another interesting one...

Here we have the grave of the patriarch of the Clanton clan:

These are the graves of the men killed in the shoot-out at the OK corral:

After leaving the graveyard I headed into town. I headed down the road and immediately sought out the "Ghosts and Legends" tour. They were set up in one of the historic buildings that line the main street. In fact, they said that it was located where Morgan Earp died after being shot. Not only that, but before the walking tour, one could go inside for a special tour. Well, what more could I ask?

The sign outside the "Ghosts and Legends" tour building.

The inside tour took you through four rooms, each with a scene from the past. I even had a special tour guide, the ghost of Doc Holliday himself! The first room contained an authentic stagecoach from the 1800s. It had even been used in a couple of John Wayne movies. I have provided a picture for you and right away I caught something in the picture.

Here is the stagecoach picture. See the orb on the right?

Close-up of the orb. Is that a face I see??

Nothing else of interest showed up in the rest of the pictures I took inside the building. After finishing inside, I went back out to wait for the walking tour to start. The sun was setting and I thought it would be a good opportunity to take some pictures of the town before it got completely dark. This is where things decided to show up.

Here is a picture across the street. When I zoomed in I saw something...

It looks like someone, or something, was trying to appear.

Now, the two orbs up above may not be that impressive to everyone that's not a ghost hunter. Luckily there are plenty of dead cowboys in Tombstone and at least one of them was willing to make himself known. Now, just a disclaimer before you look. The only thing I have done to the next few pictures is to adjust the brightness and contrast and zoom and crop where I felt necessary. No software was used to add or modify the pictures in any way. 

I was trying to capture the sunset. Do you see the shadow figure?

Here is a zoomed in version of where the shadow person is.

I have highlighted him for you here.

It would have been fantastic if just one of my pictures contained a shadow figure. However, this cowboy was not done:

Here is another picture I took of the same part of town. See the same shadow figure there?

You can see him more clearly in this picture than the last one. His hat is more defined.

I highlighted him again, but I really don't think it's necessary. 

Spooky, huh? All this BEFORE the walking tour even started. The rest of the pictures from the walking tour are not as exciting as the shadow person, but we still got some orbs that wanted to show up. One of the first locations was an empty lot between two buildings. Our guide explained that a dance hall once stood there and that to this day witnesses report seeing orbs and ghostly people dancing where the dance hall once stood. I took as many pictures as I could. Most of them showed nothing but a dark empty lot, until I got to the last one.

An orb, right where our guide said they were reported.

The following pictures are from a building on one of the corners. I don't recall what our guide said about the building, but it had to be interesting for me to have snapped a couple of pictures. Again, we can see some orbs.

Quite the orb party, huh?

A couple of more orbs, albeit not as visible as the previous ones.

The next pictures are from one of the "hot spots" for spirit activity. The building where the visitor's center now sits was a bank back in the 1800s. Our guide explained that being a bank in an old west town, it was robbed quite a few times and quite a few men were shot. Later it became a hospital and again saw its share of death. I took several pictures there and again we can see some orbs that came out to play.

Another haunted location is Big Nose Kate's Saloon, named after Doc Holliday's main squeeze. The business sits where the Grand Hotel once stood. Our tour only included walking by it, but I had the chance to eat dinner there afterward. Alas, no ghosts wanted to play in there.

The picture is from earlier in the day. It's a great place to eat and have a drink!

After the tour our guide suggested that we go take some pictures at the mine behind town. During the day you can tour the mine, but it's closed at night. This didn't matter, as many of the miners who died are still down there since the bodies were never recovered. Our guide all but guaranteed that we would get something in our pictures even if we just took them from outside the gates. Sure enough, he was right.

Just outside the gates to the old mine. See all the orbs?

Another pic, another orb. This one is near the top middle of the picture.

One more orb.

There you have it, the best ghost pictures that I have from my trip to Tombstone. I sure hope I get to go back because there are many things that I want to do there, including the lights-out ghost hunt at the haunted Bird Cage Theatre. Maybe next time I'll see our dark cowboy again, who knows?

Tio Fili (Uncle Phil)

Part of growing up Mexican is hearing all the ghost stories from your family and all about the haunted places your relatives live in. This time I am going to tell you about my Tio named Filiberto, Fili for short. (I guess he'd be Uncle Phil in English, just like in "Fresh Prince!")

