#juanitowisdom

“No tengo miedo. Bueno pues si tengo miedo. Pero no me rajo”

My pops has surgery in a couple weeks. Open heart. This would be the third time. Doctors explained to me the dangerous risk based on the condition of his heart and his age. They also explained the risk if he doesn’t get the surgery. I could lose him…or I could lose him. They walked out the room. Million things run through my mind as I sit in the same chair I’ve sat in countless times. I’m staring at his IV. The needle in his arm. Simultaneously thinking of everything and nothing. TV on mute. I lift his sheets up to cover his arms. They told me this while he was sleeping. I didn’t wanna mention it. To anyone. They finally told him.

“ya me explicaron los doctores que difícil va ser esto. Tal vez ya no la libro. Ya casi estoy chupando faros”

My pops doesn’t feel good today. I see his eyes a little watery. A little pale. I hug him. Tell him I love him. Just like I do every day. He feels skinnier. He walks a little slower now. But he stands tall. Still smiles. Still jokes.

“quiero ir a Mexico antes de todo esto. Que tal si ya me toca despedirme de me tierra. De mi hermana”

I tell him to go. I know he’s not supposed to. It’s bad for him. Travel makes him weary. But who am I to deny him of what he wants? But he declines. Says he won’t have enough time to do what he wants to do.

“ya tengo 75 años. Ya viví mucho. Ya que más quiero?”

I tell him chill. Mexico is finally getting better at fútbol. Told him he has to last at least 3-4 World Cups. He laughs. When my dad laughs…he laughs. Carcajadas.

Our relationship is dope. We’re the same dude. If I’m going through something..or if he’s going through something…We’ll talk about it briefly. One of us will make a joke. We’ll make light of it. Joke about it. And for a bit… Things seem to make sense. Everything will be ok.

“Yo no me voy a morir en la raya esperando. No me voy a morir con miedo. Me muero hechando le ganas. Rifando. Corriendo. Así como vivo”

My sister tells me she got to his store yesterday. He was on top of a ladder moving around merchandise. Hechando le ganas. I’ve caught him too. I bring him down and finish for him. But I also have to let him do his thing. You can’t change a players game in the 9th inning.

The other day he teared up on me. Pops is superman. I don’t like seeing my pops cry. So I did our routine. I made him laugh. Got him to chuckle. Made light of it. And we kept it moving.

I feel terrible for that.

I’m a jokester. I use comedy as a defense mechanism. That’s how I deal with shit. But..Sometimes you don’t want to joke. Sometimes you don’t even want advice or someone to tell you things will be ok.

Sometimes you just want someone to listen.

I hugged my pops. Asked him how he felt. Same. Pain. Feels drunk he said. Without drinking. That’s no fun he said.

He’s told me a new story. One he hadn’t told us. He remembers the day Jorge Negrete died. He was 14 years old…drunk out of his mind in Zapopan. He laughs hysterically telling me this.

“estaba tan borracho..y tan aguitado que se murió.. Que hasta llore”

“ese wey era mi idolo”

Then we explode into laughter.

He sat down. He was tired. Got lost in thought. I did too. Thinking if he’s remembering that day. I’m trying to picture my pops at 14…full of life and tequila. On his own…like he spent most of his childhood. Melancholy.

Then my mind travels to the date of his surgery. And I sit down next to him. For the next 20 minutes we both sit there in silence.

I think ICE, Border Patrol and the racist lady who screamed in Lupillo Rivera’s face run the Lotto. Robben and the Netherlands fútbol team did some foul shit to those little Lotto balls. Brujería. NO ERA PENAL! They just don’t let Mexicans win BIG in the lotto.

Every year the lotto gets up to a ridiculous amount a few times. Every year Univision goes to a ghetto gas station to interview someone buying loosies with pennies…asking them what they would do with all that money. “No pues una casita pa mi ama, me voy a mi rancho, me compro una pickup y la colección de discos de Los Yonics.” And every year the winner is an 86 year old white man from Wyoming that hates Mexicans but his hands look like tortillas. “El mundo da muchas vueltas”

You’ll never see a dude named Jose, Federico or Renato Gonzalez show up at the Lottery Winning press conference with a Tejana and a Virgen de Guadalupe t shirt with “Tamaulipas” written on the bottom. You know why?

“Dios no le da alas a los alacranes” - my mom

You don’t wanna see a Mexican win the lottery. At least you don’t wanna see THIS Mexican win the lottery. ME. I won’t even find out I won the lottery until like 4 days later when I’m buying a 89¢ strawberry slurpee at the gas station. Scan my ticket and lose my mind. Face looking like the Laura En America lady. Rip off my shirt and celebrate like Hulk Hogan just won the belt. Then proceed to Olympic power walk my way out.

If I won the lottery? Smh.

It’ll be the first press conference with a taquero, a Tamborazo and a DJ. Carmen Salinas and Don Cheto hosting…sponsored by Goya and Boost Mobile. Smh.

My speech will be impeccable. Well, pretty much I’ll just thank the haters, my jefita y el rancho de mi apa. Then I’ll retire. I hate when people win the lottery and say “nothing will change, tomorrow I will be at work like always” Shiiiiiiiit. I once won a free Sundae playing Monopoly McDonald’s and took two and a half days off. So you better believe that after I take that giant cardboard check to cash at a currency exchange on 18th St I’m gonna begin the greatest winning streak ever.

Let’s go.

THE FAMILIA

Mom’s gets whatever she wants. Meaning them Novela actors are performing live in her living room. Commercials too. Rachel Ray and Rick Bayless making her breakfast. All while Walter Mercado’s on the couch telling her she’s gotta stay positive…then he’ll give her an ojo de venado pa los haters

THE CHARITY

There’s a lot of issues that are important to us as a community, as Latinos and as young Mexican leaders. I will do my part by single handedly ripping the biggest plague in our neighborhood straight from the root.

