Echoic Childhood Memories

Of all the sounds I remember growing up around as a kid, the music my father played in his drunken stuper's late into the night. Most Latinos/as and working class folks know what I'm talking about. Unless you didn't have a father figure in your life, which just makes this post awkward. Anyway, drunken father figures playing music really loud, yeah.

Growing up I wondered what the hell was going and why he needed 4 ft tall speakers to blast music I had no comprehension of, till now. Acting like a delayed recording that is only now kick in for various reasons, I find myself latching on to anything that plucks the strings of nostalgia. However, a lot of those romanticized memories come with the kind of emotional baggage and trauma that can slap you out of no where.

As a kid, I knew that my father getting drunk meant a few different things. It meant that random people would be over to the house, there would be barbecue on deck, a beer run to a store that also mean getting to buy a bunch of junk food and soda. That they would go late into the night talking about all sorts of random things while simultaneously playing music so loud that you can't hear anyone talk. And no matter how hard we pleaded with him to turn the music down or to go to sleep, it would just make it worse.

While I'm able to comprehend the situations I was in growing up with an alcoholic father, I find myself mirroring his behavior, for better or for worst. While I don't have kids to emotionally scar nor four foot speakers to blast music from when I'm drunk. I only have four inch speakers attached to a back pack, but some of the music is the same though. Sort of.

Rediscovering those tunes I heard in the middle of night as I tried to go to sleep have a different meaning now that I'm older and sober. I have a choice in how I can remember this music and I chose to enjoy it for what it is, music about heart-break and romance. Needless to say that my current binge of musical taste was inspired by real life events, but that's for another time.

Music today doesn't hold a candle to oldies and classics like Los Angeles Negros. It was another time and era, but their music is timeless. I literally spend hours listening to albums and playlist to rediscover as many bands as possible. And while my current obsession I'll eventually give way to heavy metal or wu-tang, I'll continue basking in them.

   

This One Time When I Was 13

There was this one time when I was a teenager in junior high. For as long as I can remember, my father would always have the family working on whatever business we had at the moment. In Mexico, I remember that being that being a fruit stand in the tianguis (an open market). So when we got the U.S., it continued on. In this particular moment, my father had a new/used tire shop in South Central off Hoover and Slauson.

If I wasn’t in school, then more than likely I was with my mom and sisters at that infernal shop. This wasn’t his first shop either; at this point it was probably his second or third time operating one. For whatever reason, the man had to have us there with him at all times. My mom’z eventually told me that the reason he had her there was because of his insecure ways. If a woman has a job outside the home or is going to school, she’s only there to hook up with me. To this day his logic baffles me to no end, but I gave up trying to understand him years ago.

Working Class Tacos

I had a moment of serendipity eating tacos for dinner tonight. Standing there, stuffing my face and sipping on my horchata, I found myself in a familiar scene. I've had my fair share of tacos, but as I saw a señor walk up and order six, I couldn't help remember a time when I was watching my father do the same. Still in his work clothes, hair a mess, grease on his hands and clothes. That my was my father.

In that little moment I thought about all the nights and occasions when tacos was our dinner after a days work. It didn't matter that we smelled or looked like we just crawled from underneath a car, but no one there at the stand cared really. And for all the issues and problems I have with my father, we never did go hungry or not have a roof on top of our heads. Things were never easy and we often found ourselves in corners, but he made it happen.