My Tio Fili was quite a character. He was actually my great-uncle but in Mexico everyone is your tio. Tio Fili was a man who devoted a lot of time to church. He was of the belief that one should never be vain about his or her looks. He wore the same old tattered clothes every day, topped off with an old hat. Another of my uncles and I even nicknamed him El Granjero (The Farmer) because of his clothes. I know, this was mean, but I was a child and my uncle was just as immature. Anyway, Tio Fili never wore new clothes. In fact, when he died my relatives found a wardrobe full of clothes that had never been worn. They had just been folded up and put away. Unfortunately they had been in there so long that the creases had begun to dry-rot and all had to be thrown away.

Being the gifted audience that you are, I'm sure that you have deduced that Tio Fili is dead. He died after being hit by a bus well over 20 years ago. Although I hadn't seen him since I was 6, I still had quite a few memories of him. Aside from the clothes, I remember walking into his room when I was a toddler and he would always offer me a piece of chocolate. I also remember how he liked to pinch cheeks. He lived in a one-room shack made of adobe on the same property as my great-aunt (his sister), my grandpa (my mom's dad) and us. To say that he lived a modest life would be an understatement. The mystery is that he received a pension check every month, but no one ever saw him spend it. As I said before, he never wore new clothes and jewelry and other luxuries were out of the question. It's entirely possible that he was donating all his money to the church, but some say that he left a small fortune buried on the property.

Ah yes, buried wealth. It is often said that spirits haunt the place where they left treasure of some kind. What does that have to do with Tio Fili? Well, even after he passed away he refused to leave his home for good. He was spotted around the property for years after his death. One of my cousins, who never knew him in life, saw him frequently. My aunt tells us that as a little boy he would come running into the house, sweating as if he'd been running. When she questioned him he would tell her that Tio Fili was chasing him and trying to pinch his cheeks. When he was even younger he would be in his crib and then start crying, claiming that the "strange man in the hat" was waving at him through the window and making faces at him. The descriptions that he gave fit Tio Fili, an older man with old tattered clothing wearing a farmer's hat. Like I said, he had never met him when he was alive and there were no pictures of him around.

As if that wasn't enough, it's possible that my brother saw him on one occasion as well. We were visiting one year and my brother asked us who the man in the hat was. I said that there wasn't anyone wearing a hat and he said that an old man wearing a hat had just walked by the window. We couldn't find anyone that evening where he saw him. It's possible that he had seen Tio Fili walking around.

Eventually no one saw Tio Fili anymore, at least I haven't heard of any recent sightings. Perhaps next time I visit my relatives I'll keep an eye out for him.

The Ghost Tracks of San Antonio

I think it’s about time for a ghost story from my hometown of San Antonio. San Antonio is one of the oldest, most historic cities in the country. The city was founded in 1691 by the Spanish and has seen its share of battles and important events in history. All this also makes San Antonio one of the most haunted cities in the country as well. One cannot travel far without hearing about a haunted place, whether it’s the Alamo with the spirits of the defenders that died there and the Menger Hotel next door with its own resident ghosts or the spirit of Native Americans that appear walking along roads, you’re sure to find a good ghost story there.

One of the most often told stories that I heard growing up was that of the haunted railroad crossing. It’s almost a rite of passage in San Antonio for you to visit the haunted railroad crossing and experience it for yourself. This is one of those stories in which the details vary depending on who tells it, but the main points remain the same. Now, I could find the exact place in my sleep as many times as I went growing up and as many times as I took people to experience it. So, without further ado, let’s get on with the story.

The events of this story take place in the 1930s. The decade may change to the 40s or 50s, but we will stick with the 30s. A bus full of children was making its way through a neighborhood on the Southside of town. As they crossed the railroad, the bus stalled. A speeding freight train was unable to stop and it crashed into the bus, killing most of the children. Because of the circumstances in which they perished, the spirits of the children knew no rest. Any car that stalled on the tracks from that day forward was mysteriously moved off the tracks, as if pushed by tiny hands. The ghost children would make sure that no one else would ever suffer their fate. If you visit the railroad crossing today and park your car near the tracks, place it in neutral and turn off the engine, your car will also be pushed across the tracks. Several people have reported that mysterious tiny handprints appeared on their trunk, bumper and doors after their car had been pushed. Some have even dusted their cars with baby powder in order to get a better look at the tiny handprints. A drive through the subdivision that was built there reveals streets with names like Shane Road, Cindy Sue Way, Nancy Carole Way and Laura Lee way. These are the names of some of the children killed that day. I have an uncle who is a major skeptic; he’s an atheist in fact and doesn’t believe in anything. One night his buddies got him drunk and offered to take him home. They decided to make an unannounced stop at the ghost tracks just so my uncle could experience it for himself. He was not happy about that but he had no choice. As the car began to move, he became agitated and said that he refused to believe this because it HAD to be some kind of setup. He opened the car’s door and stuck his foot on the ground in an effort to try to stop the car’s movement. What happened next was so frightening that it sobered him up. He claimed that unseen hands grabbed his leg, pushed him back in the car and shut the door. That was over 20 years ago and he’s never been back since.