I will purchase EVERY single pair of pajama pants on the market and in production. And burn them while Jesus himself sheds a tear.

I’m tired of you bitches walking around in public with pajama pants.

THE IGNORANCE

I do idiotic shit NOW and that’s without funding. Becoming rich will not hide this…it will more than likely highlight my pendejas. You see us Mexicans are like the Sparta of buying shit we don’t need. 300.

YOU think I’m buying things I don’t need. I think this Horchata fountain in my bedroom is essential. So is the Hennessy flavored ice machine #Genius

Wing Stop in my kitchen. Bat Mobile and Delorian with Flux capacitor in my garage. Big ass fish tank with Free Willy in it. Gucci garbage bags. Smh. Salma Hayek in my pool. Mannn.

Might show up at the airport with no luggage. Might throw a dart at the globe to decide where I’m going to fly…Just for breakfast. Might reenact Blood in Blood Out with friends for fun. Might re film La Bamba so Ritchie doesn’t die at the end. Might have Pacquiao and Mayweather bare knuckle box in my yard. Might have a Chalino hologram for my birthday party. Might ride a horse with wifi every Wednesday. Smh.

Mo money mo problems. Women problems. Chingados.

Btw, thanks to everyone who loaned me money. Broke Juan owes you money. Rich Juan owes you nothing. Rich Juan is drunk in Brazil and does not give a Fuck about you.

No more sound system in my car. I’m a just have Los Bukis performing in the back seat. Salma Hayek loves them #levels

:)

And all of this will be done a million miles under the influence.

You see, this is why Mexicans can’t win the lottery. Not cause of you or the millions of kind hearted people out there. No. It’s cause of ME.

You can’t have Pinche Juanito wearing a Zapatista mask at a Martha Stewart party. Smh.

I don’t like politics.

I was in 4th grade. I got caught in a drive by walking home from school. Rival gang shooting at their target that happened to be walking next to me. No time to pray. I ran. Bullets flew past my ears. I was bracing myself to get shot. I ran into a hardware store. Rival gang walked in there holding an uzi. White wife beater and untied Chuck Taylors. Still looking for his target. He left….and I remained in there until my heart slowed down. I get home. Turn to the news and catch the mayor talk about how we live in the greatest city in the world.

Yeah I don’t like politics. And I don’t always vote.

My alderman doesn’t have competition. My sister’s alderman took credit for a neighborhood Street cleaning program that she organized with the youth. The alderman by my job showed face for a Black and Brown solidarity vigil that I had organized only when TV showed up.

Trust me. I get it.

I’m voting in this mayoral race. Why? Because it feels important. Because I’m tired of accepting that every time the sun beams…the gun beams come out. Tired of Back of the Yards, Englewood, La Villita and other minority neighborhoods getting underhanded. Will anything change after this election? I don’t know. Politicians will be politicians.

Chuy and Rahm are both flawed. Both are also capable of running this city. The biggest shot at Chuy is people are unsure of his plan. In that case the biggest shot at Rahm is that everyone knows his. For all the “you’re only voting for him because he’s Mexican” talk…should the talk be “so are you NOT voting for him because he’s Mexican?”

Is it race? Cause a year or two ago…I saw NO ONE in Chicago supporting Rahm. The talk was “Anyone but Rahm”. When teachers were locked out. When schools closed. When new taxes and licence fees increased. When we had to drive in a maze to avoid potholes. When our roads weren’t salted after snow storms. When star athletes had to step in and pay for our children’s funerals. It was Fuck Rahm.

Guess it was “Anyone but Rahm…Unless he’s Mexican though…”

I don’t like politics.

What if I am voting for him because he’s Mexican? What if I want someone in City Hall who’s actually walked though my neighborhood. Who bought tamales from the same lady I buy them from? Media docena rojo y verde. Who’s felt the hairs on his neck tingle when you hear a rammer coming up behind you in an alley? Who heard gun shots outside a block away and feared it was a loved one?

What if I see this election as hope? Or progress. Or a “por fin chingada madre”?

My pops tells me stories of him traveling back and forth between Mexico and USA in the 60s. Walking into restaurants…sitting for 20 minutes before walking out because he was refused service. My grandfather in the Bracero Program (hence the derogatory term “Brazers) working in the fields for weeks. Back when that was to be a positive for Mexicans in America. Never got paid. Progress.

I really don’t like politics.

I grew up in Little Village and in the Back of the Yards. I’ve seen terrible things. I’ve also seen greatness. I have cop friends…and gangbanging friends. We even sit together at reunions. Such is life. These aren’t Tribune facts or a Chicago Tonight’s moderator fairytale. We grew up calling lawyers to help with our cases. Now we call lawyers….cause they are neighborhood friends you grew up with. (Shout out Mr Alonso)

I’m not voting for Chuy because he’s Mexican. I’m voting for him because I believe he can help the communities who actually need…help. The upper class/trendy neighborhoods are good. That is not gonna change. 26th St in Little Village has been the 2nd highest money grossing Street in the whole Midwest behind the Magnificent Mile. Yet crime is ridiculous. That needs to change. The Southside. The Westside. Humboldt Park. We all need help.

I agree Chuy needs a lot of work. A lot of help. Just like Rahm. I believe he can be successful. If he isn’t? Has anyone said “I told you so” for Blagojavich, George Ryan and others? We move on. We elect someone different. We proceed to be the “greatest city in the world”.

And I go back to not liking politics.

#JuanitoWisdom

P.S. My pops said you can tell alot about a man through his handshake. Rahm is missing a finger. I’m good. :)

P.S.S. I don’t care who you’re voting for…nor am I willing to debate anything. Peace to you and yours.