Hola Mexico!

Perspective can be defining. One person’s bad decisions are often another person’s adventure. This dichotomy was a daily battle on family vacations between my cautious and rational mother and my fearless fly-by-the-seat-of-the-pants father.

My father was what you would call street smart. According to him, he practically raised himself and his younger brother knocking around the city streets of Chicago. I don’t know if he was telling the truth, but he never hesitated in most situations and very few environments unnerved him. He was cool as a cucumber.

Growing up in a small sleepy suburban town, my mother was less worldly and more cautious. She wasn’t comfortable in more urban surroundings. But I was never sure if she was too guarded or if he was being reckless.

And on our month-long cross-country trek, the decision to go south of the border was not made lightly.

“What are we going to see there? It’s no place for children,” my mother argued.

“These kids are too privileged. They never see outside of their little suburban bubble. They need to know what another part of the world is like and how people live,” my father countered.

And with that we crossed from Texas into a small border town in Mexico. My father was right. It was nothing like we’d ever seen before.

Noisy and crowded, the brown dust exuded puffs into the air as busy people walking, biking and driving filled the streets. Beeping from bikes and cars could be heard over the murmur of people talking. It was chaotic.

Moving in near slow motion due to the clogs of traffic, my head toggled from left to right astonished and perplexed by the scene. It almost looked like an old-time sepia picture due to the extreme lack of color. It didn’t seem real.

And then out of nowhere a boy banged on the windshield.

“Wash?” he shouted.

He was holding a dirty cloth and a spray bottle.

“Wash?” he yelled louder, banging on the windshield.

“What does he want?” my mother said with fear in her voice.

“I guess he wants to clean the windshield,” my father said and nodded to the boy.

He proceeded to run back and forth from either side of the car with lightning speed squirting the windshield and then wiping it with the dirty rag. After a few minutes, it looked dirtier than when we started, but there were a few streaks you could see through.

My dad smiled and cracked the window enough to give him a dollar bill. The boy took the bill and went to a nearby car.

My mother sighed and folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t like it here. Let’s go.”

“Nah. They need to see how the other half lives. Kids, do you understand? That young boy needs to run around and clean people’s windshields and beg for money to feed his family. He doesn’t get an allowance and probably doesn’t go to school. He has to work.”

My dad grinned and turned back to us. Anytime he wanted to give us life lessons, he would clearly announce it in a firm friendly voice like the filmstrip narrator from school who told you to stop, drop and roll and look twice before you cross the street.

A few minutes later, my dad smiled and pulled over in front of a marketplace.

“This looks like a good place get some souvenirs,” my dad grinned.

“You have to be kidding me. We don’t need souvenirs and I don’t know how safe this place is,” she said concerned.

“It’s fine. Come on kids, let’s go.”

My mom grabbed my brother’s hand and mine and my dad lifted my sister up to carry her when another boy appeared out of nowhere and jumped in front of my dad.

“Watch your car?” he asked.

“Sure,” my dad smiled and handed the boy a coin.

“There’s another when we get back,” he told the boy and walked toward the store entrance with my mother pulling us right behind him.

She shook her head in disagreement and followed him into the store.

When we entered, I saw floor to ceiling goods bursting in a kaleidoscope of colors. Dolls, maracas, puppets, rainbow-striped blankets, big-brimmed straw hats with multi-colored bands and too many other things to discern were alive with bold pink, green, red, blue, yellow and orange colors. There were so many items my eyes nearly went blurry looking at them.

At first, my dad also smiled, awash in wonderment. But as soon as the storekeeper arrived, his face went blank. I’ve seen that face before. It was his negotiation face.

My dad prided on being a world-class negotiator. He never paid full price and never stopped until he was sure he got the best deal. It was a game to him and he was good at it.

So we looked around with wide saucer eyes at all the unusual and wonderful things. But we knew better than to gush. Negotiation rule #1 meant you never showed you like anything.

With an excited glint in his eye, we stood by and listened to the master go to work. Several volleys later with the store owner, we walked out of the place with our spoils. As my dad was smiling, he obviously thought he got a good deal.

Arms full of goods, we piled into the car and my father gave the boy a couple coins for successfully watching the car. I barely understood the situation, but the car was still there and intact, so I guessed they were good at watching it.

We were all in the car and my dad yelled to my mother he would be right back. About five minutes later, he came out grinning and struggling to carry two small wooden masks and one giant mask as big as he was.

Surprised and angered my mother cranked down the window.

“What are those and where do you think we can put them?”

“They’re tikis, like at the Polynesian Village at Disney. I got a great deal,” he smiled as he went to the back of the car and pushed and shoved things aside to fit them in, bouncing the car up and down.

I couldn’t see her, but from the sigh of disgust that came from her mouth, I bet my mother rolled her eyes and then she got out to help him.

After several minutes of murmured arguing over packing the car, they both got in.

“We’ve seen enough, let’s go back to the border now,” my mom ordered.

Shaking his head back and forth, my dad chuckled at her edict and we drove out of town. In a short time, we were sitting in line at the border guard station back into the US.

As we got to the head of the line, an officer approached our car.

“What were you doing in Mexico, folks?” he asked.

“Just sightseeing for the day officer,” my Dad told him.

“Did you buy any fruit or food?” the officer asked.

“No, just some souvenirs,” my Dad answered.

“And these dolls,” my sister chimed in her sweet little girl voice.

My Dad glared at her and shook his head, but the officer laughed aloud.

“Ok, but I should see in the back of the car,” he said.

But before my Dad could answer, my mom exploded.

“Sorry, officer, but do you know how long it took to pack the back of the car with these stupid wooden tikis my husband bought? I’m not doing it again. If you want to look, you can find a way to repack it yourself!”

She rarely spoke to anyone like that, but I was more surprised at the panicked look on my Dad’s face when he shot her an incensed stare and then pasted a smile on his face and turned to the officer.

“Women, huh? Sir, I promise you, we only bought some souvenirs for the kids and yes some wooden tiki masks, nothing else,” my Dad said in his negotiation voice.

The officer looked in the back and my sister playing with her marionettes as my brother and I held up the maracas and sombreros for him to see.

“Ok, go ahead,” he said and waved us to move forward.

Once we were clear, my Dad turned to my Mom and snapped.

“What were you trying to do? Get us arrested?”

She looked down at the floor and sighed.

“I just didn’t want to repack the trunk, that’s all.”

My Dad just shook his head and chuckled with frustration in his laugh.

(c) Suzanne Rudd Hamilton 2023