I have been to those tracks so many times, that eventually I began getting out of the car and walking behind it as it was pushed across the tracks. I have seen the handprints on the car and have watched as cars seem to be pushed uphill and across the tracks. I’ve heard the skeptics’ arguments and have read investigations that attempt to debunk the story. Still, it makes for a great story and a fun experience. Plus, someone once told me the following: if enough people visit a location and expect ghosts to be present, eventually ghosts WILL be drawn to the area. Whether or not the bus accident happened at that location, enough people have been there expecting something to happen. The railroad crossing has now taken its own energy and haunting.

By the way, if you are ever in San Antonio and want to visit the haunted tracks I will tell you where to go. The tracks are located on the South part of town in the vicinity of the San Antonio Missions, specifically near Mission Espada. Find Villamain Road and follow it. Eventually the railroad tracks will run parallel to the road and the road will turn into Shane Road. There is a baseball field there and on any given night you may see a line of cars waiting to be pushed across by the ghost children. There you go, happy haunting!

The Haunted Apartment

On my last post I told you a story of an event that happened to my dad when he was a young man in Mexico. This time I will tell you of my experiences living in an apartment that I believe was haunted. This happened in San Antonio, Texas (which, by the way, is the greatest place to live bar none). My family and I lived in an apartment complex for years. I am going to withhold the name of the apartments, but those of you who know me personally will know exactly where it is. It is the events that occurred that fueled my interest in the paranormal.

Things started slow enough, and I have to say that nothing ever felt threatening. We would hear strange noises which we credited to old plumbing or the faulty AC system. Then we started noticing small items disappearing, like the salt shaker from the kitchen table. But when a salt shaker goes missing, you don’t blame a ghost. You simply assume that someone else picked it up and forget about it. Except that other things followed; they would disappear and then reappear in the exact spot where they were. Again, I know what you’re thinking: someone used it, then put it back where it belonged. It’s easy to put things like that behind you and go on with your daily lives. But other things soon followed that could not be easily explained away.

Now, growing up in a Mexican household, we constantly had relatives from Mexico come to visit and stay with us. Sometimes they stayed a week or two, other times a few months. I have an uncle named Jorge who would visit us frequently and stay a few days. When he would stay with us the couch was his bed and in the summer my brother and I would put blankets and pillows on the ground in the living room and have us a campout with my uncle. During the school year when everyone left for school and work my uncle would move to one of the beds and sleep a while longer. One day he told us that something very strange happened after everyone had left the house. He said that after he had fallen asleep in my parent’s bed, he began to feel as if someone was on top of him. He reported the feeling of someone rolling over him. By the time he let us know, it had happened more than once. He also told us that every now and then he could feel someone pulling the covers off him. At first none of us knew quite what to think of what my uncle Jorge was telling us. No one else had experienced any of this and we wondered if it was due to jetlag. Well, my questions were answered one night during one of our “campouts.” My mom was taking food to work the next morning and before going to bed said that she might be waking me to help her carry stuff out to the car. I agreed and we all went to bed. I was fast asleep when I was suddenly awoken by someone tapping my arm. I woke and pulled the covers off my head expecting the lights to be on and my mom standing there. Instead what I saw was darkness and all I could hear was my uncle and my brother snoring. No one was there. I covered up and went back to sleep.

Things got really interesting when the television in the living room began acting up. One morning my dad said that we needed to make sure we turned off the TV in the living room before going to bed. He said that one of us had left it on a couple of times. My brother and I were sure that we had never left it on so we just said, “OK” and thought that would be it. Then one night sometime after midnight we heard my dad storm out of the bedroom and began yelling that it was too late to be up watching TV. He stopped and quieted down after seeing my brother and me coming from our bedroom. He said that he had heard someone turn on the TV and had assumed that one of us had gotten up during the night. The TV then began acting up during the day. The channel would change on its own, or the set would turn off. One day I came home from school and my brother was already home. As I walked in the door the TV turned itself on. I asked him if he had the remote hidden behind his back, but he didn’t. I walked over, turned the TV off and turned around. As soon as I did, it turned itself on again. I flipped it back off, and it turned on yet again. After turning it off a third time, it turned on and immediately the channels began to flip. I reached behind it and unplugged it. Now, the skeptics might tell you that there must have been some electrical problem with the TV that could explain away what was happening. Fair enough, except that after we moved out, the TV never once did any of those things. (In fact, I still have that TV today.)

