Dear Mexican: Do your countrymen still worship the rock band Santana? Or are they looked as, like the Who in England and Crosby Stills and Nash in America, old relics from the good old Woodstock days?
—Abraxas to the Maxas!
Dear Gabacho: Mexicans actually never worshipped Carlos Santana, who was born in Jalisco and grew up in Tijuana before moving to San Francisco and became the Quetzalcoatl of rock. Oh, we've always respected him—after all, Santana is a mexicano who hit it big by fusing Latin rhythms with acid rock—but he long ago left the earthly realm of nationalism to hang out with his guardian angel, Metatron, making him the true manifestation of la raza cósmica. Mexicans respect all of that, but like their male Mexican musicians the way hombres like their sex: loud, sweaty, and done in under four minutes—okay, three.
My husband, who is very proud of his Mexican heritage, was born and raised in Santa Ana, and his parents were also born and raised in Santa Ana. He grew up with a more traditional Mexican upbringing then I did. Long story short, he bought this T-shirt with Pancho Villa on it that has the word "Gringo I Want You" in big bold letters on the back of it with a picture of Pancho Villa pointing. Now, when he bought this T-shirt I told him, "Honey are you sure you should be wearing that T-shirt? Someone might take offense to it." He told me "No! No one would even notice what it says."
Well, last night we were our local drug store picking up some prescriptions. Some big biker dude that had just rode up and parked his big hog on the sidewalk, came up to us and started yelling loudly at my husband in a Midwestern accent, "Hey, you M'fer, I'm a gringo, I don't like that shirt you're wearing, you better take that shirt off." My husband at first thought the guy was just joking, but the biker continued and everyone was looking at him. I figured the guy was drunk; I was so mad I wanted to kick his bike over when we walked back our car, but I said nothing until we got in the car and I did the "I told you so" to my husband.
So my question to you Mexican is: What should we have done? Cause a scene? Stand for our rights to wear whatever the hell we want to wear? Or just ignore the biker dude and walk out of the store, which is what we chose to do? This was a big M'fer, and my husband is a small-framed 50-year-old diabetic viejito. Back in the day, he would've knocked out the SOB the floor. My view is—even thought I did the "I told you so" thing to my husband—I believe my viejito should have the right to wear the T-shirt. But I feel the biker dude was entitled to be offended, too. The question in my mind was does this idiot even know the history of Pancho Villa? Probably not, and it was just an act of ignorance or the M'fer really was drunk. Last night, my viejito slept in that T-shirt and refuses to take it off now; I'm proud of him.
—Angie la OC Pocha
Dear Pocha: Short story long! Long answer short? Reward his bravery by wearing Pancho Villa chonis.
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