the naked truth

BOOM! This is the first of my blogs that is not food related.

This entry is something a lot closer to my heart than - 1. I expected it to be and 2. Than I could really explain.
I am a lot of things. I'm a bike rider. I'm a cook. I'm a reader. I'm an adventurist. I'm a person who longs to experience things that I'm not used to. These are all things I strive to be. But in all honesty, when stripped down to the core, I am a chicano born and raised in and around Houston, Texas. From the principles that make who I am down to the accent that leaks out, I am part of a rare breed of people indigenous to one part of the entire world that exists where I was born.
   My family is a pure bread chicano family. As much as I try to dilute the fact that I'm affiliated with the culture, for whatever reason, I can't help it. And I'm proud of it. It took me moving back to Houston to sincerely understand and appreciate who I am and where I come from. Today I had a Saturday off from work. Which,  if you've read previously blogs, you'll know that this is a rare occasion. A phone call to my mom consisted of:
  "yo" - mom
  "what up" - me
  "I'm gonna go bowling tonight" - mom
  "what the fuuuuuu???.."- me
  "why does everyone say that?" - mom
  "haha cause duh..." - me
  "well your dads going to the santana concert tonight" - mom

At first I started to think about all the things I had to do today like pay bills, call landlord, figure out warrants and shit. (none of which got done) and after a little thought I decided "fuck it". I never get the time off to spend with my family. Let alone time to go to a SANTANA concert. (re-enter chicanoism) If you don't know or haven't put two and two together, Carlos Santana "perdy mush" epitomizes what American born Mexicans paints themselves to be. And yes I do know there will be tons of arguing points but refer to my point on yelpers for that stand point.
  So here is the lay out. In a 5 seat truck we fit 6 people. *one stereotype knocked out already* Me. My dad. My umpteenth time divorced Aunt Margie. The Notorious "woe is me" drunk uncle Jody. My aunt and Uncle Jamie and Jeniffer. Uncle Jody is the main attraction in the car with wise cracks about his older brothers wrong turns that could have gotten us there eaerlier so we could be "closer to carlos". Aunt Margie speaks of grandchildren, who are my cousins and I don't think I've met, with elegant fever. Time goes by and I realize I don't even really care if I get into the damn show or not. I'm just happy to be here stuck in traffic with these people. My family.
   Once we finally scalp a ticket for me from my aunt Margies friend. (no tellin where he came from) we hit the lawn seats to hear Carlos wail on the fretboard. Beers flowing up and down a crowd of MORE family that we met up with at the venue. Nobody knows who bought who what and it doesn't matter.
  "come with me mijo" - Aunt Margie
  "Where we goin tia?" - me
  "Gonna get some more beer crazy!" - Aunt Margie
Minutes pass by and we have beers in our hands walking up the stairs to "make somebody happy"...
  "I'm glad you came mijo" - Aunt Margie
  "Man me too tia! I never get to see you" - me
  "Well it aint like I'd never see you again mijo. Somos Familia!" - Aunt Margie

We may be a significant percent of people who seem to not contribute a whole lot sometimes, and other parts of the world may have their comparison, and we may get drunk and fall over and wine over who changed the damn pizza order at midnight. But you know what? This is my raza. This is my familia. This is what and where I'm from. It's something that I can't escape and proud not to be able to. Rather than having an actual upright standing structure with a roof to sleep under, these people, all of them, are something I will always be privileged to call a home.