Now a TV with a mind of its own might be the thing that would normally stand out in a story like this, but not this time. There is one more incident that stands out for me. It happened on a Saturday morning. My mom had to work that day and it would just be the men of the house. I was the first to get up and I headed for the bathroom. As I stood there washing my hands I saw someone walk by the door and head to the kitchen. I didn’t turn to see who it was but assumed it was either my dad or my brother. I finished washing my hands and headed to the kitchen. No one was there. I looked in my parents’ bedroom and there was my dad, in bed, snoring. Back in our bedroom my brother was still fast asleep in his bed. Who did I see walk by? I don’t know, but SOMEONE walked by the door.

When I tell most people about the haunted apartment, they ask how we were able to live there that long. Like I said, none of it ever felt threatening. One more thing, my brother would constantly hear someone calling his name. The rest of us would be in the kitchen and he’d come running from the bedroom asking, “What? Did someone call me?” But none of us had called to him. This happened more than once and after a while it became something we dismissed. 

Brujas (Witches)

¡Cuidado con las brujas!

¡No te vaya a chupar la bruja!

Those are two warnings that you might hear in any small town in Mexico. Translated, they mean “Beware the witches!” and “Don’t let the witch suck on you!” (OK, I realize that last one might sound dirty. Get your mind out of the gutter, this is supposed to be a scary story!) Witches, or brujas, are a major part of Mexican beliefs. Women don’t leave the windows open in their children’s room for fear that they will be taken away. It is a common belief that leaving a pair of scissors in an “X” either under the crib or tied by the window will ward off the bruja. In markets you can buy amulets that will protect the wearer from the curses and spells that might be cast against them.

Tonight’s blog is about witches, but not like you know them. I’m not talking the classic pointy-haired, green-skinned cackling hag that we see all over the place this time of year. I’m also not talking about all the people that practice Wicca. The bruja is a lot more than that. Simply uttering the word can cause panic depending on what part of the country you’re in. Brujas are both feared and sought out, and people tell you that they are REAL. They will come in the night and suck the life out of your children, drive you mad and curse you. But the term can be used to describe a psychic, a healer, a conjurer who casts spells or just someone who has dreams about the future that just happen to come true. (I’m talking about yours truly, but that’s something we’ll leave for a different post.)

My dad told me a story about the time he and a group of friends went camping. They were teenagers and wanted to have a camp-out on their own, sort of a rite of passage for them to show they were turning into men. They decided to visit Puebla, a place with hills and mountains that provided just the rough terrain that a group of young men desired to prove themselves. They loaded up on supplies in one of the small villages and then headed for the mountains. After hiking for a while they found the perfect spot to set up their camp for the night. They set up their tent and built a fire. One of them proudly announced that he had gotten his hands on a bottle of liquor. That should have been the highlight of the evening, but strange things were afoot. As they looked across the valley towards another mountain, they noticed some strange lights making their way up and down the mountain. At first they dismissed the lights as headlights, but there were no roads that went straight up and down. The lights also appeared to be moving faster than any car they had ever seen. There was something about the lights that mesmerized the group, they couldn’t stop watching them. All of a sudden, darkness enveloped them all. This was not the normal darkness of the night. No, this was something else. It was darkness like none of them had ever known. My dad says that even with the camp fire, you could barely make out the person next to you. Then they were all overcome with fear, panic as if something was out to get them. They became frantic, not knowing what was going on or what to do. One of the guys grabbed a pair of sticks and made himself a makeshift crucifix. They all huddled around it by the fire, shivering with fear. They then took out the bottle of liquor and drank until they passed out.

The next morning the guys woke up and headed back down the mountain. They decided to stop at a small village for breakfast. They were still talking about the previous night’s events when some of the locals overheard their conversation. They proceeded to tell the boys that what they had witnessed were brujas. The locals said that brujas lived in those mountains and that they would search for unsuspecting hikers that they could kill, eat and use for their spells. They had caused the darkness and the feelings of panic and that the further away the lights appeared, the closer they were. They had been lucky to have come back alive according to the local townsfolk. My dad and his friends made their way home and never returned to that place. To this day, any strange light reminds my dad of that evening and he gets a glint of fear in his eyes. 

