when you brush your teeth you are petting your skeleton for a job well done
Early in my freshman year, my dad asked me if there were lots of Latinos at school. I wanted to say, “Pa, I’m one of the only Latinos in most of my classes. The other brown faces I see mostly are the landscapers’. I think of you when I see them sweating in the morning sun. I remember you were a landscaper when you first came to Illinois in the 1950s. And look, Pa! Now I’m in college!”
But I didn’t.
I just said, “No, Pa. There’s a few Latinos, mostly Puerto Rican, few Mexicans. But all the landscapers are Mexican.”
My dad responded, “¡Salúdelos, m’ijo!”
So when I walked by the Mexican men landscaping each morning, I said, “Buenos días.”
Recently, I realized what my dad really meant. I remembered learning the Mexican, or Latin American, tradition of greeting people when one enters a room. In my Mexican family, my parents taught me to be “bien educado” by greeting people who were in a room already when I entered. The tradition puts the responsibility of the person who arrives to greet those already there. If I didn’t follow the rule as a kid, my parents admonished me with a back handed slap on my back and the not-so-subtle hint: “¡Saluda!”
I caught myself tapping my 8-year-old son’s back the other day when he didn’t greet one of our friends: “Adrian! ¡Saluda!”
However, many of my white colleagues over the years followed a different tradition of ignorance. “Maleducados,” ol’ school Mexican grandmothers would call them.
But this Mexican tradition is not about the greeting—it’s about the acknowledgment. Greeting people when you enter a room is about acknowledging other people’s presence and showing them that you don’t consider yourself superior to them.
When I thought back to the conversation between my dad and me in 1990, I realized that my dad was not ordering me to greet the Mexican landscapers with a “Good morning.”
Instead, my father wanted me to acknowledge them, to always acknowledge people who work with their hands like he had done as a farm worker, a landscaper, a mechanic. My father with a 3rd grade education wanted me to work with my mind but never wanted me to think myself superior because I earned a college degree and others didn’t.”
can someone in this website please tell me what the fuck is homestuck
small armless boy eats an apple and destroys earth while a living chess piece stabs a lot of people. armless tentacle dick aliens kill their friends.
A very angry and childish green misogynist gains time travel powers, attempts to destroy existence.
The thing that’s so disgusting about the murders of Trayvon Martin, Mike Brown, Sean Bell etc (a very long list) is that it’s not like we’re trying to figure out who killed them. We know perfectly well. We’re just trying to figure out if that black kid deserved to die. They’re humanity is put on trial, like being a person wasn’t enough. Black people literally have to prove that we’re worthy of living.
"this is the internet, i can say whatever i want" is a super creepy and obvious way to say "when there are no obvious consequences for my actions i lack all empathy"
bro i love sports and women. i got to like 8th base with this hot babe “8th base whats that” she took me to the house she grew up in and showed me pictures of her dead relatives. We sat in the living room and she told me the stories of her life that lead to that moment. Like quicksand they, and that moment were gone and we left back into the cold world which we’d been spat into. It was raining