I haven't posted to my blog in a while, and to be honest, it is because I experienced what is called, writer's block. I thought it was something that only bonafide writers experienced, but I learned otherwise. For now, the blockage has passed, and my mind is rewinding over the events of the past couple of days.
Today's post is being written from a hotel in Del Rio, Texas. My company sent me here to work just over the border in Acuna (pronounced A-coon'-ya), Mexico. A week ago, my boss asked me if I've ever been on foreign soil. I replied, “Does Massachusetts qualify?” Apparently it did, because here I am, working on foreign turf.
I've had opportunities to visit foreign fields in the past. Our church sends a group to Peru every two years or so, but I just never went. I've met dozens of missionaries over the years, and have been invited to stay with them for a week or two, but never took them up on the offer. So, it's no wonder that I never “fully” understood it when someone would come back home and tell me that they felt so selfish, on one hand, yet so blessed on the other, because they had so much more than the people they just met in another country. I'm glad to report to you, that I'm beginning to get the message that these people received, and I get to do it on company expense.
Going into Mexico, from the US, is like entering,......... a different country. OK, forgive me, I couldn't think of any other way to compare it. We (a co-worker and I) entered the country with our driver who works for our client. Actually, we had two different drivers. We had drivers because Mexico makes people from the US buy Mexican auto insurance and it's just not worth it for the amount of time we were spending here. However, our first driver, Paul, looked in the back seat at me and asked, “Tom, where in Italy is your family from?” I thought that an odd question, but then again, with a name like Genovese, a lot of people ask me about my heritage. Some occasionally ask, “Are you in the Mafia?”, to which I kindly reply, “Are ya stupid or sutt'n? If I was in the mob, do you think I'd be this broke?” To answer Paul's question, I told him a couple of my grandparents were from Palermo, Sicily. He said, “No kidd'n, my folks came from Palermo!” As you can figure, me and “Pauly” hit it off pretty good, see, but I had to ask myself, why God would allow me to meet a fellow Sicilian, who shares a common bond of ancestry from Palermo, on the Mexican border?
That night, after work, Paul took us out to eat. Being that Paul was footing the bill, he chose the restaurant, a very upscale bar and grill on the US side that had amazing food. Like most Italians, Paul is a talker. He had a hundred stories, half of which included guns, which revealed to me that he wasn't a Democrat. So, we laughed, shared some deep and not-so-deep philosophical wisdom, and went back to our rooms. Paul is an interesting character who speaks fluent Italian, Spanish, English, and guns. My kind of guy.
Our second drive, Gabe, is our clients head Mechanical Engineer. He was born and raised in Texas but is all Mexican. His English is perfect. He had absolutely no Spanish accent, but he has all the features of a Mexican. Gabe is the one who got me thinking just how all those friends of mine got to thinking when they came back from a foreign country. Gabe, though he's American, knows Mexico and it's culture. The twenty minute drive through downtown Acuna to our clients plant was loaded with Mexican geography, history, culture, and sociology. Tomorrow, we do it again, and it excites me. I've learned more about Mexico in the past two days than in all my life.
I've learned that everything in Mexico is painted just one color; It's called “gaudy.” Gaudy comes in twenty-five shades of pastel colors as well as thirty-two shades of bright colors. Houses and cars are painted Gaudy Pastel Yellow, and Gaudy Bright Yellow, Gaudy Pastel Peach, Gaudy Pastel Blue, Gaudy Bright Green and so on. These colors can not be described. They are colors that you will not find anywhere in the United States, except in South Carolina where there are about as many illegal Mexicans as there are legal Mexicans in Mexico City.
Yes, South Carolina has it's share of Mexicans. Gabe taught me “Why” they come to the US, but before I tell you, let me say that I don't like the idea of people coming to the USA illegally. I will welcome anyone to the US if they go through proper channels. Don't suck our system dry. Learn what a citizen of the USA represents. Don't call yourself a Mexican-American, or an Italian-American, or an African-American, but rather, an AMERICAN!!! Then of course, you should vote Republican.
The majority of Mexicans come to the United States because they have so little to look forward to in Mexico. If you start a business in Mexico, chances are extortion is manning the cash register. It reminds me of what a friend of mine told me that he and his buddies use to do growing up in New York City. They would go to a store owner and say something like, “Hey mister, for $10, me and my friends here will make sure your car doesn't get four flats.” As Gabe put it, there are laws on the books to prevent this kind of thing, but even the judges are paid off, so you get nowhere and you never really prosper. How corrupt can you get? How's this one? A friend was pulled over by the Policia in Mexico some years back, and the nice cop did everything, including threatening to arrest this friend, in hopes to get some money to let him go. He finally asked my friend what he did for a living, to which my friend replied that he was a preacher. Well, even Mexican cops know preaching aint' no money-maker, so he let him go.
My eldest son, TJ, who is connected with the building industry, sees young Mexicans who are also in the building industry. He told me that they work hard and work cheap, and will do what Americans don't want to do. Why do you suppose? Because in America, they know they can get somewhere. I use to complain about bilingual signage. I would complain that Spanish is going to be the primary language in America. Not anymore. The older generation Mexicans that enter this country may not learn English language, but the younger generation of Mexicans will. The younger generation knows that if they don't learn the language, they will not get anywhere here either. The younger generation of Mexicans work hard, sacrifice, will share a two bedroom apartment with seven others, will do whatever it takes to get somewhere in the land of opportunity, and I'm all for it, just do it legally.
In Mexico, I don't believe I saw a new car on any of the busy roads we traveled. No work, no car. Those that do drive, are found driving Rustolet's and Dentota's. Some with brand new paint jobs....and not surprisingly they match their house, and painted with the same brush. It's not odd to me that many of the younger generation Mexicans living here are willing to drive some of the junkiest cars on the road. In their minds, what they drive here is far better than walking there.
In the past couple of days I traveled horrible roads, passed sad old men sitting on the curbside, watched kids of all ages and some adults playing soccer with worn soccer balls, and on gravel fields. I saw vendors selling fried pig skins, and a slew of other things that made me appreciate how thankful to God I should be that He would allow me to live in America.