I will leave you with a video that has made the rounds on the internet. It has been featured on several Spanish news programs and attempts have been made to replicate it. The commentary is in Spanish, but you can see what the video appears to show: a flying humanoid shape that has been labeled a bruja by Mexican authorities. I'll let you watch and judge for yourself.

La Llorona (part II)

The tale of La Llorona is told and retold not just in Mexico, but also in parts of the USA where there is a large Hispanic population and even in parts of Latin America. In my last post I related to you the story of La Llorona as documented by the early residents of Mexico City. Her wailings terrified many a brave soul in those days. But the question that remains is who was she in life? There are several versions that attempt to explain this.

For our first tale we turn to my ancestors and original conquerors of central Mexico: The Mexica (aka The Aztecs). Within the Mexica mythology we find entities similar to La Llorona. One these is the goddess Cihuacoatl who was associated with childbirth and was said to haunt crossroads in order to steal children. It was said that she would appear as a woman dressed in palace robes, completely white, and wailing in the night air. In fact, it was said that shortly before the arrival of the Spanish, her wailings were seen as a premonition of the conquest that was to come. Cries of “¡Oh, hijos mios, que ya ha llegado vuestra destrucción!”  (Oh, my children, the time of your downfall has arrived!) were heard by the natives that witnessed her apparitions.

The second story is that La Llorona was the troubled spirit of La Malinche. She was a native woman from the Gulf Coast who was given as a slave to Hernan Cortes. She served as his guide, interpreter and even lover. (She gave birth to his first son, Martin.) She played a key role in helping the Spanish conquer the native peoples and as such has been labeled as the ultimate traitor, much like Benedict Arnold in the US. In fact, the term malinche means traitor. It is said that such was the regret she felt for betraying her fellow natives that her spirit never knew rest. It wandered the streets of the newly built Mexico City crying and wailing over the deaths of her fellow people.

The third, and perhaps most popular tale, is that of a scorned woman who throws her children into the river in the ultimate act of revenge. It is told that she was a native woman who fell in love with a prominent young Spaniard. They shared a secret love affair together, the whole time he promised that he would marry her one day. She bore him children and she was happy thinking he would be hers one day. But instead, he married another Spaniard that was of equal class. Upon hearing this she became enraged, and took her young children and threw them into the river to die. The next day she returned, feeling sorry for what she had done, and threw herself in to drown. Her spirit now roams the rivers and streams in constant search for her children.

In one variation of this story, she is a widow who was left to raise her children alone until she finds another man to love. However, he refuses to marry her because he cannot raise the children of another man. She throws the children in the river in order to free herself of them and marry her new love. She realizes too late what she has done and decides to join them.

So there you have it, the tale of La Llorona. Whether or not any of these tales is true, no one knows for sure. What is true is that to this day children are told to stay away from water at night and are scared into behaving by threats that she will come at night to take them away. It is a tale that is as much as part of Mexican culture as anything else.

La Llorona (part I)

OK, it is now October. This is quite possibly my favorite time of year. Why, you ask? Because Halloween is just around the corner and there are ghost shows and scary movies on TV. Growing up Mexican, I heard my share of ghost stories. Mexico is a place where the people are very religious, but also very superstitious. Everyone has heard a story about their grandma's or aunt's house being haunted. I also heard a lot of them growing up in San Antonio, which is one of the most haunted cities in the country. So this month I will dedicate to bringing you some of the ghost stories that I grew up hearing.

Mexico's history is rich with culture, but also with violence. Many battles of conquest, independence and rebellion took place on its lands. Throw in the pre-Columbian cultures with their own beliefs and you end up with a lot of scary stories. Perhaps the most famous, the one that almost every Mexican child has heard at one point, is that of La Llorona (The Wailing Woman). There are many different versions of the story, but all have a few elements in common. Children are warned not to play around rivers and lakes at night or La Llorona will appear and drag them to a watery grave. She is almost always described as the specter of a woman completely white who wanders along the banks crying out for her children. She is condemned to haunt the rivers and streams in an eternal search for her children. Any child she finds, she claims and drags them into the water. Now perhaps this was meant as a way to scare kids away from dangerous waterways at night...or was it?

For the first part of this story I will present to you some of the phenomena documented by the early citizens of Mexico City, which was built over the ruins of the Aztec capital Tenochtitlan. These events were witnessed in the middle of the 16th century following the conquest of Mexico by the Spanish. On nights when there was plenty of moonlight, the people of the city were awakened in the middle of the night by the wailing of a woman. These cries were filled with pain and sorrow, cries of a woman who was suffering either deep emotional distress or some kind of terrible physical ailment.

The first few nights that people heard these cries, they would make the sign of the cross and pray. Word spread that such cries must be from some creature that originated from the spirit world. But the occurrences became so common, that many became curious and ventured out to see with their own eyes who or what could be causing such commotion. By the light of the moon they could see a woman, dressed in white from head to toe and with a white veil covering her face. She seemed to glide along the streets of the city, almost as if she was floating instead of walking. But none were brave enough to get so close as to confirm this. Her cries were almost always the same; "Ay, mis hijos! Ay, mis hijooos!!" (Oh, my children!) She would appear in a different part of the city each night, but each night made her way to the central plaza of the city. She would then stop, face the West, fall to her knees and let out one last blood-curling cry before vanishing. No one knew who she had been in life, and so she simply became known as La Llorona. Nights in the city became a time when no one, not even the bravest, dared to venture out for fear of seeing La Llorona.

La Llorona made her presence known in Mexico City in this manner for many years, before fading away. To this day people still see her from time to time all over the country. They say that encountering her is a terrifying experience. There are many stories that tell who she really is, but I will save those for my next post.

"Regular" tacos and tinga de pollo

Earlier this week one of my friends at work celebrated her birthday. Because of the current state of the economy, thank you very much politicians, I couldn't really afford to buy her a gift. But if there is one thing I can do is cook, and I'm a pretty damn good cook thank you. So I asked her what she wanted me to make her for her birthday lunch and her choice was tinga de pollo. (Actually, since she doesn't speak Spanish, she asked for "that spicy chicken" that I make.) Before I continue, allow me to explain what tinga is for the benefit of those that haven't tried it. Basically it's a dish that consists of shreded chicken, sauteed sliced onions, diced tomato, spices and chipotle peppers. It's simmered and then it's eaten on crispy tostadas that have been smeared with sour cream and then it's all topped with shredded lettuce. (Hungry yet?) So needless to say, we had a good lunch.
Now, if you've never heard of tinga, I'm not surprised. Most Americans' exposure to Mexican cuisine begins at Taco Bell and doesn't venture too far from that fare. Just to make it clear, crispy tacos were invented by Taco Bell and are NOT part of authentic Mexican cooking. Now, I plan to revisit the topic of faux-Mexican food on this blog again so I won't go on my rant about the lack of authentic Mexican food. But it does remind me of a story that happened back in my college days when I worked in a research lab.
OK, let me set up the scenario. I worked in a research lab with several regular employees and some students from the medical and dental schools that were there during the summer. Most of us in the lab were from San Antonio, but we had people from other parts of the country and from other parts of the world. One of our favorite things to do was order breakfast tacos. Now I have found that there are people, especially here in Appalachia, that cringe and look at me funny when they hear the term "breakfast taco." But in Texas they are more of a staple in the mornings than biscuits and muffins. (Also, Mexicans can eat tacos at any part of the day.) So this one summer day we all arrived at the lab hungry and someone decided to take up an order for breakfast tacos and call it in to a nearby restaurant. We went around the lab asking everyone if they wanted anything. One student, who will rename anonymous, obviously was not familiar with the breakfast taco. He inquired about the menu and when we told him all the different choices he had for taco fillers he had a perplexed look. He then looked at us and said, "Do they have any regular tacos?" Upon hearing this we all looked at each other in question since we all wondered what he meant. I proceeded to tell him that those were regular tacos. His reply? "No, I mean with the crunchy shell and the ground meat and cheese and lettuce."
It was all I could do not to laugh at him right then and there. It hadn't occurred to me that he had no idea what a breakfast taco was. I think he felt bad that day, but I think by the end of the summer he had a better grasp of what Mexican food was.
One more thing, and this is for all you gringos, please learn to say tortilla. They are not "soft shells," they have a name. It really bugs me when people call them "shells." I'll even help you learn how to pronounce tortilla. OK, here you go:
   
        tortilla - tore-tee-yah


There, now you can call it by its real name. Wear it out at your local Mexican restaurant.

Bicks, Esprite y Yerbabuena (Vick's, Sprite and Mint)

OK, so it's been a few days since my last post. I've been battling a cold. Now that I'm recovered I can blog again. Did I go to the doctor? Of course not! Mexicans don't go to the doctor until we've tried every home remedy our moms and abuelitas used when we were kids.
Now, what was the first thing your parents used to tell you when you told them you weren't feeling well? "Tomate un Esprite." (Drink a Sprite.)
Ah yes, Sprite, the magic elixir that some even think can cure cancer and AIDS. Or, if you were lucky and were able to find it, you drank Sidral (apple-flavored soda). So you drink your carbonated beverage and you still feel under the weather. What now you ask? Well then they rubbed your chest with bicks (Vick's vaporub). Ah yes, nothing cures diseases like the smell of menthol. OK, so now you've had a refreshing beverage and you've been rubbed with menthol-scented petroleum gel. Still feeling sick? Well, it's time to bring out the big guns! No, not the medical-school trained professional we call the doctor. I'm talking about the yerbabuena! (That's mint, to you gringos.) That's right, just brew up a batch of tea made from these magical mint leaves and there's no way those germs will still be acting up inside that body of yours.

So let's say the Big Three didn't work. Do your parents break down and take you to the doctor? Perish the thought! It's time to go to the flea market and track down that old lady who sells antibiotics from Mexico and herbal supplements. (Also, if you're bad enough, she'll rub an egg all over you!) So you go home with a bag full of penicillin, herbs and  something that smells like toluene and Chanel #5 mixed together and looks like it could blow up half a city block.

So why are Mexicans so reluctant to see the doctor? Well other than the fact that they're going to CHARGE you (eek!) the real reason is that if you go to the doctor, he's going to find something. That's right, you don't get diabetes until you see the doctor. You're 300 pounds and sit around all day, but you're healthy until that doctor gets a hold of you!

Back to my battle with the cold. I already told you that I didn't go see the doctor. So what did I do? Well, we had plenty of Sprite on hand but unfortunately I could not locate the Vick's. (Don't tell my mom!) I opted to forgo the yerbabuena but I did Nyquil the crap out of that cold! Now I'd like to hear what your home remedies include, my fellow Mexicans.

You know you're Mexican (part I)

Have you ever wondered if you're Mexican? Do you tan to a beautiful brown color but can't handle spicy foods? Well, you're in luck because here I have for you a list of things that might let you know if you're Mexican. OK let's cut the charade, this is a joke that's been on the internet for a while. But I have decided to add some items that weren't previously on there. A lot of them are from me, but a lot of them are also from the friends that I met on a Facebook page called "Bien Mexican." I'd like to give a shout-out to all my paisanos on there, hopefully they will be reading my blog and adding to this list. So, let's begin.

You know you're Mexican...

If you have ever been hit with a chancla (sandal or flip-flop) or wooden spoon.

If you can play any sport or run while wearing chanclas.

If as a child you were afraid of "el cucuy," "La Llorona," "El Muerto" or "La Mano Peluda."

If you have ever used your lips, eyes or chin to point something out.

If people can't tell whether you're laughing or crying.

If you refer to all Asian people as "chinos" no matter where they're from.

If you say "Pssst!" or "Cht! Cht!" to get people's attention.

If your parents ever used the sound of a belt snapping together to scare you.

If you have ever gone to a store and hidden things you couldn't afford so you could come buy them later when you have the money.

If you say "Uy!" when you try to scare someone instead of "Boo!"

If you call all cereals "con fleis."

If you can't imagine anyone NOT liking spicy food.

If you go to a kids' birthday party and there's more liquor and beer than punch and soda.

If there is at least one member of your family named "Maria," "Jose," "Juan," "Jesus" or "Guadalupe."

If you have a bottle of Tapatio or Cholula in your house right now.

If the guy on the Tapatio looks like your dad or uncle.

If the lady on the Cholula looks like your mom or aunt.

If you need to point out how much something you just bought cost.

If you go out with a black girl and you're darker than her.

If you know the next line to this song: "Ay! Ay! Ay! Ay! Canta y no llores!..."

If you have lived in the same house for 30 years and still pay rent.

If you light a candle on the night of the Lotto drawing.

If your parents have ever rubbed an egg over you to cure you.

If you greet people by tilting your head.

If you have to watch one novela every Monday through Friday and you don't even know why.

If you still have Christmas lights on your house and it's April.

If you have a tia or tio that's younger than you.

If you have ever had to explain to gringos what it is you're eating for lunch.

When a pay-per-view fight turns into a family reunion.

If you have at least one blanket with a picture of an animal on it.

When you can fit 10 people in your car...and you drive a compact!

When your mother yells at the top of her lungs to call you to dinner and you live in a one bedroom apartment.

When you can dance cumbia, salsa or ranchera even when there is no music playing.

If you've ever told someone to "bring me a plate" from a wedding, birthday party or quinceañera.

If you have aloe, cactus and some kind of fruit tree in your yard.

When you have at least one shirt with chorizo stains.

When you heat up your lunch in the break room and the smell clears everyone out.

If you have plastic covers on your furniture and plastic runners on the floor.

When you can eat tortillas with every meal.

When your biggest worry is whether or not you left the frijoles turned on.

If people keep trying to hire you to put down tile when you're trying to shop at Home Depot.

When you get sick and instead of going to the doctor you go to the pulga to buy penicillin and herbs from some lady.

If your kids try to order horchata at every restaurant, even if it's not Mexican food.

If you have a skinny cousin they call "la gorda" and a dark-skinned one they call "la guera."

When you store your pots and pans in the oven.

If you can buy roasted corn, raspados and tamales right outside your church.

When every calendar has a picture of an Aztec warrior and came from the panaderia.

When you dress up like Cantinflas, El Santo or El Chapulin Colorado for Halloween.

If you've ever been called in to have a serious conversation with your dad while he's on the toilet.

If your mom has to have Vicente Fernandez blaring on the radio while she cleans the house.

If you have at least 30 cousins.

Well, I think that's it for now. We will revisit this at least once more. I hope you laughed because many if not all apply to you. If you're a gringo and don't understand all of them, have one of your Mexican friends explain.

Al baño cabron! (To the bathroom!)

OK, so now that my first blog post is out of the way I thought long and hard as to what to talk about next. Several things crossed my mind including presenting some of the many intricacies that make Mexican culture so diverse and unique. Then I remembered that I wasn't writing a term paper here and I kept thinking. Then I remembered something that I witnessed a while back when I was at Walmart.

Before I go on I need to talk about one of my favorite comedians: George Lopez. (Oh, I mean BEFORE he did his talk show!) One of the reasons I find him so hilarious is that many of the things he talks about in his stand-up are so true. Of the topics he covers one that really hits closer to home is when he talks about how Mexicans discipline their kids, specifically when we're out and about. In case you haven't seen it or want to watch it again here it is. (Warning: There's some strong language in it.)



OK, so back to what I witnessed at Walmart. I saw this lady with her two kids. (For the record, she was white.) One of her kids wanted some small toy and when she told her "No" the child went berserk. There was screaming, crying, foot pounding, you name it. What did the woman do? She tried reasoning with the child. "Now sweetie, you can't act that way. You need to calm down." I was really tempted to go up to her and say, "Lady, that child needs some chingazos."

So, back to the video: does this actually happen? ABSOLUTELY! Just ask my kids. They know that if they're acting up and I say, "Let's go to the bathroom," it means they're going to get it. I don't put up with temper tantrums when we're out in public. By now they're old enough that I don't even have to ask if we need to make a trip to the bathroom, a look from me will usually do the trick. I get compliments from people on how well behaved my boys are all the time. Boy, if they only knew what went on in many a Walmart bathroom!

Now to some, this might seem barbaric, extreme, even too far. But to us Mexicans it's the norm. Yes, I got my ass beat in a few dressing rooms and bathrooms, but I love and respect my parents and I learned to respect and obey them. In the end, we all turned out OK, didn't we? By the way, when WAS the last time you saw a Mexican mom get caught hitting her kids by the security camera? BLEEP-ing amateurs!

Bienvenidos! (Welcome!)

Welcome to my blog. As the name suggest, this blog is about growing up Mexican. I want this blog to be a place to share stories of my childhood as a Mexican being raised in the United States. Hopefully some of my experiences will bring you smiles and/or laughter. Knowing Spanish will not be necessary for you to read my blog, but it will be very helpful.

Before I continue you need to know something about me: I do not consider myself a "typical" Mexican...check that, I do not consider myself a "stereotypical " Mexican. What do I mean by this? This means that I do not wear a sombrero, poncho and boots wherever I go. I do not sound like Speedy Gonzalez when I talk. I do not listen to mariachi music all the time. I do not work in construction, as a bus boy or as a gardener. (Although there is NOTHING wrong with any of those jobs! It's honest work.) Now I do own a poncho and I do listen to mariachi music from time to time but I also like to wear dress shirts and slacks and listen to everything from Mozart to AC/DC, and just about anything else in between. I work as an IT guy and I love technology and gadgets. Now, I am a "typical" Mexican in that I am very proud of my heritage, I like to eat chile and family is very important to me.

So there it is, my first blog post. I decided to be kind and not bore you with every minutiae of my life. I figure I'll slowly add more details about myself as time passes. For now I will leave you with the following words of wisdom from my family: Echale ganas! (This basically means, "Give it your all.")